Kyle

Lunch was a waste of time. The potential clients canceled, pissing off Drew — especially since he sent the crew home early. We contemplated going back and tag-teaming a couple small projects that need finishing, but thought why not have a couple beers and call it a day.

Lunch was great, but the beers were better. Lucky, for me, Cindy wasn’t there to give me the stink eye. Honestly, I don’t think she has ever forgiven me for “hitting and splitting” as she called it. Actually, I know she hasn’t. Well, according to Jen, her sister, she hasn’t.

In my defense, I thought we had an understanding. We both were going through something and neither of us wanted to talk about it. Hell, I wasn’t even her first choice. The night we met, she slid Drew her number, not me. But, he saw Aubrey and was done. So, I got the napkin and eventually her attitude.

Being lonely is a bitch, especially when you had been with someone every day of your life since middle school.

“Go out and forget,” they said.

So, I did. I just didn’t expect for us to get stuck on repeat. For two weeks, Cindy and I met up here and there, but eventually it led to dinner after or drinks before. Which, to most women, means we’re dating.

I didn’t know!

After that, I threw myself into the cabin project, working nights and weekends to finally finish what my dad started. I just wish he could be here to see it.

Miss you, Dad.

Everywhere I turn, my dad is there. Woody’s, the cabin, the craft I inherited. He lives on in me and the things I do. Someday I hope to pass on the things he taught me.

Turning into Woody’s lot, I park my truck in back and wait for them to load up the materials I need to finish the deck.

“Hi, son.” Jimmy comes strolling out, tablet in hand, updating inventory.

“Hey, Jimmy.” I round the bed and lower the gate.

“Your mom said she talked to you…”

Holding up my hand, I stop him. “Jimmy, I’m trying hard to move on to make you guys happy, but it’s difficult.”

“I know son.” He pats me on the back and I wince.

As much as I know he means the words, I can’t help the jealousy that rears its ugly head. He chose his real son to spend his birthday with. Jack and his family. The family I wish I had.

“You know your mom just wants to get things back to the way they were,” he says, as if it’s that simple, as if saying the words will make everything go away and heal itself. It won’t.

Pulling out the radio, he calls for the loaders to bring out the order and continues. “You guys talked it out like brothers should. It’s about time we throw ourselves back together and make this family whole again.”

“Jimmy, it’s not that simple. You can’t just patch this up and make it better.” I run both hands through my hair. “I’m working on it, but it hurts,” I admit.

“It will get easier the more we are around each other.”

“I’m not the one who canceled,” I bark at him.

“You could come —”

“I’m not going to their home,” I interrupt.

“Okay, son. I get it, I do.” He pulls me to the side as they begin to load. “That is why I invited Jack and Tristan to have Trinity’s second birthday party at our house. Not theirs.”

Two?

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I look on, unsure of what to say.

“Just say you will be there. It would make your mom happy.”

What about my happiness?

“Just have Mom message me the date,” I say, but I don’t need the text. I know exactly when she was born. How can you ever forget a moment like that? Fourth of July fireworks, water breaking, a baby born in the back of your truck. Kind of unforgettable.

“Will do.” His phone begins to ring. “I better get this.”

Giving a little wave, I head inside to pick up a few things.

Nina

When life hands you lemons, you make lemonade or, in my case, a make-shift bike trailer. The one day I did need Niki’s car is the one time she decides to take it. While I took my shower and changed into appropriate painting attire — tank top and yoga pants — Niki and Gavin left, taking both cars.

So, I went over my list to see what I could manage and still maneuver the bike. The basket could carry the supplies and if I got two cans of paint, I could balance them on top of everything, against the handlebars.

Perfect!

When I’m almost to the store, I notice something next to a dumpster — a little rusted wagon. I stop next to it, pull it out and wheel it around.

Seems fine.

Reaching into my basket, I pull out a couple bungee cords and attach the wagon to the back of the bike.

Score!

