Losing him was like losing everything. Punched in the stomach, a knife in the back… call it what you will. In the end, I knew it was all my fault. That’s why I came here to Kentucky. I needed to get away as fast as I could. I needed a breath of fresh air. Chicago just wasn’t cutting it for me.

I have to admit, I haven’t found my place here yet. I haven’t even found a job, let alone too many friends. Though, I have faith in things that don’t seem all too clear to me yet. A girl has to have some hope. Otherwise, what would I end up with?

Today is, what I hope to be, the last day of my job searching. I’ve applied everywhere. Clothing stores, restaurants, bars, but now I’m taking drastic measures. I click on the link for a part-time entry level position to become a carpenter. I know. It’s not my first pick.

“I’m sorry,” the rest of them told me. “You just don’t have the kind of experience we’re looking for.” But I knew what they were really thinking: “You’re 26 years old and you’ve only had one job in your life? Are you kidding me?”

No, I was never kidding. Dennis Aguilar didn’t like me to work. In fact, he was just happy with me staying home. That meant cleaning, cooking, and never leaving. I had friends before him. I had a life. All of that went away way too fast for me to handle. Eventually, I was just... his.

I tended to his every need and still, I loved him for what he led me to think he was doing for me. All of my bills were taken care of. He bought me nice jewelry, clothes, and even a gym membership. All of these things, however, came with clauses. I had to look a certain way. I had to act a certain way. I even had to talk a certain way. Soon enough, I was just a shell of my old self. Now, I’m trying to pick up the pieces and I’m learning how to let go.

“No experience necessary,” the ad reads. I click on it and call the number within seconds. “Alright,” I tell myself. “Just calm down. You’re not that desperate. If you don’t get the job, it won’t be the end of the world.”

“Vanderbilt Carpentry,” a voice says on the other line. I cough and clear my throat, knowing it’s not the best way to start a conversation.

“Hi, um. Hi,” I say.

“Hello?” the man says. His voice is smooth and clear, with a deep resonance to it. It reminds me of something good, something nostalgic. I clear my throat again and ruin the mood once more.

“Yeah, hi. My name is Emily Carter and I was just responding to the ad online?” I don’t know why I say the words as if it was a question. I’m already butchering this interview and I know it, but I can’t just hang up. I keep my trembling hand steady and take a deep breath. “I’d like to apply.”

“Oh,” the man laughs a little. “Right. Sure, uh, did you read all of the description? There should be an email in it. You can just send us your resumé there if you want.”

“The thing is,” I sigh. “I don’t really have a resumé. I’m actually sort of new in town and—”

“Before you continue, I should probably just say that we’ve got a lot of applicants. If you don’t have a resumé, I’m not sure if it’ll be a great fit. It’s kind of a hard job,” he says. I can tell he doesn’t want to let me down hard, but I can’t help but feel like I’m hanging off the edge of a giant cliff.

“Oh,” I mutter. “It’s just I’m a really hard worker. I’ll do whatever it takes. I promise.”

“I’m sure you will. I mean, if you want, you can still email us with your number and we might call you back,” he says.

I take another deep breath, feeling my hand begin to let go. The weight of everything below is pulling me down into the abyss. “Alright then. Thank you for your time.”

But I don’t hang up. I keep holding the phone to my ear as if someone nearby will reach out and grab my hand to keep me from falling off that cliff.

“Wait,” he says after a few silent seconds. “Listen, you sound nice enough. Why don’t you come in for an interview today?”

“Seriously?” I ask him. “I can come in whenever.”

“Yeah. I guess I shouldn’t be so quick to judge. I’m trying not to be these days. When I started this business, I didn’t really know a thing about carpentry,” he says. “Anyway, come in around two and we’ll see what you got.”

“I won’t disappoint,” I say, possibly sounding too eager.

“I’m sure you won’t,” he says. “See you then.”

I hang up the phone with a big smile on my face, but I know I shouldn’t get my hopes up too high. This is one small chance of many, probably. Still, I can’t help but feel pretty good about the chance to prove myself. I’ve always been a hard worker. Even with Dennis, I did everything for him. People may scoff at me for giving in, but it took a lot of effort on my part to make our home seem normal.

I run to my closet and grab a pair of jeans. I throw them on with a black t-shirt. It’s nothing sexy or anything, but it’s simple. I figure that’s what they probably want over there anyway, someone who looks sturdy and ready. I do fix my hair and spray my perfume, just in case that helps me out in some way.

* * *

Clawing at the steering wheel, I turn onto a back road and find myself constantly checking and re-checking my GPS. The clouds thunder above me, and the rain splashes against my windows. “Where the hell am I?” I ask myself. I stop at a house. You have arrived at your destination. “This is it?” I laugh. “A house?”

I mean, in a way, it kind of makes sense. A carpentry shop in a house sort of fits, I guess. Still, I imagined a big warehouse, not a garage. I take a deep breath in and put on my best smile. That’s when I see him. He’s tall, he’s handsome, yet rough, and let’s just say he’s built.

