Hardware. Nails, screws, tools, and more tools. It all looks the same to me. Hardware stores, building and fixing things, that's definitely outside my area of expertise. I probably should start watching some videos though. I'm sure it's only a matter of time before something breaks in the house. And now that it's just me, I'm going to need to figure it out.
My eyes glance over at Tommy. I'm thankful for this unexpected outing with him, after pulling away last week and nearly destroying something before it even had a chance to get off the ground. Today is my chance to let him know, to ensure that he knows I'm still in this. And man am I in this as my wandering eyes latch onto those small flexes of muscle in his forearms each time he reaches for something. Don't ask me what it is. One, I have no idea what any of these things are, and two, I'm enjoying a different view at the moment.
In fact, you know what else I would enjoy? Watching Tommy crawl under the sink to fix a leak.
Straining to get it right, sweat glistening off those very forearms.
I came to the realization a few days ago that I'm ready to move forward with Tommy, but that doesn't mean I plan to just dive into his arms, attacking his mouth with mine. Though the thought has crossed my mind. Especially now with this whole handyman vibe he's got going on. I wonder if he owns a tool belt.
"This should work," Tommy jolts me from my minor fantasy as he throws something on the cart. I just nod, not having a clue what he just threw on here.
I'm not completely useless on this trip. I am in charge of maneuvering this flatbed of a cart stacked with wood and other supplies that Tommy sees fit. And this is no walk in the park either. I have to gravely swing around tight corners and dodge oncoming traffic all the while keeping this boat on course without knocking down a single display. I happen to think I'm nailing it, no pun intended.
I also have another pretty important task. I'm on visual appearance duty. See what I did there? Gave myself an important title to show just how crucial I am in this whole process. My job entails picking out the paint, making small decisions about the details. That's a big undertaking. I have to dive into Mia's magical mind to capture exactly the perfect vision.
"Flower box under the window?" Tommy questions.
"That's a definite yes," I nod. That was an easy one. Mia loves flowers and especially any type of garden where she gets to watch flowers bloom or vegetables grow. Something I'm looking forward to this spring.
The rest of the adventure is spent the same way. Me following him throughout the aisles and him grabbing what we need before we make our way to pay. It ends up being a much quicker trip than I had envisioned, especially since he seemed to know exactly what we needed.
After loading my dad's truck, we both climb inside and begin to make our way back to my place. The usual comforting silence fills the cab as we pass by the coast. Walking through the hardware store today, with him, was such an everyday task. Getting supplies so we can go back and build it felt so normal, like it was just something we always do together. Minus the immense amount of sexual tension blazing the aisles. Okay, maybe I was the only one feeling it, but there's something about watching a man grab supplies with confidence, talk with the workers, asking for exactly what he needed, choosing the right wood without question. All of those tiny things have had my stomach fluttering all day. I don't know if it's some primal reaction or what, but knowing that he's good with his hands and watching it all play out in front of me has been doing something sinful to my thoughts.
I notice his hand sitting on the center console and reach over to slide my fingers between his. I need to feel his touch, to be close to him again. His eyes glance down before briefly meeting mine, causing a small jolt to my heart before he focuses back on the road.
I rest my head against the seat now, feeling the sparks ignite as he creates small circles along the back of my hand with his thumb. My eyes shift to the water now, watching as the waves trickle in. There are a lot of surfers out today, making me miss the feel of the water. I haven't had a lot of time to get out there lately, something I make note to try and do soon. And actually, this moment right here in the quiet car with Tommy makes me think about our walks along the beach. The ones I used to look forward to, knowing that no matter where my week took me, he would always be there to talk. And now, now those moments on the beach have trickled their way into the rest of my week. In the moments he comes by for dinner, when we randomly meet for lunch, or the constant thread of texts that are laced throughout my day. He's become so much more than a Sunday stroll on a sandy beach.
As we turn away from the ocean, I lift my head up, shifting to face him now.
"So, Officer Sallow," I begin. "How does a cop come by the talent of playhouse building?"
He glances over at me briefly before bringing his eyes back to the road. "I, um, I built one once...for my sister."
I nod, taking note of the short answer. Something he tends to do when there's a lot more of a story to tell. One that he is working to avoid, even though it's clear the images of that narrative are now being displayed in front of him.
"Well, I'm glad you seem to know what you're doing because everything back there seemed to look the same to me," I attempt to lighten the mood.
Thankfully, I am awarded with one of his laughs as his tense posture now deflates. "You mean you don't moonlight as a construction worker?" he taunts.
"Hey," I throw back at him, sitting up a bit straighter now as I turn my body in my seat to face him. "I'll have you know, that I took woodshop in middle school," I smile proudly, causing another laugh from him. His laugh is really freaking cute.
"Oh yeah? How did that work out for you?" he looks at me from the corner of his eye, lifting his brow slightly in intrigue.
"Ask my mom," I shrug. "She happens to love the wobbly cutting board I made her. She said it adds a challenge to a rudimentary skill."
His laugh increases as he shakes his head. "She's a pretty phenomenal mom, isn't she?"
"She is. She's not the only one though. My dad got a slanted bookshelf. To this day his books all lean to the right. He said it adds character. I've told him a million times to get rid of it. But he insists that anything made with love is worth keeping."
