“Oh yeah.” He does an exaggerated nod. “That place. Great bar.”
“They don’t serve food. I guess that’s why I was drunk and hungry.”
“At least we took care of the hunger part. Unless you want more.”
I shake my head, and my stupid brain twists his words into all sorts of inappropriate innuendo. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m feeling the sting of rejection or because part of my mind is still focusing on Nick and his hands. How careful and precise heis.
How Hal stated, “That guy wants to sleep with you” in this matter-of-fact way. Like it was so obvious.
“I’m usually not this chaotic,” I say, even though I feel incredibly chaotic lately. “I think I’ve made a really strange impression on you.”
“I’d like to claim I’m not usually this boring, but you’ve been exposed to most of the major facets of my life. Taking Kira to the pool, sitting on the couch with a bottle of wine, and reinstalling bolts.”
“It’s not boring watching you fix things. You’re like a surgeon.”
“Maybe it’s fascinating to a drunk person.” He repositions himself on the floor, returning his attention to a stubborn bolt on the dishwasher.
“I’m not drunk.” Indeed, the buzz is starting to wear off. I suspect the heady sensation is coming from something other than cheap gin.
He gives the bolt one more twist, grunting with the effort, and grabs his screwdriver.
“When something’s broken, it’s easier to just figure out how to fix it myself. These repair guys come in and it turns out thatI know the equipment better than they do. I don’t really mind doing stuff like this. It’s better than filling in corporate paperwork, which is most of my day.”
“You’re too easy.”
He glances up at me. “What?”
“You said that being on the road made you easy. Maybe youshouldmind sometimes.”
“Oh,” he says, chuckling. “I thought you meant easy in a different way.” He starts to reattach the front plate before abruptly setting down the screwdriver and turning around to face me. “I like your glasses,” he says, out of nowhere. “They look pretty on you.”
He has the same non sequitur tendencies as his daughter.
“Thanks,” I say, the unexpected compliment nearly derailing my train of thought. I watch him pick up the screwdriver and continue working. “What I meant was, you take on a lot of stuff. Don’t you ever need a hand with, like…anything?”
He gives the screw a last twist and looks up at me. “I’m good with my hands, remember?”
I try (again) not to stare at the hands in question and we end up making eye contact.
He stands up and takes one step toward me, and we experience the most lingering pause that ever lingered. He takes off the gloves and my weakness for good hands seizes control of my nervous system.
“Okay,” he says finally. “I’ll be upfront here because I’m not exactly sure how to read you.”
“I’m inscrutable,” I babble. My heart is racing. “I cannot be scruted—”
“I like you.”
I let that statement sit for a second; I’m waiting for the other clause. The part that’s going to nullify the liking.
He just looks atme.
“What’s thebut?” I finally ask. “The rest of that sentence. The thing you’re not saying. The caveat.”
“There is nobut.I like you.” He pauses. “I’m attracted to you.”
My heart hammers away all the lingering effects of alcohol. Everything’s in sharp focus now. Too sharp. Too direct. There’s no gray area, nothing open to interpretation.
“I still feel like there’s abutcoming,” I say.
