Filson stands out front on the steps, a big smile on his raggedy, handsome, bearded face. I've never seen him so happy and I wonder if in part that has to do with me. He calls out hello and I bound up the steps that are freshly peeled and washed.
“You look beautiful,” he tells me.
“Oh, stop,” I say laughing. “I look like I've been working all day.”
“I like it on you.”
“Well, thanks,” I say, finally accepting the compliment. “You look like you've been working all day too.” I look him up and down; work pants and a flannel shirt rolled to his elbows.
I want to stand on my tippy toes and run my hands through his beard. Pull him in for a kiss. But he said he wanted to take this slow and so I'll let him take the lead.
“So I realized,” he says, coughing into his hand. “That I wanted to take you out, but I didn't exactly plan for it. I didn't bring a change of clothes and I'm all dusty and greasy from working today.”
“That's okay,” I say. “We can figure something to eat here.” I bite my lip as something else dawns on me. “Or was this your way of getting out of the date?”
He shakes his head. “No, God no. Actually, I talked to your neighbor. Elsie?”
“Yeah,” I say skeptically. “What did you talk to her about?” She’s the gossip in town and I wonder what she'd be saying to Filson.
“She said there was a wreath-making class tonight down at the community center. Wreaths to give to the families who signed up for donations for their kids’ Christmas gifts. I thought maybe we could go?”
I can’t help but smile. “Are you asking me to go to a craft class with you?”
“Why? Is that a bad idea?” he asks. “I just thought I wouldn't have to dress up for it.”
“No, it's perfect. It's exactly the kind of date I would want to go on.” We stand there looking at one another with goofy smiles on our faces. Finally, I speak when my stomach begins to growl. “All right. I suppose we could have a quick bite to eat before we head out. I could make us some grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup?”
Not too long later, our tummies are full and we're back in our coats and hats and walking down the street toward the community center. Filson reaches out and takes my hand and my stomach flip-flops with butterflies. It's like we’re finding love for the first time.
He notices. “What's got you in such a good mood?”
Feeling safe with our hands linked, I tell him what I’m feeling, “I was just thinking how nice it is to hold your hand and how you and I are one another’s firsts. First everything,” I say. “It makes me feel really special.”
Filson pauses on the sidewalk where the streetlamp glows, high above us the stars are out, the moon hangs in this night sky. He wraps his arms around me and tilts my chin up with his forefinger, making me feel light and lovely as I bask in his smile.
He leans down and kisses me gently. It's soft and it's slow and it makes my heart flutter. When he pulls back, my eyes are closed.
“That was perfect,” I whisper, wanting to hold on to the moment a little bit longer.
Filson groans. “God, I like kissing you.” He says it so simply and yet it’s so true. I hold onto it.
I’m surprised that such a tender moment could be shared with this man who's always seemed so rugged and cold and set apart. “When you kiss me,” I tell him, “it's like I see a softer version of you. Does that make sense?”
Filson nods. “I get what you mean. When I kiss you. I feel like I could do anything, even take over the world.”
“We don't need to take over the world,” I say, his hand back in mine as we walk down the street. “Tonight, we're just going to take over the community center with our wreath-making skills.”
He laughs. “I’m not exactly skilled at making wreaths.”
“I'll teach you.”
The room at the community center is practically empty. There are only about six of us. The other people in attendance are retired women who realize the importance of making things for others. I wouldn’t expect for Filson to know the women here, but the moment he walks into the room, several of them perk up and walk over to give him handshakes and hugs.
I lift my eyebrows, listening as Shelly from down the road thanks Filson for shoveling her driveway after the first snow of the year. And Nan hugs him, telling him that her fireplace is working better than ever thanks to him clearing out the chimney.
“What’s that all about?” I ask, sidling up to him.
He shrugs his shoulders, running a hand over his beard. “It’s nothing. Just helping people out when I can.”
“Doesn’t seem like nothing to them,” I say, as Trudy comes over and thanks Filson for fixing her rain gutters this fall.
“And this man wouldn’t even let me pay him,” Trudy tells me. “He’s a generous one. A keeper for sure,” she says, giving me a wink.
After a brief how-to lesson by a local nurse named Carla, we get to work. Each of us is given a pair of sheers and a bundle of wire and she explains how to wrap the garlands together and how to attach boughs of holly to the center of each wreath and then how to wrap a red velvet ribbon to the center.
It takes us a bit but after a while, we get the hang of it and soon enough we've each made two wreaths.
“Oh, those look so great,” Carla says. “These will be so appreciated by our families.”
We're just chatting about the soup kitchen and when my phone buzzes. I reach for it, turning away to take the call.
“Hello,” I say. “Who’s this?”
“Oh, Maple, I’m glad you picked up. This is Sheriff Montgomery. There’s an incident down at the soup kitchen.”
“An incident?” I repeat. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing to be too alarmed about, but someone was walking past and saw that there was water pouring out the front door. Water pouring everywhere. I got inside and it looks like a pipe burst. Not surprising with this weather. I stopped it for now. Turned off the water.”
“Oh, God, okay. Don't worry. I'll be there in a minute. I'm just at the community center. Thank you so much.”
“I'll stay here until you get here,” he tells me.
I end the call and explain what's happened to Carla and Filson. He grabs our jackets and within minutes we're walking down the steps of the community center toward the soup kitchen.
“This is such bad timing,” I say, wringing my hands as I rush toward my granny's heart and soul. Inside, Sheriff Montgomery shows us the damage. The floor is covered in an inch of water and the pipes under the main sink have busted.
“It won't take me long to fix this,” Filson says confidently. “But we gotta take care of this water so there isn’t any damage.”
Sheriff Montgomery wishes us good luck before leaving for another call that just came through on his radio.
“Don't worry about us,” I tell him. “Thank you so much for calling.”
Once he's gone, Filson and I start with the water. I find every towel and rag I can and begin sopping up the liquid. Filson runs back to my house and grabs some more towels and laundry baskets and I began pushing the water out with the mop and bucket trying to dry the floor before more linoleum tiles begin popping off. A few of them already have.