Page 11 of Idle

Perhaps it’s the devil on my shoulder, or the green-eyed monster lurking behind me, but I lean forward, open my mouth, and bite into the rib he’s offering. Ripping the meat off the bone, I pull away and chew the succulent morsel. Sauce dribbling down my cheek leaves a wet trail that causes me to retrieve my napkin and wipe. Only when I glance at Jesse do I realize he’s returning his napkin to his own lap. I bet the women across the way are swooning at such a perceived intimate gesture.

Swallowing the rib meat, I admit, “That’s delish.”

He holds his appetizer in front of me again. “Want another bite?”

Yes. Shaking my head, I reply—more for my sanity than any other reason, “No. I’m good.” I spear one of my mushroom caps and hold it up. “Want to try mine?”

His perfect nose scrunches. “Not a big mushroom fan. Enjoy.”

Stop flirting.I focus on cleaning my little plate, mulling over the question of whether I want to be on this show. It fulfills my number one priority of getting out of the house. I shift in my seat.

I follow his tongue as he licks his fingers. “I can try to answer any of your questions.”

The fact he’s able to read my mind does weird things to my stomach. And not because of the new food I put into it. “Do you have any photos of your work that I can check out? A website maybe?”

He nods. “Sure do. Thanks to your soon-to-be cousin-in-law, Madison.” Grinning, he produces his phone and taps on the screen, then passes it over to me.

Not knowing what to expect, I look down at the website and my breath stutters. His work is beautiful. With a capital B. He offers inventive tables, chairs, bookcases, and even a bed. But not any old tables and chairs and bookcases and beds, no. These are works of art, with flourishes and special cuts that make them pop. I swipe through his site.

“Your work is fantastic.” The words are out of my mouth before I can censor them.

“Thanks. I’m proud of my pieces.” He chuckles. “Not bad for a banker, right?”

“Certainly not.” I can’t imagine him stuck behind a desk doing whatever he does in banking when he’s this talented.

“Okay. Your turn. Can I see some photos of the house you flipped?”

After seeing all his furniture, my singular flip seems . . . paltry. My chin juts upward. My house did sell for a profit—my only nest egg now, if the government wins its motion. “Sure thing.” I pull up the photo gallery and pass him my cell, fiddling with my silverware while he swipes through the pictures.

He returns my phone. “You did a gorgeous job. I love the backsplash you picked for the kitchen, and the creative use of space in the small powder room. I never would have thought of that.”

I sit taller. The powder room was my crowning achievement. Wanting to elevate his work, I reply, “It’s nothing like creating bookshelves from pieces of wood.”

“Each complements the other. Can you imagine a bookcase without anything on it? No, carpentry and interior design truly do go together.”

His goal is to find a partner to win this television show, while I’m only looking to relocate. Goal? I’ve never had a need for one. “I don't know about this, Jesse. I’m not sure we’d make a good team.”

His head tilts to the side. “What do you mean? I think our skills would work well together.”

How can I explain this? Instead of answering him, I ask my own question. “How long have you been doing carpentry? Not as a business, but as a hobby.”

“I got hooked during a class in high school. My professional life has been spent in banking, though.” His arm reaches forward, and his palm lands, upright, on the table. “I think we would make a good team.”

I stare at his open hand, knowing he wants me to take it. Giggles from across the way confirm that any one of them would be delighted to be in my position.He’s your ticket away from your parents.Six weeks out of the house and possibly assist my brother’s friend realize his dream.

Screwing my eyes shut, I allow my hand to fall on top of his. His warm palm tightens around mine, giving me a sense of security and belonging I’ve never felt. Shocked at the depth of the touch, I pull away and grab my napkin.

His eyes widen. Without saying another word, he takes his own napkin and wipes his hands.

Let the games begin.

5

Jesse

Dimitri stops by my cubicle. “Hey, do you have a moment to talk?”

Coming from my boss, this is a rhetorical question. “Of course.”

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