I hate admitting Knox was right…but damn was he right.
The space in his garage is a complete upgrade from the hole in the wall I was working in back at the store. And I didn’t have to worry about Klepto darting in and out of my projects and getting stains or paint on his fur. I found out the hard way that he doesn’t like baths. I have the battle scars to prove it.
I was careful to show up when I knew Knox was working. I even drove by the garage to make sure his truck was there.
Was that excessive? Yes. But also, very necessary after the weird feelings I’ve been trying to grapple with over the last few days. At first, I thought it was nausea, but then I realized it’s something much worse.
But after nearly twisting my ankle trying to cart in a new piece that needed refurbishing, I swallowed my pride and took Knox up on his offer.
Now I am standing in a tidy, thirty-something square foot space in my favorite jean overalls with Blink 182 blasting through Knox’s state-of-the-art sound system. I am in the zone with my electric sander in hand, humming along to the steady vibrations of stripping away something old to help it live up to its potential again.
I already had a buyer for the dresser I was currently working on. After meeting Emma’s friend Wren on Saturday, she helped me set up a website and a dedicated Facebook page to post all my refurbished work. Within minutes, I connected with a sweet old lady in town who wanted to fix up her old dresser to gift to her granddaughter, who was moving into her own place for the first time. I was more than happy to take the job.
After ten more minutes of sanding, I take a clean cloth and wipe off any excess sawdust before letting it dry. And then comes the fun part. Paint.
Grabbing a broom, I sweep up my small area. I’m thankful that the bristles don’t catch on any rogue nails or loose floorboards.
Once I finished organizing the front of the Hollow Hinge, I would work on the back room and turn it into a space I loved. But for now, Knox’s generosity would have to do.
My eyes dart to the spot where storage bins used to sit. Since my last visit, he cleaned out more of the space and even added some shelving on one wall. I hope he knew that this arrangement was temporary. Yet, nothing about us felt temporary right now.
Still, I couldn’t stop the dumb smile that popped up on my face like a bad infection. And that is a perfect way to describe it. Knox Cooke had infected me with his obnoxious grin and his annoying habit of knowing exactly what I needed without saying it out loud. Maybe he should try the boyfriend thing for real because he would absolutely kill it.
I frown at that thought. He would make someone very happy someday—just not me. And that’s okay.
I groan at the sadness growing in the pit of my stomach and try to distract myself by opening a can of paint. Hopefully, the fumes will burn this feeling right out of my brain. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll try a lobotomy.
Right as I’m about to pour the paint into a tray, one of the doors swings open, startling me. As my stomach drops, so does the paint can, splattering bright pink goop all over my body and even into my hair. I squeeze my eyes closed, not even worried about the presence approaching me from behind. I’m more worried about the mess I just created in a neat freak’s home.
“Are you okay?” a deep voice belonging to said neat freak says. Heavy footsteps follow, and I finally gain the courage to open my eyes.
Everything within a ten-foot radius is covered in Pepto Bismol pink. Including Knox, who decided to wear a white T-shirt today. Dread hardens in my gut like a vat of quick-dry cement.
“Whoa,” Knox says, firmly grabbing both of my shoulders. “Earth to Bambi.”
“Uh,” I squeak, trying to form a coherent sentence. “I—uh. I’m sorry everything is pink.”
Knox smiles and loosens his grip. He gently smooths both hands down my arms, which are also covered in paint. It’s safe to say we both look ridiculous, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he doesn’t look angry at all. He looks…amused.
“I’m just shocked to see you wearing a color that isn’t black,” he smirks, tapping the end of my nose and leaving behind a pink dot. “It’s cute.”
“I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to my wardrobe,” I say, narrowing my eyes.
“Oh, I’ve been paying attention, Bambi,” he replies with a challenging grin. “I know you always wear platform shoes soyou can feel tall, and you never leave the house without some sort of jacket or flannel. Which is a crime, by the way, because you have the cutest tiny freckles on your shoulders, and those shouldn’t be covered up. Oh, and I lied about you only wearing black. Your nails are always some shade of green, which I decided is secretly your favorite color.”
Was I being punked? My fake boyfriend is complimenting me while we sit here covered in pink paint.
“I think I’d prefer it if you yelled at me for getting paint all over your room. This nice guy shit is throwing me off,” I say, standing up to get the full picture of the mess I had to clean up. At least the dresser is supposed to be pink, so I didn’t completely ruin that.
“Why would I yell at you? I’m the one who scared you?”
“I’ve seen your place. Everything is spotless and organized. I figured this type of mess makes a guy like you spiral into absolute insanity.”
Knox’s eyebrows crease before they relax and a sly grin tugs at his mouth. He tilts his head and slowly bends down to grab one of the stray paint brushes.
“Knox, what are you doing?” I ask, stepping backward.
“Nothing,” he says calmly. He dips the brush into the paint can and slowly stands up with his eyes glued to mine.
