Page 32 of Our Long Days
Dex leans casually against a wooden worktop in the middle of the room, pride painting his face. As it should.
It’s easy to picture him in here, mastering the tools and wood with finesse, carving nature into grandeur art.
“This is…this is incredible.”
His shoulders hunch as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Appreciate it.”
Shy Dex is cute.
“So, this is where the magic happens?” I stop in front of a large machine. “What’s this?”
He steps up next to me. “A grinder. It cuts, grinds, polishes, and sands a bunch of materials. This”—he taps at the center of the machine—“is an abrasive disc that runs at a high speed. You can switch it out depending on your needs: removing materials, shaping them, or creating a smooth finish.”
Listening to Dex, his passion shining bright, is enrapturing.
I slide to the next machine. “What about this?”
He folds his arms. “An automatic edge bander with a pre-milling unit.”
A low whistle blows past my lips. “Fancy.”
We go on like this, me pretending to know what he’s talking about while he describes each piece of equipment in detail. In between each machine, he drops in the tasks he’d like his personal assistant to carry out. Organizing his schedule. Making orders. Processing timesheets for his crew. General administration. We finish in front of a wall of shiny hand tools, all polished and snug in their designated spots.
“Now that’s a screwdriver if I’ve ever seen one,” I declare proudly.
“Impressive. Maybe I should hire you as my apprentice.”
My chin juts out. “I’d hate to show you up.”
“Of course.” His head shakes with amusement. “Any questions?”
Inhaling deeply, I roll my shoulders. This is a conundrum no one could’ve predicted. Dex hasn’t once pitied me; he’s just been there, quietly in the background, whether it’s a hand under the table or shoulder to lean on. It’s difficult to put into words what those moments mean to me. It would be foolish tothink those tiny gestures were anything but friendly. Try telling that to my pathetic little heart, though.
Budding feelings aside, he’s offering me the slice of freedom I’ve been yearning for, a chance to prove to my family I’m not flaky and irresponsible. If I’m going to fail, I’d rather do it with this man, the one who’s handled me so gently the past few months.
If I don’t jump now, the opportunity might pass me by.
“When can I start?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
dexter
Three days.
It’s been three torturous days since Florence started working for me, three days of reminding myself she’s Patrick’s sister. Off-limits. I’m knee-deep in the trenches, fighting for my life with every floral summer dress, dazzling smile, and whiff of coconut.
I’m thirty-fucking-five, and in all my years, I’ve never been so aware of another human being.
On her first day, she wore a baby pink dress and a pair of worn yellow Chucks.
Day two, she brought in cinnamon rolls from Quinn’s bakery. The smear of cream cheese frosting on her lip called for an extended lunch break.
Today will either make or break me.
I’m not regretting my decision, just questioning why I thought working in such close proximity would be smart. It’s not temptation, more a constant reminder of the night we had together, the one I promised I’d forget for everyone’s sake. Easier said than done, apparently.
After finalizing some details and giving myself the weekendto mentally prepare, Florence officially became my employee early Monday morning. She’s been glued to my side, shadowing me and getting a handle on her new role. Yesterday, she spent the day in my office, sorting through the mountain of paperwork and berating me for my filing system.