"Your parents are pretty amazing. You really lucked out," he smiles as his voice drifts off. I know his sentiment is honest, but his mind has clearly entered another scene. It's in this drop in mood, the very one he had a few minutes ago, that I am quickly reminded of Thanksgiving when I asked him about his dad. I begin to piece it together, deciding to give him a little bit of that strength he's always offering me.
"You know," I lower my voice as I begin to trace my own pattern on his hand now. "Ed's not my birth dad," I say as he pulls into my driveway, shifting the car in park and slowly turning to face me. His eyes search mine for a moment, trying to gather what it is I'm saying, where I'm going with this. "My donor of a father took off when my twin and I were only a few months old. He was young, wasn't ready to be a dad, but more than anything, the drugs were more important."
At the reality of my words, his demeanor changes slightly, a sense of seriousness falling across his face.
"So yes," I continue. "I did luck out in getting Ed as a father, in the fact that he chose to take us in. But I also never got to know my birth dad. I never got to learn his quirks and discover what habits and traits I inherited from him. I'm just left to forever wonder."
He watches me, his eyes locked on mine. I notice the way my words settle on him. I also see that there is not a single bit of shock or confusion behind his stare. Instead, the only thing I see is a sense of understanding.
His heavy sigh fills the small space we're in. "Well, speaking from someone who knew his father, you might actually have it best, not knowing him. At least you're not left with disappointment and resentment."
And now we're getting somewhere.
"I don't know about that," I counter, still clinging tightly to his hand. "Some days I'm disappointed that I'll never get to know him. Even if he decides to come back around, I don't want to know him, not anymore. And resentment? I resent what he did to my mom. Leaving her alone to raise twins. But I think everyone's story is different..." I trail off, hoping he'll fill in the blanks of his past for me. That he trusts me enough to share that part of himself with me.
"I get what it feels like to have your father put drugs before you," he acknowledges. There's a pit in my stomach now. One built on understanding, of knowing where this is going. "To know that you weren't enough to make him want to stop, to choose you. I also know what it's like to watch your father turn into someone unrecognizable, even to his own family."
I can see the pain and anger flashing in his eyes and I place my other hand on his now, offering him the same sense of comfort he's given me so many times. He looks down, watching as I try my best to give him what he needs. I wish I wasn't sitting in this seat right now. I wish I could actually hold him.
"Look," his eyes drift back up to mine. "My old man was a real shitty father and an even worse husband. Not too different from your own, he chose to put drugs before his family. Not to mention how he'd..." he stops himself, his eyes holding mine. He seems to be searching for his next words, navigating exactly what he wants to say next. "He just didn't seem to care how he hurt us, especially my mom. He put her through hell."
I can feel the tension of his muscles flexing and reach to place my hand on his chest, keeping him here in the moment with me. Trying my best to remind him that he's here with me, not in his past.
"I actually used to think we were lucky," he shakes his head at his words. "He was so fucking messed up, always cheating death, that I thought at least he was alive." His voice falters for a moment before he looks at me again. "But now that he's been locked up for so long, it feels like he might as well be dead. I mean, in some ways, it does feel like that. But now..."
His voice tapers off, his eyes dropping. I don't know what he's getting at or where he's going. Something has changed, or is changing? I can see the worry behind his eyes now, the sense of concern mixed with the faintest ounce of fear. He hasn't really said much. He's opening up, and something tells me by the pain in his eyes and struggle to actually form the words, that he's not used to divulging this side of himself.
"Hey," I whisper, sliding my hand behind his neck. "I've always believed that life is made of choices. Our dads, they chose wrong. Simple as that. Were we the ones to take the blow? Sure. Does it hurt like hell to wonder why you were never enough to make them choose differently? A thousand percent. But that's the thing, it was their choice. It was his choice, one that he's paying for. But that doesn't mean you have to."
His forehead falls to mine, creating a bubble around us as his eyes slowly close. "Thank you," he whispers, but I can still feel the strain in his voice. Though he seems to be telling me about his past, I can't help but feel like it's also part of his present. He's holding back. Something is still pulling at him, and I want more than anything to ask what it is. The thing is, those things that haunt us, they need to come out when they're ready. So, instead of digging, I decide to take a different route.
"Now," I say, prompting his eyes to pull open, to connect with mine. "You ready to see how good I look with a hammer in my hands?"
There's a sparkle in his eyes as his mouth tilts into a smile. He rocks his head against mine before pulling back, laughing. There it is. That adorable laugh that causes my heart to sprout wings.
"Amber, you look good holding just about anything."
He turns to open the door now, stepping out as I follow and do the same. A silly curiosity from earlier overcomes me and I hop up onto the running board of the truck, peeking over it at the handsome guy on the other side. "Hey, Tommy," I shout over the roof.
His deep blues look over at me as he raises his chin.
"You don't happen to own a tool belt, do you?"
His eyes bunch together. "No, why?"
Dang.
"Just wondering," I jump down only to find him quickly by my side, his hands wrapping around my waist, gently pressing me up against the door of the car as his mouth drops to my ear.
Yep. My heart just flew from my chest while some much lower parts just ignited.
"Just wondering, huh?" I can hear his smile and I'm about to drop dead from the proximity. "Why do I find that answer a little too suggestively vague?"
I slide my hands to his firm chest, reveling in the feel of solid muscle beneath before softly pushing him back. I slide out of his grip and begin walking toward the back gate. I turn my head to catch him watching my ass, just as I hoped he would be.
"Because, Officer Sallow, it was meant to be suggestive."
With that, I take off into the backyard.
~~~
To be continued💋