Page 33 of Delay of Game
Rob wore a respirator, a pair of gym shorts, and nothing else. A film of white concrete coated his torso, and the haze it left in the air pricked my eyes so I couldn’t even get a good look. Probably for the best.
He held a sledgehammer over his shoulder, swinging it down onto the concrete steps by the sidewalk and sending chunks of cement everywhere.
I leapt back, avoiding the spray of rock. “Rob!”
He lifted the sledgehammer again. I waved a hand in his eyeline, but not so close as to risk my fingers.
He paused this time, dropping the hammer and knocking an ear bud out. “Hey. There’s a lot of dust. You probably shouldn’t be this close without a respirator.”
“What are you doing?” I said, ignoring his comment but tightening my grip on the scarf.
“I’m fixing the stairs.” He wiped off a bead of sweat with the back of his hand, smearing the fine powder onto his forehead. His lips tipped into the barest hint of a smile, warming me more than the summer heat.
“Okay, but why?” The interior of the house was a mess. Even with the bathroom fan fixed and the wiring in the bathroom no longer permeating a burning smell every time I turned the fan on, my extensive notes began and ended inside the house.
“These were a death trap. Your mail carrier is going to break a hip climbing up and down these in the winter.”
I couldn’t argue with that. I avoided the steps as much as possible and sort of assumed the mail carrier and delivery drivers did as well.
“Besides, I have this sledgehammer and haven’t used it yet.”
I dropped the scarf. “So, you picked a project based on the tool you wanted to use?”
He shrugged, the hint of a smile blooming into a full-blown one. “Maybe. And I had a bunch of concrete left over after putting up some posts around the house. It’ll just rock up if I don’t use it soon.”
I nodded, awe-struck by the way the smile transformed his face into someone entirely approachable. I’d seen glimpses of that smile when he was with Mila or talking to his mom, but it had never been directed at me. Or maybe it was directed at the sledgehammer…
No, me. Definitely me.
“I actually came over to fix the leak in the kitchen and maybe check out the rest of the plumbing, but I don’t have a key. So, I tackled the stairs instead.”
“Right. You should totally have a key.” I rifled through my purse. I found Aunt Mercy’s key tucked in an interior pocket and held it out. The smile on his face had faded, but a residual softness remained as his fingertips brushed mine as he took the key.
“Thanks.” He stuffed it into his pocket and picked up the sledgehammer expectantly.
“What can I help you with?” I asked, not quite ready to walk away from him.
He shook his head. “Nothing. This is dusty as hell, and I’ve only got one sledgehammer.”
“I doubt I’d be very good with a sledgehammer, anyway,” I admitted. Pushing back a soft stab of disappointment, I retreated into the house to the steady sound of the hammer hitting cement.
TWELVE
ROB
The concrete formsfit perfectly into the pitted hill. I shook the wood frame, checking for wobbles and ensuring the rebar frame didn’t touch wood.
“You should call it a night,” Astrid said, approaching me with a large tumbler of lemonade in her hand, the glass coated in condensation. She’d swapped a dress she’d worn home from school for a faded sweatshirt that hung off her shoulder and a pair of distractingly tiny pink athletic shorts.
“Thanks.” I took the drink, emptying it in three gulps and avoiding letting my eyes wander down to her legs. “I wanted to finish tonight, though.”
She tilted her head, a bemused smile on her face. “It’s a school night.”
“That sentence hasn’t meant shit to me in years,” I confessed. “Hell, it barely meant anything to me when I was in school.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, it should mean something to you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Mila’s first day of kindergarten.