My heart instantly starts beating quick and deep. I stumble back for a second, shoes crunching on the rocks below my feet. “Emily Carter?” he asks me. He walks up smoothly, in his denim and button down t-shirt, and extends a hand for me. “Careful now. I don’t want you to get all muddy. It’s been pouring all morning.”

“Tell me about it,” I laugh. “I could barely see the road.”

“Here, let’s get you inside,” he says. He takes off his jacket and throws it around me. The smell of his cologne enters my nose and I get goose bumps, not from the cold, but from this man. Who is this man and why haven’t I seen him around before?

We run to the garage and jump inside. “Shit!” I laugh, but quickly cover my mouth. “Sorry, I swear I don’t normally curse.”

Another man, with long hair and glasses, pops up from behind a shelf. “You think we fucking care around here?” He laughs.

I look at the tall, handsome shop owner and bite my lip. “So, you’re Michael, I’m assuming. And that is?”

“That’s Hanson,” he says. “And you should do your best to ignore him because he doesn’t have any manners.”

Hanson nods his head and smiles. “He thinks that because he’s a married man, he has some kind of authority over me.”

Married man? Really? I look at his hand and there’s his ring. Dammit. How obvious. “No, it’s because I’m your boss,” he says, shaking his head. “Here, I think we should do the interview upstairs, actually.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” I tell him.

“Great, leave me here, all by my lonesome self,” Hanson rolls his eyes and goes back behind the shelf.

Michael leads me upstairs and we walk through the hall. I can’t help but notice that, for a married man, there are not too many family pictures up. However, there are the occasional few of what I assume is his daughter. “She’s cute,” I say.

“What? Oh. Yeah. Lisa. She’s pretty much a teenager now,” he says. “I love her to death.”

“That’s really sweet.” I smile. I don’t know what it is, but a man who sticks by his child is the hottest thing. He could be in the mob for all I care. He loves his daughter. Truth be told, I wish my father was like this guy when I was growing up. A carpenter, family man, who also looks like a million bucks? It’s a rare combo. His wife is a lucky woman.

His Timberlands slosh against the carpet and his firm butt moves in front of me. God, I think to myself. What are you doing? Stop staring. Now.

“Sit down,” he says, when we enter his office. Yes. I’ll do anything you ask.

“So, I’m sorry I have to ask this, but why don’t you have a resumé?” he asks. I stir in my seat. “I just haven’t gotten too many applicants without one. Plus, you don’t look like a derelict or anything. You look pretty trustworthy, to be honest.”

Score. “Well, do you want the long truth or the soft lie?” I ask him, biting my lip again.

“I tend to like the long truth,” he says, staring in my eyes, fiercely. They glance, very quick and smooth, at my breasts and I blush.

“I got into a bad relationship,” I tell him. “Years passed and he forbid me to work. Monetary abuse, I guess. He wanted me to be the woman of the house. I had a lot riding in my life. I wanted to be a lot of things, but I never really got the chance.”

“Wow,” he says. He lets out a big breath of air.

“I know. It’s a stupid excuse. You make your own destiny. I’ve heard it a million times. In America, you have choices, but for me, it didn’t exactly feel like that,” I say. “Eventually, I did run away. I came here from Chicago. I got enough money to pay a few months in rent, but that’s about it. Now, I really need a job, but it’s proving to be an impossible feat. I get it if you don’t understand.”

He sighs and nods his head. “No. I get it. I know how hard things can get for someone when you’re in a relationship,” he says. “The rules are always changing. You start to forget yourself and the world passes you by.”

“That’s dark,” I say. “You have a lot to look forward to though.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m not complaining. I’m just saying that I understand. Maybe not in every single way, but in more ways than one.”

I don’t know why, but there’s a long pause between speaking. He’s just looking at me strangely, and I’m doing the exact same thing. I interrupt it by saying, “Thank you,” but I quickly realize how weird that sounds.

“Why?” he laughs awkwardly.

“For understanding, I guess,” I say. My voice is soft and trembles slightly. I’ve been waiting for so long for someone to recognize what I’ve gone through that my emotions are through the roof. I don’t know what’s going to happen with this interview, but at least someone has put their feet in my shoes for a second.

“It’s… no problem,” he says. I don’t know what’s going on between us, but something is happening. He looks past me, at a painting on his wall. Then, he looks down, the whole time avoiding me. “Look, we’ve interviewed a lot of people so far. I don’t want to give you an answer just yet. Okay?”

“Okay.” I nod. “I can respect that.”

“But I also don’t want you to think you’re shit out of luck. If you want this job, know that you’ll have to work hard. You’ll have to work with tools. It can be a little dangerous, but so can any job. At the end of the day, it’s very satisfying,” he says.

“Whatever it takes,” I say. “I’ll learn.”

He stands up and puts his rough, calloused hand out. I take it and for a second, I think our fingers are about to interlock. He clears his throat and shakes my hand. It’s warm and tough. “Well, I’ll be talking to you soon,” he says.

“Yeah. Soon.” I smile. My legs nearly give out and the core of my body has turned so warm. He’s the hottest dad I have ever met and I hate to admit that because, if I get this job, I won’t be able to stay away. If I get this job, this will be my downfall. It could be his too.