“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Beyond irritated, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and drop my face into my hands while I wait for the room to stop spinning. Then, I slip yesterday’s discarded shirt over my head and pull on a pair of athletic shorts before I make my way to the bathroom on weak knees. An empty bladder and two glasses of water later, I step outside and into the gravel path connecting the buildings, moving far enough back to get a good view over the top of my cabin. I have to shield my eyes in order to confirm the identity of the person currently perched on the roof line, but there’s no mistaking that shock of red hair.
There she is, wearing a white tank top, a red flannel button-down and a pair of jeans so tight they look painted on. A row of roofing nails rests on the soft pillow of her lush bottom lip, and a look of concentration graces her pale features as she brings her hammer down with expert precision.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I shout and watch in horror as she releases a loud yelp and loses hold of her tool. It sails through the air in a wide arc and bounces off the shingles once before landing at my feet with a thud. Tink presses a hand to her sternum and briefly screws her eyes shut before she turns to me with an expression that matches the incoming storm front.
“A little warning next time, before you bark at someone perched on a damn rooftop. You could’ve killed me.”
“It’s 8 o’clock in the fucking morning, lady. You want a little warning? Return the favor next time, before you start pounding nails right above the bedrooms of your paying guests at the ass crack of dawn,” I clap back, choosing to ignore the dramatic comment about her potential demise. Fuming, she rises to her feet and pops her hands onto her grabbable hips.
“You’re the one who wanted this taken care of before the next rainfall. Well, according to my weather app, it’s about to come down hard, and I didn’t think you were fond of getting wet inbed?”
“Depends on the situation,” I mutter under my breath. She lifts a shapely eyebrow.
“What’s that?”
“Never mind. Listen, lady.”
“It’s Charlie.”
“What?”
“My name is Charlie. Lady is a dog in a Disney movie, and if I’m going to be reduced to a cartoon character, I think Merida would be the obvious choice,” she deadpans, swirling a finger around the crown of her head. I give her a slow blink while I treat my temples to a brief massage. I’m too hungover for this shit, and this conversation is giving me heartburn.
“Do you even know what you’re doing?”
“Nails. Hammer. Shingles. Roof,” she says, pointing at the items as she knocks them off her list. “How hard could it possibly be?”
“Well, Charlie,” I drawl. “Did you remove the damaged shingles and make sure the ice and water shield is still intact?”
The way her cocky attitude takes a nosedive as her brows draw together and her expression turns sheepish is almost amusing.
“Erm, I kinda just slapped the new ones on top of the old to save myself time,” she admits, a slight blush heating her freckled cheeks.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Kill me now.”Walk away, Cole. Not your circus, not your monkeys.Except it kind of is, given that I’m the onecurrently residing under the roof in question, and I don’t much like the look of these clouds.
“God-motherfucking-damnit.” I pick up the hammer, make my way around the side of the building to locate the ladder, and start climbing the ranks.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Charlie mimics my earlier question, peeking down at me over the edge of the roof.
“Showing you how it’s done, so I don’t drown in my own damn bed tonight.” I haul myself over the ledge and hold a hand out for the box of roofing nails she’s clutching to her chest like it’s her most prized possession. Her eyes are full of suspicion as she lifts her chin in a show of stubbornness.
“Excuse me, but are you even qualified? For all I know, you’ll only make things worse. Then I’d be forced to call in the paid help to fix what you broke, and a full roof re-shingle simply isn’t in the budget right now. The septic system needs to be upgraded.”
I wrinkle my nose in disgust. How she discards her human waste is the last thing I want to be thinking about right now. My stomach already feels queasy, I’m teetering on a sketchy roof because I’m pretty sure I’m still half drunk, and I haven’t even had my morning coffee yet. I just want to get this shit over with, so I can crawl back into bed and sleep the rest of the day away. I draw on whateverpatience still remains in my dried-up well and give her what I hope to be a sincere smile.
“I’m no professional roofer, but I worked in construction during the summers growing up. Picked up enough to get me by. Trust me, your pride will be a hell of a lot easier to swallow than the massive bill you’ll get slapped with if the ceiling comes down, due to your useless patch job. You didn’t even weave the shingles in. This is not doing diddly-squat.”
Her uncertain gaze bounces back and forth between me and her handiwork. I can sense she wants to tell me to take a hike, but desperation eventually wins out, and she shoves the box toward me with a huff.
“Don’t expect a discount in exchange for your expertise. I didn’t ask you to do this.”
I shake my head, fighting the grin wanting to break free as I drop to my haunches to inspect the damage. She hovers, arms folded across her chest, while she makes a meal of her lower lip. This must really kill her.
“Stop bitching and get down here. I’m only going to show you this once, so you'd best pay attention. From what I’ve seen, looking around this place yesterday, you have a lot of patching to do, and I might be willing to teach you, but make no mistake, I came here for some much-needed R and R, not to cook on rooftops.”
“Well, let’s get on with it then,” she snaps while she gets into position beside me. “Wouldn’t want to keep you from twiddling your thumbs all day.”
