I find her surrounded by different sizes of deconstructed pieces of wood, paint cans, and tools.
“Should I be worried you could hammer a coffin out of that?”
“I had this idea in my sleep.” She beams at me and my chest hurts. This is bad. Horrible. Can’t be happening to me. “It was too early; I didn’t want to wake you.”
“The brilliant idea was to dumpster dive for all the broken cabinets and shelves in town?”
She laughs and the way it affects me almost has me running into the wilderness surrounding us.
“I saw this tutorial on YouTube about building a corner office by the window with different storage spaces. I dreamed about how I wanted to build mine. It’s going to be perfect!”
“YouTube,” I repeat, shaking my head. Eliza confidently watches a tutorial on any DIY project and has zero doubt she can do it. She’s amazing. I heave a long-suffering sigh. “Show me.”
She gives me her phone and I watch a blonde in overalls being too chipper about measuring the walls and taking apart some old study, when the phone vibrates and a message pops up.
FINN: You can take me out to lunch as a thank you. It would be a win-win for me ??
My hand tightens on the phone. The device barely escapes the sledgehammer resting near the other tools.
“Mr. Foreman keeps being inappropriate.”
“Stop calling him that. It’s weird.” She rips the phone from my hand and starts texting. “Finn’s just being a nice guy.”
“With an agenda.”
“That’s rich coming from you. Aren’t you going back toyourhome in a few weeks? What more do you want from me?”
To live in this bubble a little longer. To take you with me.
“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. That’s all.”
She huffs. “Thanks for the concern but our arrangement has given me a taste for casual flings. It’s not the worst idea.”
I’m going to murder Finn the fucking foreman.
The next days blend together with an unsettling speed. I’m not ready to let her leave, but she is either working at the shop or putting the finishing touches on her new home. I hold on tight to the silly conversations during breakfast, to her smell as she kisses me on the cheek before leaving, to her content sight whenever she finds the perfect spot for one of her pieces, or the soft moans coming out in breathy waves when we spend the night together and pleasure overwhelms her.
I end up doing something against my nature. I almost beg when it’s time to move her tools from the shed.
“Are you sure you want to move out?” I scramble for any reason to make her stay. “Your new shed is a lot smaller. Where are you going to put these?” I shake the box in my hand to make my point.
“I can put some of them inside,” she says. “This time no one will tell me they smell bad or that it’s a junkyard. I’ll use the storage space under the kitchen.”
“Is there really a rush to move? I thought you liked it here.”
She smiles at me with warmth, and I can see the determination shining bright in her eyes.
“I’ve never lived alone. Deciding for myself as an adult. I carried the abandoned child’s fear for too long. At this age, I shouldn’t rely on somebody to take care of me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with receiving help.”
“Says the man who was forced to take a break after almost dying.”
“Fair point. But I shouldn’t be the standard for normal behavior.” I try to lighten the mood and make her smile.
“I don’t want to be afraid to be on my own anymore. It’s holding me back.”
“Don’t downplay what you achieved by yourself so far. That’s all you. Nobody can take it away.”
