"How about you? What's your name?"
"Faith. And you?"
"Tyler."
I hear my grandma's voice calling out, "Faith? Are you out here?"
"Shit." I wave my hand at Tyler. "Hurry up. Turn around."
"Faith?" Grams yells.
I get out my phone and call her landline number. She'll hear it and go back inside, answer the phone, find out nobody's there, then spend a few moments trying to figure out who might've called. By then, I'll be back over there.
After a few rings I see her go back in the house. I put my phone away and go back to Tyler. "C'mon. Turn around."
"You're not using that on my head." He points to the pink towel. "Where the hell you'd get that? A Barbie house?"
"Who cares what color it is? It's clean. That's all that matters." Since he refuses to turn around, I walk around to the back of him and dab the towel over the dried blood.
"It's cold," he says.
"Yeah, well, I didn't have time to wait for the water to warm up before getting it wet. Deal with it."
"You're a horrible nurse."
"I'm not a nurse."
"Good, because you'd be horrible at it."
"Thanks," I say, rolling my eyes.
The cut has stopped bleeding but cleaning it up has left the towel stained with blood. I can't bring it home looking like that.
"I'm done." I hold out the towel to him. "Is there any way you'd consider washing this for me? If Grams sees it with blood on it, she'll freak out."
He grabs the towel and tosses it in the open trash can in the corner.
"I asked you to wash it, not throw it out."
"Something that hideous belongs in the trash."
I sigh. "Okay, well, I'll see ya later." I start to leave then hear him talking.
"You never said why you came over here."
I turn around. "Oh. Yeah. Your music is kinda loud. I was wondering if you could turn it down."
He looks at the radio that's sitting on the tool bench, then looks back at me. "Sure. I could turn it down."
"Really? My grandma said she asked but you wouldn't do it."
"Because she didn't ask. She demanded, and then she called the cops."
"She called the police weeks ago. You didn't even live here then."
He smirks. "So you've been talking about me."
"She mentioned that you'd just moved in. That's it. And she didn't call the police about the music. It was about the noise coming from the garage. Your grandpa was in here working and whatever tools he was using were loud."
"Walter." Tyler stands up and goes over to the radio and turns it down.
"That's your grandpa's name? Walter?"
"Or Walt. He goes by either."
"I'd love to meet him but I really need to get back to the house. I hope your head gets better."
"I have faith that it will," he says with a hint of a smile.
I smile back at his play on my name. "Bye, Tyler. Oh, and thanks for turning the music down."
He just nods, a slight smile still on his face, those sexy eyes making my stomach flutter.
I hurry back to the house. Grams is on the phone.
"Betty, did you phone me just now?" She listens, shaking her head. "Must've been a wrong number." She nods. "Yes, Faith just arrived. We were just about to have lunch." She nods again. "You too. We'll talk on Monday. See you then." She hangs up the phone and says to me, "What took so long? I thought you were just getting a box."
"I was. I mean, I did. And now I'm back." I smile. "Ready for lunch?"
She eyes me. "You weren't talking to that horrid neighbor boy, were you?"
"No. Of course not." I walk past her to the kitchen.
She follows me in there. "I realize you're an adult now, Faith, but that doesn't mean you make the best decisions, especially when it comes to young men."
She's referring to Tom, my former fiancé, a guy I dated for two years in college. We were supposed to get married the summer after graduation but I called it off when I found out he was dating a girl in another state that he'd met online. I couldn't figure out why he kept going out of town. He said it was to see friends but he never gave me any details about these friends and he never let me meet them.
"Not every guy is like Tom," I say as I sit at the table.
"Perhaps not, but I know for a fact that a boy like Tyler Hooster is not the type of boy you should be associating with." She pours me a glass of iced tea, then joins me at the table.
"That's his last name? Hooster? What else do you know about him?"
Her eyes go to mine. "Why do you ask?"
I shrug. "No reason." I place my napkin on my lap. "I'm just making conversation."
"Well, I would prefer a different topic," she says, emptying a sugar packet into her tea. "At least he turned down that incessant music."
"See?" I smile at her. "Maybe he's not so bad after all."
She huffs. "I've been around long enough to spot trouble, and believe me, that boy is trouble."
He does seem like a bad boy but sometimes bad boys have a sweet side that's just waiting to come out. I might just have to get to know him to see if that's true.
Chapter Three
The next morning, Grams is knocking on my door at seven, a loud series of knocks that ends with, "Faith, are you up?"
"Not really." I roll onto my back, yawning. "What do you need?"
She opens the door and I realize I'll have zero privacy living here. My mom would always ask before coming in my room, but Grams just walks right in, her hair in curlers, a light blue housecoat on.
"I thought we'd start cleaning out the cupboards this morning," she says with eagerness in her voice. She loves to clean and organize. Most people dread it but she finds it exhilarating.
"Grams, we have two years here. Can't we clean the cupboards out some other time?"
"We could, but why wait? Now is the perfect time. You're not in school yet and this will be a fun activity we can do together."
It's not exactly my idea of fun but I agree to it and force myself out of bed.
"I thought by now you would've already been through everything," I say, yawning, as I go to the dresser to find some clothes.
"I spent my time getting the yard in shape. You should go see the flower gardens out back. I forgot to take you out there when you arrived yesterday. I also have a few vegetable plants, although they didn't take off like I'd hoped they would." She walks over to the window and throws open the drapes. "I don't know how he does it." She crosses her arms as she stares out the window.
"Does what?" I ask, grabbing a tank top and pair of shorts from the drawer. "Who are you talking about?"
"Walter. The man next door. How can someone with such a petulant demeanor create such beauty?"
"What do you mean?" I meet her by the window, stunned by what I'm seeing. "Wow. That's amazing."