Page 6 of Keeping It
“I enjoy your company,” he replies, hopping on his bike, facing me. It looks ridiculous. He’s so enormous. His bathing suit is hung so low on his narrow hips I know he’s wearing nothing underneath. “Give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking. Let me be useful. I saw the paint cans yesterday. I’m a monster with a paint roller. What do you say?”
Even if he’s only paying attention to me because he wants something, I can’t deny how it makes me feel. I’ve never felt like this before. This sort of mix between lusting for something I know is bad for me, and the vulnerability of knowing I don’t have the first clue how to deal with a man like Tyler. He’s sweating everywhere now: face, arms, legs, and his gleaming torso. I tilt my head to the side and narrow my eyes. “You help me paint the harder to reach areas, I get a drink with you, and then you leave me alone. No more bad jokes, or stalking me at work,” I say, waving my arm to the diner, and then back to him.
“Deal. Can we get going now though? If I don’t get some airflow, I’ll melt.”
I smirk, and start peddling for home. His bike squeaks behind me until we reach the hangar. I didn’t lie about my daddy being gone, but I forgot what that would mean. I’d be here by myself with this man. Parking my bike, I try to ignore the flip-flop sensation in my stomach. Tyler reaches over and grabs his shirt out of the basket on his bike. I hold the door open after I unlock it and enter. “You need to grease your bike. It sounds like something out of a horror movie,” I remark, making my way to the office to see if there’s anything pressing I need to deal with. This building has a faint smell of oil covered in the vanilla scent I use to pretend my house is normal—not an airplane hangar.
Tyler uses his t-shirt to towel off the sweat while standing in the office doorway. “I bought it at a yard sale while I was walking to the diner today,” he admits. “I’ll get it fixed up.”
“You sure are adjusting to small town living rather quickly,” I say, thumbing through the stack of mail, eyeing his muscles as be bends to wipe his legs.
I pull out one of the envelopes I know is a bill, and rip into it. “The whole reason I’m here is for a change of pace. I figured it would serve me best if I took full advantage of everything Bronze Bay has to offer.” The double entendre was covered well, but, of course I heard it.
“What’s it like?” I ask, unable to keep my curiosity under wraps.
“What’s what like?” Tyler replies, without looking up.
I clear my throat, and hot shame rises for asking something so personal. “The war? Living in a big city? Life outside of here?” It’s personal on my side, too. It rips the small-town girl wide open, showing all my stereotypical cards.
Tyler stands, sighs, and walks away from the doorway, toward the paint cans at the base of the spiral staircase that leads to my home. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” he says, picking up the four cans, two in each huge hand and starts up the stairs. “I have to know what a house inside a hangar looks like,” he states, like he’s actually, truly curious.
I follow behind him, grabbing the brushes, rollers, and the bills I need to sort later tonight. “It’s homier than you would think. It’s taken a couple years for me to get it to this point, but I’m living here full time now. Finally out of my parent’s house. They live just over the hill to the east.”
Tyler laughs, and presses himself against the railing so I can get by to unlock the huge, black, iron door. “What’s funny?”
“I guess that everything is so perfect here. It’s like this place is unaffected by everything. It’s hard not to get caught up in the mirage of safety, that’s all. Your town, Bronze Bay is the exception, not the rule. You talk about your parent’s house over the hill, and everyone rides bikes and no one gets shot at and I’m wondering what planet I’m living on.” He shakes his head. “I guess that must be the whole point. Why I’m here instead of back there.” He didn’t say, instead of home, and I wonder what that means.
He inadvertently answered my questions about the war and city life. “Are you trying to be offensive, because like I said, I don’t need your help.” I push open the door and motion for him to enter in first. He does, leaning over to drop the cans by the front door. He keeps his head up as he takes in the huge room before him.
Shaking his head, he says, “Didn’t mean to sound offensive, it’s a big change, that’s all. For me.” His gaze widens as he takes in my pride and joy. People looked at me like I was crazy when I told them I was building this apartment, in an airplane hangar, at the airport. They don’t understand me. Not one bit.
The floors are salvaged hardwood from an enormous shed and stable that was destroyed by a hurricane a few years ago. I hauled most of it in here by myself after taking months to sort through it. The walls have been painstakingly lined with brick to make it more secure and the exposed pipework curves around the ceiling like a maze. “This is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it,” he says, walking in further to look out of one of the huge back windows. It’s one of my favorite features. It has a view of the runway and I can see planes take-off and land in the distance. There’s green as far as the eye can see, and a sliver of beach off the coast side. The view holds everything I love in a snapshot. Leave it to an outsider toget it.
“I love it,” I admit. “I plan to stay here forever so I wanted it to be perfect.”
His eyebrows raise and lower in surprise. “I can’t say I blame you and that’s pretty shocking.”
I look at him sideways. He’s wearing his sweat soaked shirt. “How is it shocking?”
He shakes his head, as if he’s day dreaming. “No, I didn’t mean it’s shocking you’d want to live here forever. It’s shocking I can understand why. I’ve been everywhere, you know? All over the world and there’s never been a place I’ve wanted to be for longer than a little while. This place is really beautiful,” Tyler says. “I can’t wait to skydive over it.”
Reality crash. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
He shrugs. “We’ll build an airport somewhere else in Bronze Bay then. Figured you’d want the income, though.” He nods to the stack of bills I haven’t put down. I should have known he’d know the debt our business carries. The government knows everything these days.
My face heats under his gaze, and I’m too mad to say anything at all and that fact infuriates me even further.
“Call me Tahoe, by the way. All my friends, do.” Right now I want to call him a string of ugly swear words. He slides a pocket knife out of his shorts pocket and stoops to open a can of white paint, the view and my parent’s house all but forgotten. I have a drop cloth and everything ready to go. “You’re painting all of the brick, white?”
“I’m not your friend so I will call you Tyler, and yes. Start at the top, close to the pipes.”
He pays me no mind and just starts painting. I watch him for a solid fifteen minutes to make sure he’s doing a sufficient job and then retreat to my bathroom to change into a pair of board shorts and a tank top. I throw my hair in a messy bun and try to calm my rage. Why am I so angry?
Because Tyler is right. We do need the money, and my thought process has led me to realize I need to be nice to this man even if his presence makes me madder than a poked rattler.
“I don’t need your help with any of this. I just want to make that clear. You’ve been driving me nuts and I figure this might relieve some of the…annoyance,” I say, when I return mostly so he knows I’m back in his vicinity.
He grunts. “Everyone could use a hand. Even the people who refuse it time and time again.”
