I’m relieved it’s finally the weekend. Since I ran out of coffee, I have to stop into Uncommon Grounds before I hit up the grocery store. Because coffee is not the only thing I need. My cupboards are looking far too bare on a day I would like nothing more than to have some snacks and indulge in the business I’ve started on the side, which not many people know about.
It’s not some dirty secret. I’d just rather not have the whole town in my business. And they would be.
Recovering lampshades with a vintage flare is something I stumbled across because I wanted something specific for my place. The problem was everything I could find was out of my price range.
Going to yard sales, various antique marts, and flea markets is a hobby Jessi and I have gotten into over the years. It was born of necessity and boredom mixed with the freedom we gained when we were figuring out how to spend time with each other outside of the shadow of our father. While also being safe.
I hunt for fabric and notions along with lampshades that I can recover. There’s something about shopping for a good deal and exploring items most people would overlook.
My sister and I don’t get to go together as often now, because life does what it does; now, especially since being a teacher doesn’t end when the school day does. I’m so damn proud of her; I wish Dad was. Maybe he is proud and he just doesn’t know how to express it.
Still, Jessi deserves all the praise.
That’s why I give her as much as I can while also shielding her from Dad. I think having lunch with him has prolonged his inevitable summons for family dinner. At least I hope it does.
I push the thought aside and focus on finding some great deals today. I think about my workroom at home, which is just the spare bedroom I’ve repurposed. It’s filled to the brim with metal forms, and far too much fabric if I ever want to find what I’m looking for in a timely manner. I love it.
I’m so glad the weather is warming up again. Maybe, if I’m lucky, Jessi will be able to go with me to more sales this year than last year. Either way, I’ll be filming videos of my creations soon. I already have some I need to edit and post online.
All of my business is generated through social media. Since every lampshade takes time and I’ve created a nice little following online, I can charge a little bit more than I might otherwise. I certainly am not going to charge the prices I saw which made me want to make my own. The fact that someone is going to use it and, hopefully, take care of it is priceless.
Today is all about getting things done around the house that I’ve been putting off. If I veg out after I get home and all my tasks are complete, then we don’t need to talk about it.
But first, coffee.
I take a deep breath the moment I step inside Uncommon Grounds and let out a happy hum. The smell of coffee is the best morning scent. Because I could easily drown myself in coffee, I force myself to switch after noon and stop drinking it.
No one needs me to be amped up that much. Trust me.
Uncommon Grounds is a little industrial with a side of cozy and modern sleekness. I like the mix of it and the natural tones and textures. They have one of those fancy Italian machines which looks like itshouldn’t be used to make anything other than moonshine or maybe meth.
But it’s gorgeous and the espresso it makes is delicious.
“Good morning, Helen,” the smooth voice coming from behind me has me gasping, jumping about a mile in the air and spinning around.
Because I know that voice.
Because I’ve been dreaming about that voice since I heard it a few days ago in my dad’s office.
Sheriff Rhodes Wilder.
I had seen the man at a distance before, but the other day in my father’s office was the first time I had an up-close view of him. And what a view it was.
And is.
Because I, yet again, have a very up-close view of him.
Today he’s not wearing his uniform and looks even hotter than he did a few days ago. The jacket he has on over a button-up plaid shirt is paired with a pair of perfectly worn jeans and work boots. The denim of his jeans molds to his thighs in a way that is far and away too sexy for the sheriff of some backwoods county.
And yet here we are.
His beard is impeccably groomed, and he has on a backwards baseball cap. Why is that sexy? I shouldn’t find it attractive at all, but it works for him in a strange, reformed sports guy turned lawman kind of way.
“Go-good morning, Sheriff Wilder,” I stumble over my words a little bit before I get myself together. “What are you doing here?”
If I thought I could get away with shrinking away into the corner right now, I would. When his delicious mouth—which is not something I’ve ever thought about a man’s mouth before—tips up in a grin which ispart boyish charm and all temptation, I almost groan out my frustration at this whole scene. How I keep it inside is a mystery.
My knees go a little weak, but I lock that shit down. Becoming a puddle in the middle of Uncommon Grounds is not a good look. I’m glad I slept through the morning rush, and more people aren’t here to witness this embarrassing tableau.
