Page 69 of Capri

It seems good things can happen in Timber Heights, South Carolina.

The smallest town with the prettiest resident.

Yep…still not over her.

19

CAPRI

You’ve gotto be kidding me.

I kick the heavy metal in front of me, begging it to work.

I’ve got a load of sopping wet clothes in the washer without a single way to dry them.

This must be life giving me what I wished for—independence.

It looks like good old-fashioned clothespin hanging is in my near future. After spending the last hour googling problem-solving tips, I’ve come up empty-handed.

However, one reviewer suggested I use a Shop-Vac to suction the lint from the vent, or whatever the hell that big silver tubing is called. At this point, it’s my last resort before calling a handyman.

Looks like I’m heading to the hardware store for a vacuum I’ll likely have to teach myself to use before I can actually use it to help fix my problem.

This is the one part about being a single adult that I find the most challenging. I’d like to think I’m a fairly independent woman, but when life throws wrenches at my perfectly maintained plans, I turn into an anxious mess.

But since I made a promise to myself, I’m going to do what I can to fix this baby on my own.

With the help of YouTube.

I’ll try to find the vacuum first before asking for help. Can’t be that hard.

My eyes scan the aisles, looking for the…machinery…right? I don’t know. Is a Shop-Vac considered a machine?

Drills…no.

Table saw…no.

Miter saw…no.

So many saws. Nothing looks remotely close to a vacuum.

I’m about to say screw it and flag down an employee for help before someone startles me. A gruff sound startles me, I should say.

“Need a hand?”

I don’t need to turn around to put a face to that voice. A sound that resembles the equivalent of silk and whisky. It goes down smooth but feels rough enough to make me restless.

“Maybe,” I scoff, turning to smile at him. “Although, that would kind of defeat the purpose of me wanting to venture here on my own. But I’m willing to accept defeat.”

Jones chuckles, and my eyes drink in the sight of him.

I notice he dresses much differently in the States than in Capri. Abroad, he’s always in light linen, the epitome of comfort.

But here, in Timber Heights, he’s all work boots, worn jeans, and T-shirts. This blue one, in particular, with ‘Seaside Marine’ on the corner pocket.

I knew Jones was handy, but right now, he personifies masculinity. He looks like a man who can tackle a task blind and do it without fault.

Big, strong hands. Talented hands I can recall very vividly performing well.

---