Page 12 of When We Were More
“No, I swear it. Though I really wanted to. I almost gave in a few times, but I promised you two, and a promise is a promise.” I pad around my gorgeous kitchen floors, taking in all the beautiful swirling patterns on the wood pieces. I can’t stop grinning. “Thank you for your hard work on this. I love it.”
Though I tell myself I don’t want to, my eyes stray over to where Henry is leaning against one of the wall studs. He’s been here a lot as well. I’m not sure why, but he’s always popping up. I can’t say I hate it. Though I wish I did. Right now, the way he’s looking at me when I first catch his gaze causes my lower belly todo a weird flip-flop. I don’t know if I’m more confused about that or the way his heated stare still hasn’t let up.
“Guys, why don’t you take a break while I show Tillie something?” he asks. “It’ll only take a couple minutes.”
Henry waves me over to where he’s standing. He looks me up and down, slower than he needs to, and strokes his bearded chin with his thumb and index finger. I want to make some wise ass comment about smoke coming from his ears since he’s thinking, but I hold back.
“Are you going to be able to kneel in that dress, by chance?”
“Of course. You’d be amazed by all the ways I’ve had to adapt to heels and dresses. I can get on my knees, no problem.” His mouth drops open, and his pupils dilate. Shit. Did I really say it like that?
He clears his throat and walks over to the pile of trim pieces that have been neatly stacked on the tile by the back door, and I follow. I wonder what he’s seeing, and I’m worried he’s going to tell me there’s rot in the wood or black mold. He kneels, and I do the same.
“As you know, this trim is original to the house. It’s also a bit unique in that it’s wider than was common at the time. The cabinets appear to have been here from the start, too. Obviously, someone painted them, and some of them have several coats, like here, where it’s a little thicker.” He points to a section of the trim that is quite nicked up and has some dried paint drips.
“You want to keep these, and I agree the rounded edge here looks nice, but are you determined to keep them painted? The cabinets, too? I’m sure that this is mahogany under here. Mahogany is gorgeous, and I’d like you to consider having the paint stripped off these and letting us refinish them to a natural state.”
My lower lip tucks in—a nervous habit I hate. I force myself to stop doing it and stare at the trim. I smile at the memories of Gram telling me the story of how these got painted white.
“These were originally paint-free,” I say.
“Yeah? How did they look?”
I laugh a little. “I don’t know. But I’ve heard that they were natural at one point. My grandmother told me the story a few times about how this trim and the cabinets were the cause of the only time she remembers her parents fighting when she was a little girl.” I glance over at him, and his full attention is on me. He looks interested. “My great-grandpa was going on a weekend-long fishing trip that my great-grandmother didn’t want him to go on. Some of her friends had recently updated their kitchens and painted them white, and she wanted hers to be the same. My great-grandpa did not. So, while he was away that weekend, fueled by her anger at him for leaving, my great-grandmother painted everything white. Trim, cabinets, anything she could.”
Henry gasps, and I glance over at him. He has a hand over his chest and a frown on his face. “Ouch, that hurts. I bet he was upset.”
“He was. Gram said he came in from his trip through the back door and stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he saw what her mom had done. He set down his things, hugged and kissed Gram hello, and left again. He went to his shop out back. I guess he didn’t come back until the next morning. Slept on a dirty old couch he had out there until he was calm enough to face my great-grandmother.”
“Wow. I gotta say that’s some self-control. I probably would have cried if I had crafted these and came home to find out my wife had painted them. That makes my carpenter’s heart ache.” His eyes widen like saucers for a second. “Not that I’m married. I’m not… married, I mean.”
He’s not married. My heart rate speeds up for a few seconds. I force myself to stop focusing on that piece of information. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I clear my throat.
“What will they look like if they’re refinished? Do you have a picture? I don’t want to lose the connection to my family.” This house is the only place I’ve ever been at home, safe to be myself. It’s the only place I ever felt loved. At my parents’ house, there wasn’t enough love to go around.
“I can show you a picture online, but it’s not going to be nearly as gorgeous as these trim pieces could be. Also, I don’t believe doing this would detract from the history of the room. It would likely appear more authentic to what it did when your great-grandparents built it. In a way, it’s evenhonoringthem by doing it. Especially your great-grandfather.”
I run my hand along the smooth white wood until I come to a couple of nicks, sensing the roughness of them against my fingers. The trim and cabinets have always been white since I first came here as a little girl. I do wonder what they might be like restored to their natural state.
Henry stands and offers me a hand. I contemplate declining it, but then realize it’s either take his help to stand or risk flashing him in this skirt. I accept the help. The minute his large, work-roughened hand wraps around my smaller one, I feel something I’ve never felt before. Not even with Joe. It’s not a jolt or a spark, like in books or movies. It’s just… right. Whatever it is, I like it. A lot. That scares the shit out of me. So much so that, as he’s helping me rise, I prematurely try to pull my hand from his before I’m fully upright—something I don’t recommend in heels this high. I realize my error as I start to fall backward.
Wonderful, I’m going to flash him, anyway.
Fortunately for me, Henry hadn’t fully let go of my hand, and between that and the other arm he now has around my waist, he manages to keep me from falling. I do, however, stumble rightinto his chest. My free hand, fisted, lands right over his heart. Instead of steadying me and stepping back, he pulls me closer. Maybe I imagined it. Probably did. That’s what I’m going with until the hand that’s holding mine lets go and moves to my waist. He’s breathing faster than usual. I’m sure of it because now I’ve got both of my hands on the hard wall of muscle hidden by his clothes. But not in fists. Nope. They’re wide open and pressed palm down against him.
I tilt my head back to peer up at his face, and I’m shocked by what I see. There’s no mistaking that the searing intensity in his eyes is desire. Desire and lust. Directed at me. Before I can get my bearings to examine what this means, Jay’s deep laugh fills the air at the same time I hear the spot on the back porch steps creak. It’s done that for years and is a tell-tale sign that we aren’t alone any longer. We both pull back as if caught doing something wrong.
I take a few steps away and stare at the pieces of trim on the floor while Tommy and Jay step inside and get back to work in the kitchen. I sense Henry as he comes and stands next to me, though I’m not brave enough to glance over at him.
Henry must sense my ongoing hesitation about the trim, because he says, “How about this? What if we only do one piece to start? We’ll get it refinished to show you what it would look like, and then you can decide.”
“It won’t get damaged in the process?” The uncertainty in my voice is obvious.
“No. It won’t. I promise.” He sounds too sure, almost cocky. My head slants, and I narrow my eyes at him. All the heat from a few moments ago dissolved.
“You can’t make that promise. You can say it’s unlikely, but you can’t promise something like that.”
Jay and Tommy are standing a few feet away, preparing to hang some drywall, and one of them sniggers. Apparently, our back-and-forth is amusing.
