Page 28 of Organized Chaos

She took the hand he held out and let him pull her to standing. Right now, she’d agree to almost anything.

CHAPTER TEN

When she agreed to another adventure, she’d not been sure what to expect. But she’d certainly never entertained this idea. A week had passed since their adventure on the lake, and she’d talked to Phillip almost every day. Mostly, they sent each other texts or funny memes, but every now and then, he stepped out of his house and they chatted as she was heading home for the day. It was during one of those conversations that he’d brought up today’s adventure and she’d agreed.

Hands on hips, she faced Phillip. “What have you talked me into?”

He grinned and rubbed his hands together, looking more gleeful than a kid on Christmas morning. “You’re going to love this. Trust me.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure you’re completely wrong.” She took another look at her beautiful mess of a garage. “There’s nothing wrong with my space.”

“Are you kidding?” Phillip pointed behind her. “You have a drill next to a can of spray paint. Your drill bits are on the floor behind a wall of wood scraps. It probably takes you five minutesto find anything, which means by the time you get everything you need together, you’ve spent an hour not working.”

Okay, so he had a little bit of a point there. “What good will organizing do? I know where stuff is. Sure, it’s annoying to get it, but I know it’s there.” She wasn’t ready to admit defeat yet.

He lifted one eyebrow in that way he had of making her bones go soft. “Try my way.” His grin returned. “I lived a day in your life. Falling into the lake. Getting stuck in a tree. Let’s see how you like my side of things.”

She scrunched her nose but stopped arguing. He was too cute when he was trying so hard. The challenge was too good to resist. What would it be like to live a day in the life of perfectly planned Phillip? “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” She added a hitch to her walk and dragged her feet on her way to her truck.

Phillip’s quiet chuckle followed her. He lowered the tailgate and started pulling colored totes from the back. “You act like this is some kind of torture.”

“Maybe it is.” She hefted a stack of blue totes and carried them back toward the garage. “Instead of death by a thousand cuts, this is death by organization.”

“Could be worse.” He bumped her elbow with his. “I didn’t bring the label maker.”

“Only because I put my foot down on going that far.” Sarah huffed and dropped the totes into an empty corner before returning for another stack. “You already got your color-coordinated totes. That’s plenty.”

“Ah, but you’re missing the full experience.” Phillip’s eyes shone with what could only be a mixture of delight and anticipation. “There’s nothing like walking into a space and being able to see at a glance where your things are.”

She grumbled under her breath, too low for Phillip to hear. The truth was, she didn’t care if he organized her garage. It was the challenge of it all that she couldn’t’ resist…and spendingmore time with Phillip. Which was another thing she was avoiding thinking about or discussing. She tipped her lips up in a playful smile. “Show me your ways, O Wise One.”

Phillip snorted out a laugh and began pulling all the blue totes into a line. “We’ll put all your power tools in the blue totes.” He waved toward her shelf wall. “All the paint should be on the bottom shelves. That way there’s no worry about the cans dripping paint on anything else.”

She slapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh no. The tragedy. What ever would I do if I dripped paint on my perfectly organized totes.” She held her hands out wide. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m messy. I can promise you that no matter how well you organize this space, I’m going to get paint everywhere.”

Phillip glanced down at his worn jeans and t-shirt, then gave her a once over. She’d chosen another pair of overalls today, a soft, tan-colored pair, and a pink t-shirt that had white paint stains in a starburst pattern thanks to an exploding can of paint. His gaze dropped to her bare feet and concern crimped his brows. “Where are your shoes?”

“Over there. You can leave yours with mine if you want.”

He shook his head. “You shouldn’t be out here barefoot.”

What was it about his concern that was equally endearing and frustrating? “I’m capable of moving around out here barefoot. I do it all the time.”

“What about nails? We’ll be moving some heavy equipment. You could break a bone if you drop a saw or drill on your foot.” He was too conscientious. It was sweet. And annoying.

He had a point, though. Just last week, she’d almost crushed her toe when she slammed it into the corner of a hutch she was reworking. His parents’ hutch, actually. During the days when she wasn’t with Phillip, she’d gone back and forth from the oldhouse to her garage until she finally had all the old pieces here where she could work with them.

They were coming along nicely, and she couldn’t wait to show his parents what she’d done with the old furniture. Roger and Rosie had been wonderful this past week.

Sarah backed away a single step and wiggled her bare toes on the concrete. “I’ll start organizing paint cans. You do,” she wiggled her fingers at the totes, “whatever all this is.”

His smile turned impossibly bright.

She’d never seen anyone enjoy putting things into order the way Phillip did. He thrived on control. She thrived on going with the flow. How was this ever going to work out? Not that they had a relationship or anything. She shot a look at him over her shoulder. She wouldn’t be opposed.

They had the same values as Christians. Phillip was smart and funny. She just didn’t know if they could overcome their differences. They’d drive each other mad with Phillip trying to label everything in their life and her moving things just to annoy him. And because she thrived on changing things up. Her living room never stayed the same for more than six months before she rearranged. Phillip probably never moved his coffee maker, much less rearranged his entire living room.

She focused on the paint cans scattered around the garage and tried to forget that Phillip existed. Hard to do when he hummed under his breath and made enough racket to send the birds squawking from their perch in the oak tree beside her truck. The sight of the birds flying off reminded her of their day at the lake, and warmth bloomed in her chest.

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