Page 10 of Pining for You

“It used to be the public washroom, showers and laundry center,” Chloe said. “It was already condemned and waiting to be rebuilt when the Tamblins closed up shop. It may have actually been why they decided they were done in the biz.”

“Let’s keep going and see what the rest of the damage is there, and what we can do about it.” I had no doubt Frank Pogue would charge his client for any work his daughter did. I hoped he paid her a fair wage and didn’t expect her to do it out of familial responsibility.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off this woman as she led me around the property, pointing out fallen branches, split trunks. Part of my brain assessed the work we’d be required to do, catalogued the types of trees on the property, and what care they needed, but the most active part of my brain was living down in my jockeys at the moment. I’d never met a woman who barely had to tilt her head to look up at me.

I’d hit six foot by the time I was ten, and was six seven and shaving daily by the time I entered grade nine. Many women, and even some men, unconsciously backed away from me when I approached, even if I was walking along the sidewalk, or in the grocery store aisle. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been shy of dates, some girls really like the idea of being with a big guy, but I have always been aware that I intimidate others.

The trouble with dating a woman of average height was that I had to really bend down to kiss them on the lips, or I have to pretty much lift them off their feet. Horizontally, height doesn’t make that much of a difference, but it made grinding against them interesting sometimes since our hips didn’t usually meet up.

But Chloe? Dating her might be like a normal-sized guy dating a normal-sized girl.

It wasn’t only her height that attracted me. It was the way she carried herself with such ease, such confidence. She didn’t seem bothered by the sawdust clinging to her cargo pants, or the smudge of dirt on the knees, or the faint smear of oil on her cheek. I’d noticed it in the truck, so it was probably from when she’d checked her chain saw back at Marilyn’s.

I froze when I realized she was staring at me, puzzlement filling her eyes. Shit, she was waiting for me to respond, but I’d been too busy perving on her to actually listen.

“Sorry, was doing calculations in my head.” Lame, Calhoun, real lame.

“Are you thinking by the hour, the pound, or the tree?”

“We don’t charge by pounds.” More like tons. “It’s by the hour.”

I slowly turned and surveyed the resort, refreshing myself of the amount of work this place would require. “Do you think Tamblin will want us to cut down the damaged trees or trim them back as we deem necessary? And what about the wood?” I gestured toward her chain saw. “You want to cut it down to season as firewood like Mrs. B, or d’you want us to put through the wood chipper?”

She pursed her lips, lips that contained the remnants of a pale-pink lipstick. Lips that I wanted to press mine against to see if they were as soft as they appeared, to discover what she tasted like. What she felt like as she pressed her body against mine.

“What’s the cheapest? Probably me cutting up anything you fell as firewood, eh?”

“Cheaper than us having to haul it away.” For some of these trees, we might see if the local lumberyard might like them. There was a mill down the road that sawed the wood the old-fashioned way, and several local artists loved looking through their stock. Some of these maples might make beautiful furniture if felled and cut properly. Though some of it looked rotten, filled with borer beetles that would do better going through the chipper.

“You could give options on your quote. Don’t overcharge him, because he’s not going to pay top dollar, but don’t underquote him either.”

“Let me run some figures through my system and see what I can come up with. Where do you want me to send the quote? Email or give you a hard copy?” I kept a printer in my truck for those luddites who hadn’t adapted to digital copies yet. Like my boss.

She pulled a business card from one of the pockets on her cargo pants and handed to me. “Send it here. That’s the business email so my father can forward your estimate to the owners.”

“Gotcha.” I fingered the card for a moment before tucking it into my shirt pocket. “Who else are you calling in for an estimate, d’you know?”

She shrugged, an elegant gesture. “Haven’t a clue. But Dad usually calls you guys first, and then a firm up in Peterborough, or if they’re not available, he calls a company from Oshawa to give a quote.” She slowed and lowered her voice as if someone might overhear us. “Between you and me and the gatepost, he prefers not to use either of them because they charge from when they leave their workshop. Which means the mileage adds up and our clients complain.”

When it came down to it, it wouldn’t matter. While I’d quote them a fair price either way, no padding, no shortcuts, John had his own formula that I never had figured out. People around these parts generally paid it because calling in someone from outside the township had added time and distance charges that made it too expensive. Which reminded me of my earlier conversation with John and the offer on his business. What would it mean for the people around here if we weren’t around and they had to call companies from farther away?

Shit. I didn’t want to be thinking about business loans right now, just how I could walk away with Chloe’s personal number instead of just her dad’s business one.

The familiar sound of a truck rattling over the gravel road and stopping not far away told me Nash had probably arrived.

I patted my pocket. “Does that have your phone number on it? Or the company phone number?”

“Company.” She eyed me, almost as if she were gauging her own interest in me. Then she reached into another pocket, and pulled out a pen, took the card out of my pocket and wrote a number on the reverse side. “This is my cell. Give me a call sometime and maybe we could talk about something besides trees.”

“Or I could cut to the chase and ask you out now. Save us both some time.” I hadn’t planned on asking her out immediately, but my brain wasn’t in control of my mouth. Whether it was a stupid move or a smart one, I couldn’t decide.

Her lips quirked up, started to spread into a smile, then stilled. Caution filled her eyes.

Danger, Will Robinson, this one’s been hurt, probably by some asswipe. Don’t follow their example, my brain warned my dick.

“All right,” she said slowly. “Tomorrow night. Seven o’clock. At The Alleys. You know the place?”

“Yeah.”

---