Page 19 of Don't Bite the Boy Next Door
6
I perch on the edge of the small rock lip of the well and admire my handiwork.
The house looks amazing, even if I do say so myself. It’s back to its original colours, bright white with egg-shell blue windowpanes and veranda posts. Where the shutters remain, they too received a pale blue coating – but many of them have yet to be replaced. Still, the house looks as though it is no longer abandoned, it looks almost loved.
If I’m honest, I also wanted to do something special for its owner, take a little load off his back, bring a smile to his lips.
‘Maybe make him feel loved.’
I snap my teeth shut tightly as this thought rises unbidden, and watch as, hands on hips, he slowly turns from his study of the building and swivels back to me.
His shirt at the front is crumpled, and at the back it’s damp against his lower spine where he’d sweated this evening, driving in his non-airconditioned old truck.
I’m far enough away that I can’t smell him, thank God. But images of him sweating in all sorts of scenarios skip and dance around the corners of my mind, try as I might to stop them. Even tired, crumpled, his hair windswept from where he had left his window down while driving, even now, he is beautiful – and oh so very desirable in every way.
“When you said you wanted to paint the house, I thought you meant a landscape or something, not actuallypaintthe house,” he shakes his head, meeting my eyes.
I wonder how he can do that, stare into my eyes. Most humans find vampire eyes slightly disconcerting, frightening. At some base level, they acknowledge a threat and almost inevitably avoid our direct gaze. But not this man.
“I know,” I shrug. “But ever since I moved here, I’ve walked past this house on my nightly walks. Not recently of course,” I lie hastily, “and I’ve wanted to paint it, give it at least a little facelift to brighten up its day.”
He stares at me for a long minute.
“You are a strange woman,” he says finally.
‘Oh, you have no idea.’
“I know,” I shrug. “But do you like it? I can change the colour if…”
“It’s perfect,” he shakes his head smiling ruefully, “I wouldn’t change a thing. And the house is great too.”
I laugh and breathe a virtual sigh of relief.
“But I will pay you for the work,” he adds.
“No,” I smile, shaking my head. “I really enjoyed it – and these,” I gesture to the bunch of flowers he had given me as he alighted from his truck, “are thanks enough, and beautiful.”
“But the contractors…” he frowns.
“No contractors,” I giggle, “Idid this.”
“Hang on, you mean youphysicallydid this, all this? In the fortnight I was gone?”
“I have almost finished my house, apart from the attic conversion,” I smile. “I’ve had plenty of practice. Plus,” I shrug, “I get bored.”
“But?” he looks flabbergasted, “this would take a whole team a fortnight at least. It must have three coats, easily three coats,” he shakes his head. “To do it in such a short time, by yourself…”
“Like I say,” I smile as I hop off the well lip and prepare to head home, “I’ve had practice. Anyway, I’ll let you get settled, Toto has pined for you and will be glad to be home, although Orson and I will miss her terribly.”
As I say this, I look down at the dog sitting faithfully at his feet.
‘And who could blame her?’
“Thank you, for this,” he waves his hand at the house, “and for looking after her.” He bends down to stroke the scruffy little head of his companion.
“Anytime,” I smile, “and thank you for the flowers, again.”
“I should have left some for you a long time ago,” he smiles, “so I thought I’d make up for it now.”