Throwing my hands in the air I do a little shimmy, not caring who’s watching, to celebrate my little win. I did this. I came up with a plan and followed through. I didn’t need to get approval, I didn’t need to wait for help. I did this on my own.

Giving myself a big ol’ pat on the back, I jump back on the bike and continue on my adventure.

My head a little higher, I pedal a little faster knowing whatever comes my way, I will figure it out.

I can do this.

I ride the bike up onto the sidewalk and lean it against the building. List in hand, I grab a cart and head toward the paint department, hoping Kyle is there working.

Empty.

Looking around, I see a couple workers, none of them Mr. Tall Guy. I could ask for their help, but instead I take a little detour, grabbing all my other supplies first.

Making my rounds, I throw everything I need for the remodel into the cart. Paint brushes, tape, plastic, roller, extender, screws, nails, anything I can think of, I throw into the basket. With my new makeshift bike trailer, carrying this will be no problem.

Rounding the corner, I see Kyle is back and leaning against the counter, arms crossed, typing out a message on his phone while he waits.

My phone buzzes. Fishing it out of my bag, I expect to see a painting GIF from Niki, but instead it’s from the man standing in front of me.

Kyle: Hey friend.

Smiling, I punch out a text back.

Me: Well, hey there. How did your meeting go?

When I look up I see him typing back.

Kyle: It got canceled. Now I’m left with nothing to do. Any ideas?

I’m a little confused. He’s at work.

Me: There’s always work. ;)

Kyle: Just got off.

Oh, that explains it.

Me: Too bad. I have some paint that needs to be mixed. I guess I’ll have to get this hot guy at the counter to mix it up for me.

That gets his attention. His head flies up and he scans the department until his eyes land on mine.

“Hey you.” He tucks his hands, along with his phone, back into his pockets. “You finally decided on a color?”

“Oddly enough, I think it may be the same gray as the lady from the other night.”

“Well, let’s see what we got.” Kyle holds out his hand.

Phone in one hand, samples and list in the other, I try to pull out the right one, causing everything but the phone to flutter to the floor.

“I got it.” He picks it all up, handing me everything but the list and sample. “Is this the one you want?” He flips it in his hand.

“Yep, I need two gallons, please,” I say, shifting from foot to foot.

“I got you covered.” He’s around the counter, cans open and tinting before I realize he has the list.

Oh! My! God!

I see the list, face up on the counter. All he has to do is look down and see it. Inching to the counter, I reach out my hand, but before I can grab it, Kyle picks it up.

“Let’s see…” He starts at the bottom and works his way up, grinning. “Do you need help with anything else?”

I shake my head back and forth, heat creeping up on my face. “Nope! I think I have it covered.”

“Are you sure?” His brow arches, his eyes sparkle with amusement. “I don’t believe you got your ogle in.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I try to snatch the list, but he’s too quick.

“It says right here,” he replies, turning the worn-out piece of paper around for me to see.

 

#1 – Ogle Mr. Tall Guy

 

So much for being friends. I wasn’t even aware I was doing it, but when I saw Niki and Gavin on the couch after I had the run in with Kyle at Java Talk, it made my mind wander. Not all guys are like Brandon, and what if Kyle is one of the good ones…like Gavin.

Holding his hands out, he rounds the paint counter and turns in a circle. “Ogle away, Miss Sanders.”

Covering my face, I’m ready to run.

“Come on, you’re going to miss the grand finale,” he goads, reaching for my hands and pushing them down from my face.

It’s been a while since I have appreciated another man, besides Brandon Thompson. I wasn’t allowed to even look in another direction, caging my heart in a prison cell, leaving room for only him.

I felt like I walked through life with blinders on. My senses stripped from me, unable to enjoy the taste of life and right now, I’m being teased, tempted, and boy do I want to taste.

“Shake what your momma gave ya.” He sings while doing a little dance, lifting his white fitted tee, just enough for me to appreciate the way his jeans are slung low.

“You’re nuts!” I throw my head back and let out a little howl, allowing myself to live in the moment.

