I live for a twinkling.
Bounding behind him, I'm surprised I don't feel worse. I followed all his instruction though, so I guess that helped. Getting in his truck, I'm hit first with the smell of rubber and sweat and leather which I find oddly arousing. Then, the memory of being in the truck last night, laughing and singing and drinking my Gatorade like a good girl. I remember when he brought me all the things I might need, and when I grabbed his hand and begged him to stay.
Oh my god. I asked him to sleep in my bed.I nearly die on the freaking spot at the realization, my flush deepening when disappointment that he didn't take me up on it follows. I might as well have asked him for a million bucks.
He's not interested. That just proves it.
My house is just a few blocks from downtown, so we're at Hal's Hardware in no time. This place has a smell to it too, rubber again and fresh cut wood and something else. Maybe this is what a can-do attitude smells like. I chuckle at myself and Grey gives me an amused look that says something like,What's funny?For a guy who I've only seen fully smile a couple of times, his face is oddly expressive. I swear he can speak full sentences with nothing but the muscles between his temples and hairline.
"What kind of food do you like?" I ask as we wander deeper into the store. Well, I wander. He beelines like he could find what he needs in his sleep. "Any special requests?"
"I'll eat just about anything. But fair warning, the last person to cook for me was my grandma. The bar's high."
"Is she…"
"Yeah, she died what…almost fifteen years ago. She was ninety-four." The fact gives him a moment of pause, but then he moves on. "How about you just cook on the days I'm over there fixing things?"
I leave my questions for another time. "Every day. My house. After practice."
He's frowning. "What if I have a game?"
"I'll meet you there with Tupperware in hand."
He humphs again, and I know I've won. "You're not gonna give it up, are you?"
"Nope!"
Grey sighs heavily. "Fine. But not next week. I'm slammed. We'll start after. Saturday, if you're free for me to come over and get to work."
A flittery, fluttery feeling whispers through me. "I'm free."
And that's that.
I didn't notice he grabbed a little hand basket, too busy smelling things like a weirdo, I guess. But as I follow him from aisle to aisle, he seems to know everyone, traversing the store like he's already mapped out the most efficient path to pick up everything on the list between his ears. So far, he's collected parts to fix the cabinets, my porch light, weather stripping, two doorknobs which he made hard eye contact on putting in the basket. There's a bunch of stuff in there with it, but I'm not sure what it all is. When we stop in the very overwhelming nail and screw aisle, I peek inside and move things around so I can see.
I snort the rudest laugh and pull a box out, displaying it for him like he didn't see it when he put it in there.
"Stud finder. This is a stud finder."
That one corner of his lips flickers up a little. "It's what they call the support beams behind dry wall--it beeps and lights up when you slide it across the wall. Though you probably have plaster walls. I forgot to look, but you should have one in your toolbox anyway."
I'm still laughing, then move it through the air, beeping at intervals that speed up the closer I get to him until finally it's in front of his gigantic biceps and I just gobeeeeeeeeeeep!
He's smirking when he takes it from me and puts it back in the basket.
But I'm hovering over it again. "Fuses? Why are there switches?"
"Because your lights flicker, the switch sparked when you flipped it, and that house should have been condemned. Don't mess with the electric. I'll show you how to use the fuse box later." He picks up a pack of assorted nails and screws in a plastic case, then moves on to anchors and bolts, grabbing what he needs almost without looking.
"Come here often?" I ask, impressed.
I earn one of those little hmph laughs of his. "I spent more Saturdays here with my grandma than I can count. She was the one fixing things when my parents would take off. At least until her arthritis stopped her. Then it was me fixing things for her."
"Take off? They…they left you?"
He stops in front of some hardware, inspecting them, saying quietly, "They were addicts, Sometimes they were just strung out. Sometimes they'd disappear for a week or two, so I'd stay with my grandma."
Strung out. Gone. His parents were addicts--the thought guts me. A burst of questions explodes in my mind, but before I can ask, Hal says, "Hey, it's my best customer."
