Page 68 of Finding Home
Little does he know, I notice a lot about the man in the driver’s seat.
He isn’t who I thought he was.
I regret silently wishing to myself that someone would put marbles in his gas tank. I know it does nothing, but he would have had to spend thousands of dollars trying to fix the problem.
I never said that aloud to anyone, but I definitely wished it after he scolded me for Reginald pissing on his rosebush.
And now here we are, both me and the dog that I thought couldn't stand, sitting inhistruck.
I finally stop staring at him and bring my gaze back to the view outside. But my heart rate refuses to settle, and neither dothe butterflies in my stomach that warn me I could fall for this man.
The trip to General Store was filled with a strange, awkward energy. Almost everyone we saw greeted Griffin. I couldn’t shake the feeling that all eyes were on me during our brief trip. The fear of being judged by the townspeople, of them thinking I’m just a city girl trying to lasso a cowboy, sent my nerves into overdrive. I was thankful Reginald was with me because something about the presence of him keeps me calm.
These are irrational thoughts, but something I can’t help but wonder.
I settle on a dark gray stain that I feel would perfectly contrast the shade of blue on the outside of the house. To my surprise, Griffin agreed with me. But now that we’re back at the house, and prepping what we need to start the project, he’s back to being the quiet man I knew before.
“You’re going to want to test a small area first,” Griffin finally says after getting everything set up for me. “And then you start with the railings and vertical surfaces before doing the base of the deck.”
“Me?”
He nods.
I stare at him for a few heartbeats and realize he’s lettingmetake control of this. He wantsmeto do it.
Because he knows.
He knows, even from our brief interaction, how much doing this project means to me even if it is absolutely insane.
I look away from him, down to where he has the can of stain open with the supplies next to it. I feel overwhelmed and extremely out of place. A part of me even feels stupid because Iknow I’m way over my head thinking I could have done this on my own.
“Can you…show me?” I ask hesitantly.
“Yes,” he says, moving quickly to where everything is set out on the grass for me. “First, you need to put these on.” He hands me a pair of gloves and I put them on the same time he puts his on. “This is a bristle brush,” he tells me, lifting a wide-looking brush in my direction.
I crouch down next to him and take it from his hands, our fingertips brushing when I do, and I suck in a quiet breath, hoping he didn’t notice how the small touch affected me.
I swallow, holding it up and dipping it into the can without further instruction.
“See. You got it,” he praises. “Make sure you brush it along the side of the can so you don’t have too much stain on the brush.”
I nod, brushing it against the can before bringing it to the railing of the deck closest to the house for the test spot.
“Like this?” I ask him, moving the brush in languid strokes against the wood.
“Go with the grain,” he says.
I look up at him before looking back down where I have the brush against the wood. “I don’t know what that means,” I admit.
Griffin takes a few steps toward me until his body crowds every part of mine. I lift the brush to hand it to him, but he shakes his head.
“I’m going to teach you,” he says, his voice deep and gravelly, forcing my insides to do a full somersault.
His body is so close to being pressed against my back that if one gust of wind blew into me, it would push me against him. His large palm moves to cover my hand wrapped around the brush handle and his other cages me in, resting against the railing.
“See these small lines in the wood, the ones that travelthrough it?” he asks, and I nod in response. “That’s the grain of the wood. You want to stain in the same direction as those lines.”
“Okay,” I breathe out, unable to even control what’s happening in my head right now, let alone say more words than that.
