FIFTEEN
LUKE WATCHED CLAIRE RIFLE THROUGH stacks of doors leaning against vertical supports taller than she was. She looked tiny next to the heavy doors, and he hurried to help her before she buried herself under a pile of history. He still wasn’t sure how she’d gotten him there, but when she said she planned to take Saturday morning to go to the salvage yard, he’d ignored the mountains of work he had to do to go with her.
“Claire,” he said, holding back a mountain of solid wood doors so she could slide out the narrow, raised panel door she wanted. “Don’t you think we should ask for help?”
He didn’t want to admit his muscles were straining under the weight and he sure as hell couldn’t figure out how she’d ever thought she’d do it alone. But then again he hadn’t seen anything yet she couldn’t handle.
“I can’t imagine the owner wants the liability of you getting squashed back here.”
She grinned at him but didn’t stop wrestling the door free of the pile. “You’re not going to let that happen,” she said. “And Bob lets me root through whatever I want. I’m a good customer.” She waggled her eyebrows at him, and he caught himself before he rolled his eyes like a teenager.
This woman who wasn’t much more than half his size knew how to push every one of his buttons.
“There,” she said, finally managing to drag the door free.
He let the pile of doors lean against the wall, discreetly stretching his aching muscles.
“It’s good.” He took a moment to admire her prize. It was good. Narrow, probably a 2.0 with six horizontal raised panels. In the right setting it would be a perfect architectural detail, and he had no doubt she’d find exactly the right setting.
“It is, isn’t it?” She ran her finger appreciatively along one of the panels. “I’ll take it.”
He cringed realizing there was ever a doubt after all that work to get it out.
“I still need some hardware, but most of that is up front,” she said, picking up the door.
“Put it down, Claire,” he said, gritting his teeth so he didn’t snap at her. What did she think she was doing carrying a door on her own and what was he supposed to do? Trail along behind her? He took the door from her, hefting it in his arms and falling into step behind her.
They walked through a room filled almost exclusively with wrought iron panels and then through another one with row after row of bathroom sinks. By the time they reached the room with the bins of reclaimed hardware, he was grateful to set the door down for a moment. Claire crouched in front of a bin on the floor and started looking through the door knobs.
“Perfect!” she said after digging for a few minutes.
She held what looked like an old enameled doorknob with an intricately cast brass lock plate out to him. He squatted next to her to get a better look.
He was surprised by the weight of the fixture. It felt solid in his hand. Authentic. He didn’t have to wonder why she loved restoring houses the way she did. Building them from ground up would probably never interest her as much as uncovering and restoring their hidden beauty did.
“Now if I can find five more sets, I’ll have enough to do the upstairs. I can cannibalize the sets that are already there for the main floor doors and I’ll be done.
“Just five more,” he said, glancing at the bins piled full of doorknobs with seemingly no rhyme or reason. If he wanted to get home before dark, he’d better dig in and help, he thought, turning his attention to the neighboring bin.
After a few minutes of rooting through the piles of fixtures, he could see her fascination. They were all beautiful, some more than others, and looking for the ones she wanted felt like a treasure hunt. When he found one, he was so excited he had to bite back a yelp.
“Got one,” he said, offering her his prize.
“Oh, you fantastic man,” she said, flinging her arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
He could buy her dozens of doorknobs – jewel encrusted doorknobs, and it wouldn’t feel half as good as finding the one she wanted.
They dug through three more bins before they found the last three knob sets. By the time he found the last one some of the thrill of the hunt had worn off and he was ready to get her home.
“You’re good at this,” she said when he handed her the last set. “Maybe we should get a house together.”
He leaned away from her so fast he fell back on his ass.
“Easy, Masters,” she said laughing at him where he laid sprawled on the bare concrete. “I meant as an investment.”
He knew that’s what she meant, but he hadn’t been able to prevent his visceral reaction to her words. He’d always known he carried scars from his childhood. He was fucked up. He just hadn’t realized how badly until he met Claire.
She deserved someone to buy a house with her. To have children with her. To build a life with her. He didn’t know if it could ever be him, but a small, quiet part of him wanted like hell to try.
