Tears sting my eyes as my frustration grows. This isn't the time of year for this. This place is going to be closed down within weeks, and I'm supposed to end this chapter of my life on a positive note and instead, it looks like everything's going to end on a sour one.
Filson notices my shoulders shaking and he pulls me around so he can look into my eyes.
“Maple, what's going on?”
I wipe my eyes with my hand not wanting to cry in front of him. “Just been a long day,” I tell him. “And I don’t want this place Granny loved so much to fall apart.”
Filson pulls me to him. “Nothing is falling apart except a rusty old pipe. It’s all going to be okay.”
Once the kitchen closes, I won’t even have a job. Looking up at Filson, I forgot to filter myself. “How can you afford to take time away from your own job for me?”
“I just called and told them I’d be gone for a few weeks.”
“Won’t they be angry?”
“Not as angry as I’d be with myself for passing up the opportunity to spend time with Maple St. Claire.”
“For a man with a Grinch-like reputation, you sure do know how to steal a woman’s heart, Filson.”
He shakes his head, taking the mop from me. “No, Maple, it’s only your heart I’m hoping to capture.”
Filson
The next three weeks pass in a blur. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize Maple is a scared little bird. After our night fixing up the soup kitchen, when she shut down instead of opening up, I saw that I need to earn her trust for her to be open with me.
And I figure I’ve waited long enough. I can wait for her a bit more. Only this time I’m staying put in her house.
Still after three weeks, anytime I ask her hard questions about why she's getting this work done, about why she's always so on edge and stressed out, she puts me off. The questions themselves seem to cause her pain and that's the last thing I want.
I want to be her shining light, her saving grace, her one bright star in a dark sky and that means I show up every morning just as she's headed out for the soup kitchen, toolbox in hand. I checked off most of the things she had on the to-do list right away, but if she wants to get her house in order, I figure I can do the things she hasn't seemed to notice.
The mailbox was rusty and needed to be replaced. I spent a whole day reworking the window frames so that the windows were set right. This house is nearly a hundred years old and there are lots of things in it that need tweaking, like the light fixture in the dining room. Every time you turn the light on, you're reminded that the thing is hanging on by a thread or… at least by a wire.
I pick out a new fixture from the hardware store and am I'm standing on the dining room table putting it in when she walks in the door.
“Filson,” she calls. “I’m home!”
Three weeks into this and we've grown more comfortable with each other than I ever imagined. For example, Maple knows I like a hot breakfast and she seems to always have a plate of bacon and eggs ready for me when I show up. “Sustenance,” she says with a smile and God, it takes everything within me to not pull her up onto the kitchen counter and take her then and there.
But I'm biding my time. I want this to last. So, I suffice with a kiss; a long, slow kiss that leaves us both breathless. That leaves her panting for more. Good, that's the way I want her. It's the same place that I’m at and I know that when we finally come together and this little project of ours ends, we can make this into something more. Into something real.
Same as she has breakfast for me, I make sure I always have this thermostat up five degrees higher when she's about to come home. I love the way she smiles walking into the house. “Oh, it's so cozy and toasty in here!” she says nearly every day.
She's just said the same thing now as she walks into the dining room. “Wow, that looks fantastic. I feel like you're just finding random things to do with the house at this point. Are you trying to avoid going back to your real job?”
Finished with the fixture, I jump off the table and flick the light switch on. “Voila,” I say. She claps her hands, showing she’s impressed by my handiwork. Even though I know it's just a few wires pressed together.
“Truth is I don’t give a damn about that old job I was doing.”
“Will they let you back on the crew?”
“You trying to get rid of me?” I ask
“No, not at all. I love having you here. I was just feeling a little guilty.”
“Don’t. It's freezing-ass cold outside. Not really interested if I'm telling it to you straight. Besides, I'm tired of working for other people.”
Maple listens as she sets down her purse, taking off her coat, revealing a perfectly curvy body that makes my cock nice and hard. With a smirk, she says, “You’re working for me, aren’t you?”
We both laugh, knowing this arrangement is about a whole lot more than fixing up a house. It’s about the spark we share, the feelings we have for each other.
I set my power drill down and walk over to her as she's pulling something out of her purse. “Speaking of work, I owe you a paycheck. I know we hadn't agreed on an hourly, but—”
I shake my head, pushing the envelope away. “I’m not taking your money, Maple. I already took your virginity.”
She licks her lips, her cheeks nice and pink. “If I remember correctly it was offered, not taken.”
“Fair enough. But now look, I have fixed every creaky step, every faulty light, every damn leak in this house. I don't think I can find any more jobs to do.”
“I know,” she says. “That's why I was paying you today. Because I think we're kind of done.”
“Just like that?” I ask, hating the idea of having to say goodbye.
“Not done like, you and me. I mean done having you help or work on the house. I think it's time to move on.”
“Move on?” I feel my heart pulling back. Same as my feet. “I understand, Maple. You want me to go. The job is done.”
She groans with exasperation. “That's not what I'm saying at all. I’m saying this project is finished and just in time. Because tonight's the Jingle Bell Lane party.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I guess it just feels like the perfect time to celebrate the holidays. To stop working so hard and just enjoy ourselves.”
“I'm not going to the party. I’ve never been, and really it’s not my scene.”
“It’s my scene though, Filson.”
We stand in silence for a minute, and I know Maple loves this sort of thing… a holiday party. Her granny organized it every year. Not going feels like a rejection of everything she stands for. A rejection of her.
“Of course, I’ll come, Maple. I just… all of this is new to me. I’m just learning as I go.”
Relief seems to wash over her. “Good, because I’d hate to go alone.”
I walk to her and pull her into my arms. Our lips meet and damn, she’s all I want.
“So that’s settled,” I say she we pull apart.