This whole setup is so out of my wheelhouse. I don’t even know what to ask about what. Luckily, Mateo’s in his element and starts explaining what everything is.
“Over here is where I have my table saw, then I have some of the small saws like a jigsaw over here for the decorative work.” Mateo points around at the different items, dusting off handles and tools here and there as he names them for me.
I eye the saws with their sharp blades. I have now identified the source of the loud noises this weekend. When Mateo said woodworking, I had thought he meant like whittling sticks or something.
I didn’t think he’d outfit my garage with all these shiny tools.
Mateo is talking, and everything he says goes over my head. What I have been processing is just how happy he is in this moment. He’s smiling—a genuine smile, not the fake one I’ve seen a few times before. I remember watching him at Alex and Reina’s reception as he talked to the townspeople. His smile did not look like this one. With this smile on his face, and the sawdust all over him, he looks really attractive—for a farm boy.
Mateo turns, catching me watching him. “What do you think?”
I look around at everything, trying to remember the names of the saws, but it’s all just a blank in my mind. I shrug my shoulders. “About what?”
His lips quirk, his cheek dimpling beneath his beard. “What do you think about the setup? Is it okay?”
My cheeks heat. Yup, he now knows I wasn’t paying attention, or looking at his woodworking tools.
“It looks great! How are you going to keep the dust from getting all over the cars though?”
Am I actually worried about the cars? No, but I feel like it’s a good deflection.
Mateo walks over to his pickup truck where I see a tarp hanging fromthe ceiling. “I’ve got this tarp here that rolls over so it cuts this area off from the rest of the garage.” I look up and notice he’s got a small white pipe running across the garage ceiling. The tarp is hooked to what looks like shower rings. He pulls it over, so it closes off half of the area, leaving the walkway back to the house still open. Other than some of the space at the top, he’s essentially blocked off half the garage from getting covered in dust.
Huh, that’s actually really ingenious.
“Plus,”—he shrugs—“it’s not that hard to wash a car.”
“You mean take it to a car wash?”
“Fancy car washes ain't got nothing on me.” He brushes his nails against his shirt before blowing the pretend—but in his case, actual dust—off his fingers.
I look from him to his pickup and back. “You wash your truck by hand?”
He shrugs. “Of course. Just gotta get a hose out and spray it down, suds it up, and rinse. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”
My eyebrows take up residence in my hairline. “Yep. Never done that before. I just go to the car wash a few blocks down the hill.”
Mateo watches me for a second. “I’ll clean it the next time you want it washed.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’ll give me something else to do around here. Why not?”
What else does Mateo need to do? I already have a house cleaner who comes twice a week, and I try to keep up with the daily maintenance things like dishes and sweeping. Do I need to have more jobs for him? I thought he’d be fine doing this hobby job.
I nod as my chest starts to tighten, and I suck in air, reminding myself to breathe. I don’t want to play hostess and entertain Mateo while we’re married.
Wait, he just told me something he can do. I look over at my car. I can’t remember the last time I washed it, but it does need a good cleaning beforeI take it to the next gala.
When is the next gala?
I pull out my phone and check the calendar.
Tomorrow.
The summer of galas starts tomorrow.
My eyes lift from my phone screen as full-on panic sets in. I’ve got to get both of us ready for the masses bytomorrow.Mateo is standing in front of me, a thin layer of wood dust coating his skin and clothes. The idea of him showing up at one of the galas looking like this almost makes me laugh.
