Page 32 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

We sit outside on the front porch swing to wait for Aaron, the furniture guy, and it squeaks as we slowly rock together.

“I’d add this to the list if it weren’t already on there,” he says with a laugh. “There is always something to fix at this house.”

Aaron pulls into the driveway in a large pickup truck. I expected a proper delivery truck and it dawns on me that Aaron is likely making a special exception for delivery today. The desk is protected by a thick fabric wrap and cinched down in the truck bed. Josh and I rise from the swing to greet him. Well, I’m there to greet him and Josh is there to do the actual labor.

“Nice to see you again,” he says to me before turning to Josh. “Nice to meet you. Are you Gracie’s, uh, husband?”

Josh doesn’t miss a beat. “She wishes,” he says, laughing. “No, man, I’m just here to help.”

Something like a look of relief crosses Aaron’s face. He’s almost as tall as Josh, with sandy-blond hair and a slight hipster vibe. He’s a little young—probably late twenties—but he’s definitely cute. Josh’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, and it dawns on me that his energy has shifted into protective mode. Interesting.

They both instinctively reach for the closest end of the desk, which is the toughest job given the need to support the weight as it’s slowly pulled from the truck bed. Aaron gets there first and makes a point to tell Josh he should take his time to make sure he’s got a good grip. Josh lets out a huff and I stifle my laughter at the apparent impromptu strength competition I’m now witnessing. As we proceed up the front stairs and into the house, I give the dueling men quiet instructions and warn them whenever a step or slight change of direction needs to occur. They easily maneuver the desk up the stairs and around the corner to the writing room. Right in front of the window, I instruct, and then it’s there.

“I’m gonna get back to work,” Josh says before stepping out and heading back to Ava’s room.

Aaron stands in the room with me to admire how amazing the desk looks in the space. The windows are perfectly centered over the dark, turned-wood furniture. Despite being vintage, the desk has a modern flair to it. It could not be more perfect.

“This desk belongs here,” Aaron says. “I’m glad you scooped it up before someone else did.”

“Me, too,” I say with a big grin. “This desk might be the exact place where I finish my debut book.”

Spontaneously referring to it as my debut makes me happy, because it silently telegraphs that I expect there to be another. I make a mental note to do that more often.

Aaron rocks back on his heels and then turns to me and says, “Sorry if this is weird or inappropriate, but would you ever want to grab coffee or a drink sometime? I’m down in Canopy and nearby towns a few times a week. My treat, of course.”

This makes me blush. I hate to admit it, but a much younger guy hitting on a woman my age is a certain sort of compliment. The furniture shop belongs to Aaron’s family, and while they mostly sell vintage pieces, he does design and build some newer ones. When I was in the store a week ago, we had a great conversation about our respective creative processes. He was a bit of a flirt, but I thought he was just trying to sell the desk.

When I started dating again and friends would ask for my parameters, I decided not to worry about age at all. I only go out with people once and lack the emotional fortitude to get serious with anyone, so why stress about something as basic as age? I’ve been outwith a twenty-seven-year-old and a fifty-five-year-old and plenty of ages in between. Men are men.

“I’d like that, but I’m keeping a pretty tight schedule this summer to write. Why don’t you text me next time you’re in the neighborhood and we can see if it works out?”

“Sounds like a plan,” he says as we start walking back toward the stairs. “I’d really like to see you again.”

He delivers the second part just as we pass by Ava’s room, and it feels surprisingly like a shot fired at Josh.

—

An hour later,Josh and I are at the kitchen island ready for the next set of questions. I’m a little surprised by the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

“Do you always have teenagers in skinny jeans hitting on you?” he asks without a hint of sarcasm.

“Josh, I detect some judgment in that question.”

“Not at all—I’m just curious.”

“I will answer this way: ever since I stopped regularly wearing my wedding ring—which I still get emotional about, just so you know—I get hit on by men of all ages, and I can’t quite figure out why. My guess is that Aaron is in his late twenties, which is flattering, but dudes firmly in the AARP age bracket ask me out, too. I never thought of myself as having an approachable aura. My resting bitch face is real, but it’s not the deterrent I thought it’d be.”

Josh gives a half-hearted laugh and smile. He looks at me briefly in a way that unsettles me a bit.

“You don’t have a resting bitch face. More like a persistently contemplative face. There’s a big difference. Will you really go out with him if he texts?”

“Maybe. Hard to say. He seems nice enough, but I’m really trying to stay focused on the book.”

Something about that seems to lift Josh’s spirits a little bit, and now I’m trying to decipher what is really happening at this moment. Is there a chance Josh likes me? He would’ve asked me out already. Is this a protective-big-brother sort of situation? Dr. Lisa has put too many thoughts in my head. Josh clears his throat.

“Hey, you asked me to come up with some personal-life questions for you in preparation for stuff you have coming this week, and I thought of a few,” Josh says before getting a nod from me that conveys I’m ready to go. “What’s it been like being a single parent?”

“Different than you might expect. On one hand, not as hard as I thought, but that’s only because I’ve got family around. My support system is industrial strength. My parents bought a small condo in Chapel Hill right after we moved back to North Carolina so that they could be in town without being in the way. They hate driving to and from Charlotte, where they still live. Ben’s parents are two hours east, so they have a key to the condo now, too, and use it once or twice a month. They all take turns having the kids over for grandparent sleepovers for entire weekends and even some school nights. It’s the only reason I ever have time to fully decompress. Never in a million years did I think my kids would still have four grandparents but not their dad.”

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