Page 47 of Safe With Me

Me:So, where do you think I went wrong?

I watchedthe three texting dots stop and start then stop again after I sent Mike a photo of the disaster in my living room.

Mike:I really don’t know how to answer since I don’t know what that is.

Me:It’s a side table. Jerk. Or it will be once I figure out how to put the damn thing together. I thought I was doing okay, but I messed up somewhere.

Mike:I bet you could get away with only three legs. Make it like a conversation piece.

Me:I didn’t ask you so you can make fun of me. I need to learn how to put my own shit together.

Mike:And I think that’s very adorable, but maybe start a little smaller next time.

“Ugh,” I groaned and threw my phone. It was seven thirty on a Saturday morning, and I was trapped in the middle of my living room, surrounded by pieces of wood in assorted sizes, along with screws and bolts that I had no idea what to do with. Mike was the only one I knew who would be up at this hour and be able to figure out what I was doing wrong.

When I’d ordered this side table online, it had said that it was easy to put together with very little assembly required. I’d gotten halfway through the instructions before they stopped making sense, and now, I just wanted to cry and throw it all into the garbage.

I pushed off the floor, in search of my broom to sweep up all the parts and stuff them into a big garbage bag until I figured out what the hell to do with it, when there was a knock on my door.

I gingerly stepped over everything, trying not to cut my bare feet. I found Mike in his police uniform when I looked through the peephole.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m saving you from yourself. Excuse me.” He nudged me aside to push past me.

“I said I wanted to do this myself. I can’t have you put everything together like you’re my personal handyman.”

“I don’t understand why that’s a problem. I told you I’d put together anything you wanted, and you only have to pay me in beer and dessert.”

“Yeah, but I can’t depend on you. I mean—” I cringed when hurt flitted across Mike’s face. “I need to learn to do things myself. You have a busy life protecting the peace. You shouldn’t have to worry about me.”

“But I do.” He squeezed my hand, my skin tingling from the graze of his thumb back and forth across my wrist. “I can protect the peace and put your furniture together without breaking too much of a sweat.”

I didn’t know how to do anything domestic, other than cook a few simple meals. It hadn’t bothered me so much back in Philly, probably because I’d had other things and people to occupy my time.

But I wanted this place to be different. Maybe if I learned how to make my apartment feel homey, it would feel more like a home.

I wanted Kelly Lakes to be home. Because if it wasn’t, then what was the point?

“Mike, this can wait. You have to go to work.”

“I was up early anyway,” he said, dropping down onto the floor and setting his toolbox down before grabbing the pamphlet of instructions. “I have some time. I don’t have to clock in until nine, and I’ll have most of it together in the next fifteen minutes so you don’t have to stay in a mess all day, and you could enjoy… What is this supposed to be again?”

He arched a brow at me, a smirk tipping the corner of his mouth.

The mouth I couldn’t stop thinking about.

“A side table,” I told him, glowering back at him when he snickered. “It’s supposed to go over there.” I pointed to the empty space next to the front door.

He flipped over the instruction manual to peek at the picture. “Oh, it’s cute.”

“Cute,” I repeated, crossing my arms as I padded over to Mike.

“Cute, just like your attempt to do it yourself.” He winked as he plucked off one of the legs and began to reattach it.

I fell into one of my dining room chairs as Mike disassembled and reassembled what I had tried to put together.

“I should’ve known I was in over my head.”

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