By the time I've climbed out of my truck, she's armed with a top-of-the-line spray gun, a compressor chugging away down the back of the lock-up. The paint and diesel fumes are bad enough to tell me this isn't her first coat.
Without a mask of my own, there isn't a chance I can stay inside, something that has me backing up and leaning against the front of my truck.
Rather than stop and join me, she keeps applying a top coat to the body of the float. Is it even worth my while waiting for her to finish? Without extractor fans or a mask, it'll be ages before I can breathe in there.
I've even grabbed my keys out of my pocket when the compressor splutters to a stop. Where did Kelly get it from? Because it's not mine.
I'm still wondering when she puts the spray head down on a large piece of cardboard, and walks out into the open, all while removing her mask. Yep, the red marks on her face tell me it's been more than a five-minute job.
After a curt nod in my direction, she walks around the side of the lock-up to where I now see she's parked her car, doubtless to avoid spray drift. After grabbing her phone, she makes a call that amounts to not much more than, "It's me. I've finished."
Only then does she give me her full attention.
"Sorry, I was hoping to have it done, and the place aired out before you got here." She then glances inside, as if assessing her handiwork. "I'd offer you the mask, but it's not mine."
I find out who it belongs to when a moment later, a guy in paint-splattered overalls walks around the far end of the row of lock-ups. He's huge. Not fat, huge. When he lumbers up next to us, how massive is plain to see.
The guy is a mountain, and I don't like the way he's ogling Kelly. Yet if I were to act on it as I want to, I'd get flattened.
And this jerk knows it. His smirk when he looks me in the eye says it all.
Hah, and women think they're the best communicators. There's no missing the guy's message. In summary, it says, "I like her. Back off."
It's therefore of some relief when Kelly is friendly toward 'Fridge', as the name on his overalls reads, and nothing more. After handing him back his gasmask, she waits while he puts it on and retrieves his spray gear.
And damn it if the guy doesn't exit carrying the compressor propped on one shoulder like it weighs nothing. Given the thing has wheels, it's obvious to me he's showboating, and why.
"Thanks for cleaning it for me, Fridge. We don't even have a sink in our unit."
"No worries, Kel. Any time. You just have to call me, you know that."
On hearing his shortening of her name, and the invitation to call, a jealousy that's spiked with anger, unfurls in my chest.
That's my woman he's talking to.
The realization that she's not and that I'd given up my rights by moving out, hits me hard. How could I have screwed it up? All I had to do was tell her I love her. How come it's so hard when you mean it?
One thing is for sure, and that is if I'm to win her back, whatever I do, it's gonna have to be as big a gesture as Fridge is tall. With no chance of me working in the lock-up this morning, I may as well head back to my folks' place.
I won't be idle though. I've got a new life to plan. And it's one that involves Kelly. I have to hope I haven't left it too late.
