“Wow.” His eyes scan ahead, straight to the back wall next to the patio door where I’ve hung my favorite of Marissa’s paintings. She specialized in acrylics and loved anything to do with the outdoors. Her best paintings were ones of wildflowers, and I remember the day she painted this one. She spent hoursstanding over the canvas, turning exaggerated smudges and sweeping lines into the most realistic summer field I had ever seen. She tucked her paintbrush into the back pocket of her overalls, and stood back with a starry look in her eyes admiring her work. She slung her arm over my shoulder and sighed,couldn’t you just live there forever?
Jim walks forward until he’s standing in front of the picture, reaches a hand up, ready to touch the golden center of a daisy when his hand snaps back to his chest. “Damn,” he laughs awkwardly, “it looks so real I want to touch it.”
I stand shoulder to shoulder with him, nodding in agreement. “Marissa was so talented. Is. Is so talented,” I correct myself. “She could paint anything and make it look easy, but flowers were her forte. She used to always say that her idea of heaven wasn’t white clouds and golden streets, it was a meadow on a sunny day.”
He nods in agreement before turning towards me, taking in my tight jeans first, before his gaze wanders to my neckline and the bare skin peeking out from my tee. My chest heats under his stare, so I turn my back to him, moving into the kitchen and changing the subject. “I’m happy with it, the house, I mean. When we moved in, it had the fancy crown molding and floors, just needed lots of sanding and fresh paint.” I point to the wall of windows. “There was a bay window there, but I wanted all the sunlight I could get so I made the entire wall windows. I’m happy, except for the kitchen. I haven’t done anything with it since we moved in because I plan to gut and renovate the entire thing.” Once I have time and money. Which will likely be when Jackson is eighteen.
He follows me around the skinny, rectangular island. “What don’t you like about it?”
“Well, for one,” I say, spreading my arms wide, gesturing to the old plaster walls with bits of leftover floral wallpaper leftbehind, “The kitchen was probably original to the house. I did my best to rip off the god-awful wallpaper and patch the weak areas, but I figured no sense in putting money into temporary fixes when I have a whole vision for it.” I gesture for him to follow me further into the kitchen, and he walks behind, single file through the small space between the island and the counter because that’s as much space as we have.
I pause, reaching to open the oven door as far as it can go—which is only half as far as it should be able to open since it hits the cabinets on the island. “I’d like to be able to put a dish in the oven without burning my wrists.” You have to stand next to the door and hope your biceps and abs can hold up the weight of the casserole dish you’re pushing in while simultaneously holding the door open so it doesn’t slam shut with your wrists stuck inside.
He chuckles, coming along to open and close the oven door as if he doesn’t believe what I’m showing him. “That’s great. That’s something you’d see in a bad home reno show. I’m guessing they bought the oven not realizing it was too big, then said screw it.”
“I was going to rip the island out to give more space, but I need the storage right now.” I take a step back to let him see the drawers, reaching for the wooden dolly sticking vertical in the handles. “And if you need a spoon, just pull on the dolly.” I do as I say, and once the dolly is out all three drawers slide all the way open. “You get all three drawers at once, no matter which one you actually need.”
He chuckles, following me around the kitchen as I continue to point out each and every sore spot. “And the finale is that the dishwasher at the end is just for show, it hasn’t worked since we moved in. And now the pipes under the sink are leaking, and it looks like most of the wood is rotted. Hopefully I haven’t been exposing us to toxic mold, but at this point, nothing would surprise me.”
He squats low to peek under the sink, and I take that opportunity to check out his muscular ass.
As I do, I thank the good Lord for his creation. It’s not fucking fair, he shouldn’t have all three. He can’t be the handsome doctor who looks great in a set of generic surgical scrubs. He can’t be the guy who wears a three piece suit like it was tailor-made for his skin. He can’t be both of thoseandthe guy who rocks a pair of blue jeans, the fabric straining over his thick thighs. Yet, it turns out Jim’s all three, so I raise my glass and tip my hat to the gods of denim.
He pokes around a little, and I grimace when I see him rip out a good chunk of the lower cabinet and toss it to the side. “Definitely need to replace this, but let’s figure out what’s going on with the plumbing first.”
He brushes his hands together as he leans back, looking around at the mess on the floor surrounding him. “Do you have a flashlight or a wrench, any sort of tools around here?”
“Oh! Yes, let me grab them for you.” I stroll out of the kitchen to the hall closet near my bedroom, grabbing my pink tool chest and lugging it to the kitchen. When I come back, Jackson is off the couch and shyly walking towards Jim, curious about the man now ripping apart our kitchen.
Jim pulls his head out from under the cabinet, tossing a few pieces of damp board to the side, noticing Jackson peering over the corner.
“Buddy”—I usher for Jackson to come closer—“this is my friend, Jim. He works at the same hospital I do.”
Jackson gives a small wave but buries his face into my hip.
Jim pauses his movements to rest his forearms on his thighs, turning his attention fully on Jax. “How ya doing, buddy?”
Jackson turns further away, giving Jim his back.
“He’s shy,” I mouth to Jim.
Jim smiles, nodding once in acknowledgement. He points to the front of Jackson’s shirt. “Iron Man. He’s one of my favorites. Iron Man and Thor. I think I like them both because they can fly. Is Iron Man your favorite?”
“Hulk,” Jackson mumbles from behind my legs.
“Oh man, The Hulk is pretty cool too. I wish I was tough like him. And green.”
“Green?” I mouth to Jim, and he shrugs.
Jackson’s quiet for a minute, and he’s turned his body so he’s still standing behind me but peeking around from my leg. I’m about to tell him he can go back to his Legos when he surprisingly takes a step towards Jim. “Are you gonna fix the water?”
Jim nods. “I’m gonna try. Although I could really use a helper, what do you say?”
Jackson nods his head and walks over to the open doors, pointing to the damp mess directly in front of us. “It’s right here.”
“Perfect, thanks buddy.” He grabs one of the towels from the stack I left on the counter and lays it under the pipes. “Alright, trusty assistant. This is where I need your help.” Jackson nods and takes another step towards the sink and Jim.
“Do you have a bucket? Or a plastic bowl I could use?”