“See?” He’s right in front of me. “Friends ogling friends can feel good, right?”

“Boss, you should have rung the bell.” The kid from the other night walks up, pointing to the back. “I was in the stockroom.”

“Dillion, it wasn’t a problem.” He puts his arm around me, “Nina here is my friend.” I tense at his touch.

Somehow sensing he shouldn’t have done that, without missing a beat he steps away, hands in pockets.

“The rest of your truck is loaded.” He hands Kyle the keys. “Oh hey, I forgot. Drew called a little bit ago and needed a new box of tiles. Apparently, there was a case damaged upon delivery. Said to send it with you tomorrow, but I just threw it in there since you were here.”

“Thanks, man.” He pats Dillion on the shoulder and faces me. “Do you want to grab an early dinner?”

“What did he say?”

I scan the floor. All the employees working have orange vests on with a Woody Woodpecker logo on it. Kyle is in a white tee and blue jeans.

“What did who say?” He tilts his head to the side, brows furrowed.

“Wait…you-you don’t work here?”

“Miss Sanders, he owns Woody’s,” Dillion chimes in.

Giving Dillion the evil eye, Kyle says, “Actually Woody’s was my dad’s, but I guess I technically own it.” He scans the floor, nodding his head in appreciation, and continues. “I work for WilliamSon Construction as the lead foreman.”

“Oh.”

“Does that change things?” He bends at the knees, looking me in the eyes, seeing my confusion.

“I guess not. I just assumed.”

“You know what they say about assuming...” Dillion interrupts and both our heads turn.

He backs up with his hands in the air. “Just sayin’, man. Just sayin’.”

“Dinner? How about it?” Kyle looks up through his lashes, silently pleading for me to say yes.

“I’m going to pass.” I signal to the cart. “I have a lot to get done.”

“Okay. Well, if you get bored later…” he pulls out his phone and mouths, “Text me.”

“Alrighty, see you later.” I wave, pushing my cart as fast as I can to get out of there.

Making it through the checkout in record time, I get my things and go.

Back there, something happened. I was carefree…no, careless. Allowing myself to feel an emotion other than fear left me unprotected, unaware.

Kyle really does seem like a nice guy, one that I would like to be friends with, maybe even get to know better, but so did Brandon and look where that left me.

Broken.

Taking the bags, I load them on my arm, leaving the cart inside and head for my bike. Noticing the wagon, I realize I never grabbed my paint.

Shit!

The bags cut into my circulation, but I can’t leave them out here, so I turn around to head back inside, but before I hit the doors a huge, black Ford 250 rounds the corner and honks. As it pulls up, the window rolls down…

Kyle.

Holding up a can of paint, he says, “You forgot these.”

“I was just going back in there to get those.” I open his passenger side and grab the cans. “I only have a credit card. Can I pay you tomorrow?”

Waving me off, he puts the truck in park and climbs out. “Let me load those for you.” He searches the parking lot. “Front row full?”

“I rode,” I say, pointing to my bike.

“Seriously? From Niki’s?” He seems more concerned than amused.

“Yeah. The ride is nice and on the way here, I found this wagon.” I set the cans down in it and show him what I created. “It’s the perfect little bike trailer.” I do my best Vanna White pose.

Am I flirting?

Toning it down, I grab hold of the handle bars and throw a leg over the seat. “I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Get in.” He takes the bags out of the bike basket, throwing them in his truck. Then he reaches for the paint.

“Stop!” I jump off the bike. I grab the cans from him, the weight of the paint pulling my arms down, and they crash into the wagon. Then I grab the bags from the truck.

“Nina, this isn’t safe.” His hands are back in his pockets.

“It’s a nice neighborhood.” I wave my hand around. “Plus, it’s still daylight…totally safe.” I mount the bike, standing up to pedal to help build up speed.

“I meant the bike!” he yells after me, jogging. “It’s not safe and you aren’t wearing the proper safety equipment.”

“See you around!”

“Damnit, Nina!” he shouts, but I don’t look back.

Never look back.