There was about thirty feet of space between myself and the young man who had just stepped outside, but even from a distance, I could see how handsome he was. He had on a cap, but he still held his arm in the air to shield his face since he was staring straight toward the bright morning sun. The pond was partially shaded by some trees that had been strategically planted nearby, so I was relatively sure I could see him a lot more clearly than he could see me.
I was sweaty, stinky, and covered in pond scum, and I couldn’t believe Mr. Too-hot had chosen this very moment to come outside. I had gotten a good look at all three of the movers when they were in and out of the house, and he was the most handsome of them by a significant stretch.
He saw me glance at him.
Great.
I sighed and stared downward, hoping he'd go back inside. I had no such luck. He began walking straight toward me. He had on ripped jeans and a pair of leather sandals with a navy blue t-shirt. It had a big, overlapping NY on it, the symbol that I recognized as the logo for the Yankees. It fit him like a glove, and I caught myself staring at the way his chest filled it out. He wasn't a bulky, beefy guy. He was trim yet muscular. I couldn't tell how tall he was since I was down in the pond and my perspective was off. He was distractingly handsome, though—so much that I cursed the fact that I was wearing my work uniform and covered in grime.
I told myself it was pitiful that I was getting so worked up over one of the movers—someone I'd never even talked to. I really needed to get out of the house more.
"Hey," he said as he approached.
"Hey," I said, going about my business and hoping he wouldn't inspect me too closely.
"You've almost got it empty," he said sounding surprised as he came closer. I could feel his presence above me as he peered into the pond.
"Yeah, I won't be too long now. Maybe another hour or so. It just depends on how long it takes to fill. I have to add chemicals to the water and make sure the pump and filter are behaving, but that'll go quick."
"I didn't realize how deep it was," he said.
"People always say that."
"About this pond?"
"About every pond," I answered without looking at him. "They look deceptively shallow. Maybe it's because of the black liner… or they're used to seeing the fish at the top."
"How often do you have to do this?" he asked.
"This is my first time to work on this pond," I said. "But I'm sure it only gets a big clean like this about once a year—maybe twice. The filter needs to be changed more frequently than that, but a deep clean like this is probably pretty rare. It really depends on how clean they keep it. As long as you prevent leaves and debris from sinking to the bottom or clogging the pump, the filter takes care of most of it."
I was tempted to say more out of sheer nerves. I almost explained how the pump and filter worked, for goodness sake. But I held my tongue, praying he'd walk away. He didn’t walk away. He seemed content to stand there and watch me.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
"No, thank you," I said with a little smile. I glanced at him when I answered, which was a mistake. This man was strikingly attractive—even in a t-shirt and cap.
What's more was that he really meant it when he offered to help me. I could tell. He was ready and willing to climb in there with me if I would ask him to. I could see it in his expression.
I experienced a pang of longing because of it. I was a sucker for a gentleman. Maybe he was just a mover, but he was a gentleman—I knew it off the bat. I had always identified with people in the service industry, anyway. I liked good old blue-collar people. That's why I had fun getting to know the employees at the restaurants and hotels. By and large, I had more in common with them than the super-rich people who hired us to maintain their personal aquariums. That's not to say I couldn't get along with rich people, because I could—I just knew I had more in common with this mover than I would with the cellist who would be living here.
That thought made me remember something.
"I'm going to leave a note for the lady who's staying here," I said, wiping my brow as I stood up. I moved carefully so I wouldn't slip or tear the liner. "Just some suggestions for the fish. I'm sure the landlord will give her instructions, but I'd like to leave a few notes of my own. Do you think you could leave it on the counter for her?"
"A note?" he asked.
I nodded. "For the lady who's staying here."
"Sure. What kind of instructions?" he asked. "They don’t have to clean the filter or anything, do they?"
"No, no, no, nothing like that." I gestured at the fish who were extremely visible since they were confined to a little shallow area at the very bottom of the pond. "These are really expensive fish," I said. "That one alone is probably worth twenty-thousand-dollars."
"Which one?" he asked, stooping down to peer at the fish with renewed interest.
"The white and orange one."
"You're kidding!" he said. "That looks like a regular fish!"
"It is a regular fish," I said laughing a little at his amazement. "They're all just carp. But they're bred for different markings and colors. That orange and white one is a Goshiki Kohaku. It's also Gin Rin, which means it has that glittery, sparkly quality. See that?"
He peered into the pond, getting a closer look at the fish, and I used the opportunity to climb out. It was not the most graceful exit on account of the slippery slope, so I was glad he was preoccupied.
I intentionally exited the opposite side of the pond so that I wouldn't have to stand right next to him. I pulled off my gloves and wiped my arms with a towel once I managed to make it to dry ground. I went ahead and wiped my face with a clean part of the towel while I was at it… just in case.
I turned to find that he was staring at me with a sweet half-smile. "Are you sure there's nothing I can help you with?" he asked.
"No, thanks," I said, walking toward the upper pond. "The hard part's over."
I turned on the hose and watched as the upper pond began to fill to overflowing. Water slowly began to trickle over the waterfall.
"Isn't it this pond that needs water?" he asked, pointing at the lower pond.
"Yeah, but I add the water to the upper pond, knowing it will flow into the lower. This way, the new water mixes with the old before it makes its way down there."
"Oh, that makes sense," he said, nodding as he watched the water begin to flow down the waterfall and into the lower pond. He came to stand closer to me, near the upper pond, peering into it, but seeing nothing.
"They're at the bottom," I said, knowing what he was thinking. "They'll come back up once the pump's back on and things go back to normal."
