Fiona
THE RED TOOLBOX I’D BOUGHT from the home improvement store yesterday didn’t have a flat head screwdriver. The picture on the box had said it included one but I had gone through the thing three times and all I could find was a Phillips head. And of course the bookshelf I had purchased from Amazon came in a box with thousands of pieces. It had said “easy assembly” in the description. This was where reading the customer reviews would have come in handy.
Sighing I dropped the instructions in my lap and groaned in frustration. I had spent all day working on my bedroom. Unloading the boxes, successfully putting together a lamp I’d bought off eBay and hanging a frame that held several pictures over the bed that I’d found on Etsy.
However, this bookshelf was slowing things up. For starters, I wasn’t that great with tools and assembly of furniture. Chantel was even worse. Climbing into bed and covering my head sounded appealing, but I’d just think about the list of things I had to do before everything was complete.
I stood up before I got too comfortable sitting, walked out of my bedroom and down the wide hallway. Chantel had left early this morning for a three-day swimsuit shoot in San Diego. She came in late last night noticeably pleased to find out Mack was our neighbor. I didn’t admit it or mention it, but I didn’t mind it so much either. Not because of Mack though. It was his brother that interested me. He was Mack’s opposite. Even the gleam in their eyes was different. You could see honesty and kindness in Marty’s. Where Mack’s . . . you knew he was up for a good time with no promises. Chantel knew that, too, but she didn’t seem to care.
Thinking about our neighbors, I realized there was a good chance they had a flathead screwdriver. The idea of seeing Marty again had me running my hand through my hair to fix it and glancing down at my clothes to see precisely how dirty I was from my day of moving.
I dusted off my shorts and thought about changing shirts then stopped myself. Trying to impress Marty wasn’t something I needed to start off by doing. Instead, I went to the door and swung it open, and headed down the staircase toward his apartment before I could think about it anymore.
Stopping outside his door, I took a deep breath and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear then reached to knock but stopped and rang the doorbell instead. They were nice doorbells. The chime was pleasant. It was silly to knock.
The elaborate doors weren’t what one expected in an apartment building. They were breathtaking and ornate. It was the first thing I noticed when I came to see the place. I took in Marty and Mack’s door and observed how theirs was different. Each one was unique and restored from the 1920s. Oddly enough, their door had a more masculine look as if Stone had known men would be renting that apartment.
Several minutes had passed while I studied the door and I realized it was longer than it should take someone to answer. I started to ring the doorbell again and paused. Mack and Marty either weren’t there, or they were occupied. I knew Mack managed a club downtown and it was highly likely he was working. But I had no idea what Marty did. Was his job one that held nighttime hours as well?
Feeling a sense of disappointment for not seeing Marty when I should have been because I still didn’t have the screwdriver I needed, I turned and walked to the staircase. But before I reached the steps, the front door to the building opened and in walked Marty. It only took a simple glance and eye contact to know which brother it was.
Pausing, I opened my mouth to explain why I was standing outside his door, but his pleased smile made me forget what it was I was going to say.
“Hey.” His thick southern drawl made me a little tingly.
“Hello,” I replied realizing I should explain myself. “I, uh, do you have a flathead screwdriver?” I finally blurted out.
His smile grew into a big grin, revealing dimples that just about made me swoon. Have mercy this man was beautiful.
“Yeah, I do.” He walked toward me and his door. “You putting something together?” he asked as he passed me.
“So far I’m staring at thousands of pieces and several pages of directions. The actual assembly has yet to commence,” I admitted.
He fiddled with the key and when the door opened he glanced back at me. “Come on in. Might take a minute to locate it. Mack used it last and he’s not good with returning things to where they belong,” Marty explained.
Following him inside, I tried to distract myself by checking out the apartment instead of staring at Marty like a creeper.
“It’s late. You going to work on it all night?” he asked as he headed toward the kitchen.
“Uh, well, I had hoped to assemble it tonight. I have a checklist. This was the last thing on it for the day.”
“It’s eleven o’clock,” he challenged.
I glanced at the clock on his stove to confirm that. How was it already eleven? The last time I’d looked at my phone it was eight.
“Wow, time got away from me. I can’t believe I rang your doorbell so late. Even if you weren’t here.” I was embarrassed knowing I could’ve woken them up. I hadn’t even thought to check the time.
“Mack will never be in bed by eleven much less home,” Marty said. “I normally would have been here if I wasn’t working. But I doubt you’d have woken me,”—he looked up from the drawer he was currently looking in—“if you happen to need a hammer or nails at eleven some other time. But if it’s after midnight I’m not making any promises I’ll wake up for that.”
He was teasing me. I liked it.
“I’ll keep that in mind. What about a cup of sugar at eleven thirty at night?” I asked him.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Depends on what you’re making to need the sugar. If it’s cookies, cake, or brownies and you intend to share them with me, then please come ask.”
“I’ll make notes on this when I get back upstairs,” I told him.
He was still grinning when he walked to the fridge and ran a hand over the top as he looked for the screwdriver. “There it is,” he said as his hand pulled away from the top of the refrigerator holding said screwdriver.
As much as I wanted and needed the screwdriver, I knew I should be happier about Marty finding it. Instead, I was a little let down. This meant our time was up. I’d have to go back to my place and the bookshelves.
“Thank you,” I said trying to sound relieved not disappointed.
He didn’t hand it over. “No problem. Why don’t I grab a beer and follow you upstairs to take a look at it? Might be I could help you get it finished faster. Not that I think you can’t handle it. It’s just that two sets of hands might speed it up.”
The brief moment of disappointment vanished. Suddenly working on my bookshelves sounded like the best idea ever and if it took all night I didn’t think I’d mind.
“You would do that?” I asked. It was late. Didn’t he want to go to bed?
“Yeah, I like putting shit together,” he said and opened the fridge to pull out a beer. “Let’s see if we can’t knock this . . . what is it we’re putting together?”
“Bookshelves,” I said hoping that didn’t change his mind.
“You’re in luck. I’m an expert on bookshelf assembly,” he stated.
“You are?” I asked wondering how many he’d put together. Was he a reader?
“No, I’m lying, but for a second you had some hope didn’t you.” He winked and motioned for the door.
Let’s build those shelves.
I laughed. Not because what he’d said was that funny but because he made me feel . . . happy. Most people didn’t make me happy. Happiness was not a big part of my life.