Page 31 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

“His name is Josh, and he’s the brother of my real estate agent here.”

I dive into the story of why Josh is available, making a joke that he could likely benefit from his own therapist who helps him set boundaries. I tell her about my meltdown with the first interview and his offer to help. I share bits and pieces of the conversations that he and I have had and how much I like them.

“It’s nice to get to know someone brand-new, from scratch,” I tell her. “Maybe it’s more accurate to say that I like someone else getting to know me in that way. He knows my story, of course, but it doesn’t feel like baggage.”

“After a traumatic event, it’s important to have all different types of friendships. Your old friends are critical to your healing, but new friends are key to helping you grow as well. Aside from Josh, have you gotten to know anyone else?”

“Yes, but I’ll be honest that it’s only because Josh pushed me to do it. He told me I needed to work on my small talk, so now I have new friends at a few different spots in town that I visit often.”

Dr. Lisa is usually good at keeping a straight face, but the small-talk comment brings a genuine smile to her face. She knows I’m an overthinker and that my small-talk skills are, let’s just say, an identified area for development. We talk for a good while about my new daily routine and how I’m building space for rest and meditation. With five minutes left in our abbreviated session, she poses one last, seemingly innocent question.

“Gracie, is there anything else you would like to share?”

“Yes,” I say, but with hesitation and a frustrated sigh. “I hate to admit this because it’s the least independent-woman thing I could ever say, but I like having a man around the house again. I like having someone to casually talk to, to fix things, to make me laugh when I need it. The energy in my life feels balanced out.”

“You spent half your life in a relationship with Ben. I’m not surprised you feel comfort in having a situation that allows you to get some companionship back, even on this smaller level.”

Then Dr. Lisa nods quietly for a moment before continuing with a zinger of a follow-up. “Is it havingaman orthisman around that feels good?”

I am genuinely caught off guard by the question. So much for curveball prep.

I remember back to earlier in the year when my dad came to stay with us for a week. There were tasks around the house that needed to be taken care of—gutters, old light fixtures, bathroom grout—and he offered to hang out and tend to the household chores. Despite the fact that I had spent eighteen years of my life sharing a house with him, I was annoyed and ready for my own space by the end of his visit.

It isn’t just that on my mind, though. I think back to the many men I’d been out on dates with and the few I even brought back home for a night. It never crossed my mind to invite them around again—there was no appeal to having them in my space. Still, I can’t decide the right answer to her question, because I’m not sure.

“Maybe a bit of both,” I start, tipping my chin up slightly and genuinely thinking through how I feel about this line of questioning. “I guess if you made me pick one, though, I would say thistypeofman.” It didn’t strike me as a big deal as I was saying it, but as soon as I finish, it certainly feels like a confession.

“Interesting,” she replies. Dr. Lisa’s favorite word and her kind way of drawing out more explanation from you. I don’t bite, so she continues. “Gracie, I want you to explore this. Pay attention to how you feel when he’s around. I don’t mean surface-level stuff—like,Oh, this is nice to not eat lunch alone today. No, I want you focused on the emotions down a layer or two. Why does it feel nice? What about Josh makes you feel this way? What empty cup has this filled? Don’t overthink it, but I know that’s easier said than done.”

Dr. Lisa has just insinuated that I might be into a guy like Josh…romantically. I’m already into the way he does home repairs. She’s dropped a bomb into my psyche and has the audacity to follow up withDon’t overthink it? I will think of nothing else until we talk again in a few weeks.

Chapter 14

Even though he’s back intown, I assumed that Josh would take Sunday off before coming back for a week of work on Monday. Instead, he texts me first thing in the morning and asks if it’s okay if he comes over.

He pulls into the driveway right at nine. I unlock the door and open it for him.

“You really are a workaholic; I’m glad they did that intervention,” I say when he walks through the door.

Josh shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “James is so dramatic,” he starts. “The truth is that Ihatewhen things are unfinished. Once I get a picture in my mind of how to solve a problem, it’s really hard for me to walk away until it’s finished. That’s how I’m feeling about Ava’s room. I know you have big plans for decorating it.”

“Here I was thinking that you just missed my charming personality,” I respond with a smile.

“Obviously that, too,” he starts. “Mostly, Lenny told me to come back before he started telling you his secrets. Three days in a row, huh?”

That’s interesting, I think,because Lenny was definitely fighting the urge to shareyoursecrets while you were gone. I don’t say that out loud, though, because the quality of the information is dubious at best and lacks any detail worth sharing.

“Lenny belongs on the big screen,” I say to keep the conversation in a safe place. “So much personality and so fun to be around. I wrote some heavy stuff while you were away, and my time with him was like a breath of fresh air.”

With that, he starts gathering tools from the various spots he stashes them on the first floor. I remember one important thing I need his help with today.

“Josh, it’s actually a good thing that you showed up today,” I say. “Remember the writing desk I told you about last week? The guy is going to deliver it sometime before noon. I am a strong, independent, and capable woman, but I have abysmal upper-body strength. Can you help him get it upstairs?”

“I’m here to serve,” he says, mimicking the tipping of a cap. I playfully punch him in the arm as he walks by. It’s nice to touch him, I think, before instantly making myself forget it.

Two hours later, while I simultaneously tend to business correspondence and watch mindless videos on my phone, the guy from the vintage shop in Asheville texts me that he’s a few minutes away. I run up to grab Josh, who is sanding the final patch job on the bedroom walls.

“We willfinallybe ready to paint these next week,” he says, before adding, “And bywe, I clearly mean me.”

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