"What are you gonna tell the guy who's staying here," he asked. "In your note, I mean."
"It's a lady," I said. "And I'm just gonna explain that these are really nice fish and tell her that if she wants to feed them, it should be certain foods and certain amounts. People have a bad tendency of throwing just about anything into these ponds just because they want to see the fish eat."
"So, no ham sandwiches?" he asked.
I laughed at that. "No, and no pizza crusts," I added, since that was on my mind from earlier.
I took a few steps and leaned over, checking the flow of water as it began to fill the lower pond. "This'll probably take about an hour," I said.
"Do you want to come inside?" he asked. "I think the owner left some drinks in the fridge if you'd like something."
"No, thank you," I said. "I still have some things to do. Plus, I need to make some notes and take some pictures." I reached down to retrieve a notebook that was with some of my things. "Are you guys all done?" I asked. I pointed at the house even though he knew what I was talking about.
He nodded. "If you mean bringing the things inside, then yes, we're done. The other guys are gone."
I glanced toward the house, wondering why he had stayed without his companions. Part of me thought or hoped that he was staying just so that he could talk to me, and I got nervous at the notion.
"I'll go ahead and write that note so you can take it inside before you leave, if you don't mind."
"I don't mind," he said.
He sat on the edge of the upper pond like he was going to wait while I composed my note.
I watched as he stared into the pond, searching for the fish who had retreated to the darkness, under some lilies that lined the side. The pond had a wide ledge. It was meant to be sat on—built so that the owner could sit there and gaze into the pond just as this guy was doing now. So, why was I so disturbed by him sitting there? Just his presence made me nervous. I couldn't figure out if it was because I was mad at myself for looking and smelling so bad or if it was because I was afraid I would do something crazy, like randomly tell him how very attracted I was to him.
I could just see it all going down.
The fancy cellist comes home to her new place only to find the hired help making out in the backyard. In those few seconds, I imagined the whole scene in my mind's eye. I thought of the cellist as a middle-aged, stern-looking woman who was wearing a dark colored business suit and had her hair pulled into a tight bun. I had given-in to my desires and fallen passionately in love with this gorgeous stranger right there in that fairy-tale backyard, only to be caught red handed by the enraged cellist. In my daydream, she had the bow in her hand, and she came out of the house waving it around and swatting us with it.
My stomach flipped with nerves and anticipation when I pictured the whole scene. My heart fluttered, and I wasn't sure if it was from imagining getting caught or imagining kissing him in the first place.
"I see one," he said. His words caused me to snap out of my trance.
"What? Oh, you do? What's it look like?" I asked the questions absentmindedly as I calmed myself and got back to the task of writing the note. I had to get it done so he would leave.
"I can't really tell, but I think it might be all white. It's mostly white, for sure."
He turned to look at me. I could see the movement in my periphery even though I was staring at the notebook. I didn't want to ignore him, so I glanced his way. Huge mistake. His face was devastating. The shadow from the bill of the cap fell over the top half of his face, and even still, his bright, amber colored eyes pierced through me. They were the color of honey, which perfectly contrasted his dark hair. He didn't have much facial hair—a short, sparse beard. I wouldn't even call it a beard, necessarily. It just looked like he hadn't shaved in a few days.
He smiled at me.
I was stunned by my attraction to him. I had seen some handsome men in my life, but none that I would just drop everything and run away with if they asked. This guy was one of those. He was a yes, I'll run away with you type of guy. He was magazine model gorgeous.
Those eyes.
That mouth.
I literally had to tear my eyes off of him, blinking awkwardly as I stared at the notebook in my lap. I placed my hand at the top like I was going to write something, but I couldn't figure out what to say. I realized I was shaking, so to distract the guy, I glanced into the pond again, pointing with my pencil.
"There's a Platinum Ogon in there. He's all white. There's a Tancho, too. That one's mostly white except for an orange spot. If it's got an orange spot on its head, it's the Tancho."
"I don't think the one I saw had an orange spot," he said.
"It's probably the Ogon," I said casually, staring down at the notebook. I begged myself to think of something to write. I could not think straight. I was completely distracted by this guy, and it didn't help matters that I was so sweaty and dirty.
"What are their names?" he asked.
"The white one's an Ogon," I said. "A Platinum Ogon. They're all different varieties. People do that intentionally with collections. They want to see different colors and patterns."
"I mean their names," he said. "Like Larry or Travis."
I let out a laugh. Lots of people named of their fish, but they always came up with things like Midnight, or Fishy, or even Spot. It made me giggle to think of a fish called Travis. "I don't know their names," I said, shuffling papers to get to another page where I could take some notes. If I couldn’t compose a message right then, at least I could write something.
I made notes on the sizes and varieties of the fish in the lower pond—the ones I could clearly see. I documented some of my procedure, but then I told myself to get back to composing the message to the tenant. I flipped back to the blank page, begging myself to concentrate. I stared at the paper. I knew where the owner kept the fish food—I had located it earlier, along with some other supplies, in the shed. I started to write where it was and how much they should feed the fish, but then I realized that wasn't my place. These weren't my fish. Maybe the owner's maintenance man would be back from Tampa in time to feed them. Maybe they left their own notes for the tenant.
"You know what?" I said, glancing at the mover. "Never mind."
"Never mind what?" he asked.
"Never mind about the note. I'm not leaving a note. It's not really my place to do that. I'm sure the owner has it under control. They'll tell the lady what to feed them. Either that, or they'll send their maintenance guy over to do it. I'm just here to clean. I'll leave it at that."
"So, no note?" he asked. "You sure?"
"I'm sure."