I run up the stairs to the laundry room, sliding across the linoleum and landing on my hip and elbow. Pain shoots through both areas, but I ignore it and get up, almost falling again as I skid across the wet floor. I manage by the grace of God to get the lid on the washer open and then say a prayer when the water shuts off. Having been in town for a week, I needed clean clothes, and since I finally had a washer and dryer, I decided to do all my laundry. I should have waited.
Breathing heavy, I look around at the mess then head back downstairs. When I see the destruction in the living room, tears begin to fill my eyes. I bought one towel yesterday while I was at Target, because I didn’t see the sense in wasting money when all my stuff will be delivered in just a few days. There’s no way one towel will ever be enough for me to clean up this mess.
I squeeze my eyes closed and allow one single tear to slip through my lashes before I pull in a breath and head for my cell. As promised, Sara sent me the contact info for the construction company yesterday. I didn’t think I’d be contacting them so soon, but now I don’t have a choice. I place the call and am told by an older gentleman that someone will be out as soon as they can. Since all my clothes are now in the bottom of the washer still full of water, I have no choice but to wait for someone to show up, wearing nothing but one of my favorite cotton sleep tank nightgowns without even a bra or underwear. Seriously, this day couldn’t get worse.
Okay, so obviously the day can get worse, I think as I open my front door to the over six-foot-tall man standing outside. Blond hair a little longer than what most men consider fashionable, blue eyes so clear I can see my reflection, muscles outlined with the help of his form-fitting T-shirt, and tattoos that seem like a living, breathing extension of him.
I knew Tide growing up. We were never friends, but I had a huge crush on him. Not that he ever knew I liked him. We didn’t hang with the same crowd. Heck, we didn’t even talk. I was too busy working to please my parents, and he was too busy playing football and dating every girl who put out. He never even spared me much more than a glance or a chin lift in the hall between classes or at lunch.
To him, I was just one more of the rich kids. To me, he was the guy I wanted, not just because he was, and obviously still is, seriously hot. He was kind to everyone, and he defended those who couldn’t defend themselves. I can’t even count the amount of times I saw him stick up for someone getting picked on, getting into fights to defend one of the kids who were an easy target.
I wanted to be like him. I wanted deep within my soul to have the courage to tell those jerks to stop what they were doing. I wanted to tell my parents to grow up and see what they were doing to me and to each other. I never did any of that, which doesn’t say much about the kind of person I was. I just hope it’s not too late to change.
“—flooding.”
That one word pulls me from my memories, and I shake my head. I know more words were said, but I have no idea what they were. “What?”
He studies me for a moment like he’s trying to figure out if he knows me or how he knows me then looks behind me into the house. “My foreman says you’re having an issue with flooding.”
“Sorry.” I shake my head again as I hold the door open for him to step inside, feeling my cheeks get warm. “The washer...” I shake my head once more. “Something must be wrong with it. Water was flooding the floor, and it broke through the ceiling in the living room. I think something is wrong with the washer.” Could I sound any more like an idiot?
“I’ll take a look.”
Without another glance in my direction, I watch him move through my house and head up the stairs without me telling him where to go. I follow, watching his ass in his jeans and his back muscles flex under his form-fitting tee. I never considered the back of a man attractive before, but now I know I should have.
When he stops at the laundry room, I stop with him then watch as he pulls the washer away from the wall like it weighs no more than a feather. When he disappears behind it, I get up on my tippy toes and try to see what he’s doing. It’s no use. At five one, I can’t even reach the things on the top shelf at the grocery store without help. I definitely can’t see over the top of the washer with the lid open. I listen to him bang around then a moment later he reappears.
“The hose wasn’t attached to the drain. Looks like someone planned on taking the machine with them then had second thoughts.”
“Really?” I look at the washer. “It was included in the sale of the house, along with the dryer and the appliances in the kitchen.”
He studies me for a moment, then asks, “Was the sale attached to a foreclosure?” He drags a hand through his long dark-blonde hair, pushing it back from his face. “Sometimes when that happens, people get pissed and fuck shit up for the next buyer.”
“No,” I deny while wrapping my arms around my middle. “The house was put on the market by a couple getting a divorce.”
“That’d do it too. People can be assholes when things are going to shit for them. Sometimes they want to spread that joy around.”
“Great.” I bite my lower lip, looking to the side, and mumble, “Should I have someone come out to check the gas stove? I really don’t relish the idea of blowing up because of marital problems and a gas leak.”
He starts to laugh, and I turn just in time to experience the beauty of his head thrown back, seeing the contours of his jaw and the muscles of his neck. The laughter coming from deep in his chest does something strange to my insides, causing them to twist and turn. When his clear blue eyes meet mine, the breath inside my lungs feels odd, almost painful. I’m pretty sure he has no idea who I am, but still I feel like he just gave me something he doesn’t share with many people.
“I’ll check out the gas line.” He slams the lid on the washer closed, causing the water to start back up, then pushes it back into place while muttering, “You’re too beautiful to go up in smoke.”
Did he just call me beautiful?
He did. I know he did, but part of me still thinks I heard him wrong. After years with my parents and more years with my ex, I see what they saw when I look at myself in the mirror. A woman with great hair that’s not quite red and not really blonde. Fair skin and too many freckles. Overly large blue eyes and full lips, and a body that would have been the norm if I lived in the era of Marilyn Monroe. Unfortunately a size ten/ twelve nowadays is considered unacceptable and unattractive, and stupidly for years and years I starved myself and worked out like crazy, attempting to try to make myself fit in.
Not that it ever happened. I’ve never been smaller than a size eight, and since my divorce, I’ve been wearing a size twelve, sometimes even a fourteen. I don’t think I’m ugly; I consider myself passably pretty, but definitely not beautiful. Thinking about it, I don’t think anyone has ever called me beautiful before.
I dig my nails into my palms and push those thoughts and everything else about my past into the back of my mind, when Tide speaks again. “I’ll take a look at the damage downstairs and make sure everything is hooked up properly before I go.”
“Okay,” I agree quietly, focusing on him.
His eyes hold mine for a moment, the look within their crystal-blue depths making me feel like he sees more than he should be able to. Like he knows exactly what I’m feeling and thinking. The moment is broken when he motions for me to move. I take my cue and head back down the stairs ahead of him, more aware now than before of my lack of clothing. When I reach the bottom, I walk past the kitchen, into the living room, and look up. The ceiling has crumbled further, leaving a large gaping hole and watermarks traveling across where the drywall was taped together.