Page 34 of My Wife
We bump into each other and my left hand grazes hers.
A whoosh rushes through me that I promptly dismiss … or try to, but it sizzles there, on my skin, like an ice burn.
“I said I can do this.”
“Okay, well, do you have any appointments you need to be made, um, errands run, emails answered? I can manage your schedule, set up meetings, answer calls, and of course any other household tasks. Do you have a dog to walk? Do you need an oil change? I do. Not me, I mean my car.”
I scowl as I shoveThe Art of Warback on the shelf. I reread it every year. As captain, I should get each of the guys on the team a copy and require them to write an essay.
“The stoics. I wouldn’t have expected anything less. No self-help guidebooks. Ooh, The Bible. That’s my favorite one. Best read ever. Ten out of ten recommend.”
“Do you ever stop talking?” I mutter.
She makes a gesture at the kid who is now eating the cookie. I pray we don’t pay for that later with him barfing. The floor was clean until he came along.
The kid smiles slightly in response.
I ask, “What did you do?”
She winks at me.
That little motion of her brown eye lifts her dimple and sends another whoosh through me. I push the couch across the room so the kid can’t use it to climb again.
“Rearranging things? Sparse décor. I can help decorate.”
“I don’t have much.” I prefer to keep things minimal because stuff requires attention, cleaning, and maintenance. Just like people. Can’t let anything distract me from hockey.
“We have that in common,” she says under her breath.
“Recently moved in. Haven’t unpacked,” I say.
“I can help.” Man, is she persistent.
“I said I don’t want your help.”
She taps the air with her finger. “Technically, you said you don’twanthelp. Not my help specifically. Since we don’t know each other yet, you don’t know how very helpful I can be. I’m the most helpful helper that has ever helped.”
“So you’re aprofessionalpersonal assistant?”
Pink dusts her round cheeks. “Um, no. Not exactly. But I did help run a six-figure home business, before taxes.”
“I don’t want to know what that means. You can leave now. Don’t come back.” The words are harsh but final.
She nods slowly and starts toward the door. The kid hurries after her, nearly tripping over his own feet.
My gaze follows her and despite the sway to her stride and unfailing smile, onboarding another person into my life is too much at the moment. Simple is better and leaves less room for mistakes to be made.
Pausing with her hand on the doorknob, she says, “If you change your mind, please let Cara know. I’m really good at cleaning, organizing, and a variety of other things, including but not limited to making sure your socks match.”
The woman exits. She’s one big bomb of happiness that I just can’t handle.
Her gaze drops to my ankles.
The space between my eyebrows pinches and I look down. Sure enough, one of my socks has stripes and the other is solid.
11
JESS
