FIVE
KELLY
I'm in the middle of the three-car-garage under the house when I close my eyes and breathe deeply. The memories of vacations spent here as a kid soon blind me to the modern day, with a sense of calm settling on me.
While the adults took over the house, the kids fought over who got the top bunks of the half-dozen bunk beds down here.
I wasn't one of those fighting for what was a prime position. To my mind, it had me far too close to the spiders that lurked in the exposed rafters, just waiting for me to fall asleep.
I could cope with the bottom bunk, if it had those eight-legged-monsters landing on one of the other kids, and not me.
To be honest, I'd forgotten what an enormous space it was down here. Which is odd, because when you're an adult, childhood hangouts usually appear smaller.
Of course, until now, I was coming or going, my car taking up most of the space. With my Tesla out in the driveway, there's plenty of floor space for Zac and me to spread out.
The only thing that appears unchanged is the head-height. Despite all of this, I'm still not sure what made me suggest we construct the float down here.
It was an offer Zac had jumped at, saying it would make it easier for him to get busy the moment he clocked off with Lucky Break. And while the garage is bigger than I remember—the bunk beds pushed to one side—it's still too intimate by far.
I'm not sure if I'm comfortable being in close quarters with a guy as undeniably attractive as this one. Okay, he's hotter than hell, and exactly the sort I've made the mistake of trying for in the past.
I've come to no decision when I sense movement behind me, something that has me spinning around. It's Zac, a fact I'd instinctively known thanks to the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.
On him joining me, I've got goosebumps all over my body. It doesn't matter that mom and dad insulated and carpeted the space so it could do double-duty as the kids' area. My reaction has nothing to do with temperature, unless you count my libido firing up despite my best intentions.
Zac is relaxed in comparison, holding a plastic lunchbox in one hand and a half-eaten sandwich in the other. It's lunchtime? A check of my watch tells me it's actually closer to dinnertime.
Out on the street, Zac's truck sits alone at the curb. As wrapped up as I'd been in my own worries, I hadn't noticed everyone else leaving.
Rather, I've spent the afternoon changing things on my website that didn't need changing. Anything to avoid focusing on the end of my career. The death spirals of worry getting worse by the minute. I'd decided it was better to prepare for the float.
Anything beat sitting at my computer, powerless.
Even away from my desk, I'm consumed with worry. It therefore takes me longer than it should to see that Zac's truck isn't parked where it had been earlier.
He'd left and come back? Why would he do that? He'd told me he wasn't in a relationship, and my gut told me he was telling the truth. So why leave if you plan on returning?
He swings his sandwich around, taking in the full space. "This will be perfect for the components." After checking out the spider Nirvana just overhead, he frowns. "But we'll need to find somewhere else to put everything together."
And he's got the right of it, thanks to the overall height of the flamboyant design I'd come up with. As familiar as I am with it, I don't even need to close my eyes to see it clearly in my mind's eye. Focused as I am, I don't realize he's offering me the other half of his sandwich until he waves it right under my nose.
"Thanks, I'm good." My response is as automatic as it ever was at any catered meetings at the agency. It was a habit I'd gotten into back then, sick of the pitying glances if I so much as nibbled on a rice thin.
"Come on, eat it. Get some meat on those bones."
I take a second to decipher what he's meant. And even then, I don't believe it. Part of mecan'tbelieve it.
There's no way he'd be interested in a curvy woman. Apparently, I haven't kept my skepticism to myself with him bursting out laughing, nearly dropping the remains of his sandwich. I'm bristling before I realize he's not laughing at me.
"Hey, what can I say? I like a woman with curves." His eyelid flickers briefly, although he stops a full-blown wink. He then shrugs before adding. "I like something to hang onto."
I've not worked out how I'm supposed to respond to a comment like that, when there's a warbled "Yoo-hoo," from out front. Zac and I turn in tandem to see Mary Miller weaving her way up the cobbled driveway.
She's still aways away when Zac tips his head closer to mine, so he can keep his voice down. "Whatever you do, don't ask about Barry's kidney stones."
Then it's all I can do to keep a straight face AND breathe. The one thing I'm unsure of is whether this is down to his cheeky remark, or having that much testosterone up close and personal.
Mary's arrival left me unsure of how I felt.
