Page 13 of When We Were More
“Yes, I can.” He folds his arms across his chest.
I roll my eyes at him. I need to get to work, so I don’t have time to continue this. I let it go.
When I step back and glance around the room, memories of Gram flood me. We spent a lot of time in here. It’s where she taught me how to cook, we played ‘Go Fish’ at the kitchen table, made homemade lemonade on hot summer days…
My eyes are suddenly moist, and I’m instantly overwhelmed. I need to leave. When I risk a peek at Henry, he wears an expression of concern on his face. Great, my cocky contractor knows I’m about to cry.
“It’s fine. Go ahead and do the sample.” My voice cracks a little. “I have to get to work. Um, see you all later, I guess.” I don’t wait for them to respond and take off. Not even a minute later, I’m packing my bag in the front foyer when Henry walks in.
“Hey.” Henry sounds remorseful, and I’m not sure why. I swear if he apologizes for our brief physical contact, I’m going to die on the spot. Or kill him. I’m not sure which yet.
I stop packing and swallow past the lump in my throat. Then I force a polite smile to my face and glance over at him. “Is everything okay?”
He takes a step toward me, and something in my lower belly flutters. Damn it.
“Yes, everything’s going fine. I want to check that you’re sure about the trim. I didn’t intend to upset you, and I don’t want to pressure you. That wasn’t my goal. It’s just that I love these old farmhouses and get excited about what could be. But you’re the client, and I’ll do whatever you want. I didn’t mean to make you cry and?—”
“You didn’t make me cry.” My words fly out. That old familiar need not to let anyone see me as anything less than a woman in complete control of herself and not needing anyone’s help, rears its head. Oh my God, this is not happening. I sigh. “It’s not about the trim. I was recalling some memories in the kitchen. My…”
I realize right then that I’ve not said the words out loud to anyone since Gram died, except to those who already knew and Shannon. I take a deep breath.
“My grandmother died a few months ago, and it’s still hard sometimes. We were very close.” My voice is hushed on the last few words, and he may not have even heard me.
His left hand moves toward me like he’s going to touch me, and I take a step back at the same time he stops moving it. He clears his throat and steps to the side, freeing up my path to the door.
“I’m very sorry to hear that. I, um, I’ll get back to work.” I nod at him and reach for the door handle, pulling it open. Before I fully step through it, he says, “Matilda?” I stop, staring out at the yard. No one has called me Matilda since Gram passed. I always hated my name, except when she said it. And now, whenhesays it, something about the way it rolls off his tongue sounds like temptation.
I look over my shoulder at him. “Yes?” His eyes pierce mine.
“I can promise the trim and cabinets won’t get damaged because I’m going to do it myself. Okay?” There’s no arrogance this time, only a calm confidence that sets me at ease. All I can do is nod, then step through the rest of the doorway, dragging the door closed behind me.
I get in my car and glance at the clock. I’m going to be five minutes late. Ugh.
It only takes a moment, cruising down these back dirt roads to town, and my mind is on Henry again. Henry the hot, mildly arrogant carpenter, who doesn’t have a wife. The man irritatesme a bit, but something in me enjoys him being here. I don’t like that at all, not after everything with Joe. It’s not worth the risk. It’s been five years, and I still can’t consider putting myself back out there. At this rate, I’m not sure I ever will. Though it seems that if Sally and Ruthie have any say in it—andtheybelieve they do—I’d be out actively looking for love.
CHAPTER 8
Henry
“Daddy?” I glance in the rearview mirror at Layla, buckled safely in the back seat with her sleeping sister next to her.
“Yes?”
“Do boys pee different than girls? Leah at school said her daddy and brother pee standing up.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. I thought I had more time before I had to explain this.
“Um… Yes. Sort of. You remember how we talked about how everyone has private parts?”
“Uh huh. And no one who isn’t allowed can see or touch mine. Only to help me wipe, or for a bath, or if my privates are sick. The doctor can check them, too. It’s my body.”
Phew, I’m happy at least that lesson stuck.
“Okay, so we all pee from a place in our private area. Boys usually stand up to pee.”
She’s quiet for a second, and when I glance in the mirror, her head is tilted with one brow lifted. Uh oh.
“Sometimes when I sit on the toilet seat, it makes my butt cold. I’m gonna try standing up.”
