“You think so?” I ask, feeling slightly self-conscious.
“Yeah, and do you know what I was thinking? We don’t have much of a waiting room at the shop, so we could strike up some sort of deal where my customers get ten percent off any meal while waiting for their car to be fixed, and I can offer the same for you with oil changes or something.”
“Really? You would do that? Send people over to the Parlor?”
“Hell yeah. Means they’re not waiting around, bothering me about when their car will be ready. It would be a good trade-off. And you know . . . if you want to kick over some of those sandwiches in return as well, I’m not going to turn them down.”
“After saving my knees from many more aching hours kneeling on the floor, you can have as many sandwiches as you want.”
“If I knew it was going to be that easy, I would have been over earlier.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and says, “We should probably get back so we can tear up the rest of the floors.”
“You don’t have to help me, Brig. I can probably figure out how to use the machine.”
“I mean this in the nicest way possible, Ruthie, but I don’t think you can handle the strength and power of the floor ripper.”
“Are you saying I’m weak, Brig?” I ask, feeling far more comfortable with him than before.
“No. From your tank top, I can tell you’re really packing heat in those biceps of yours.”
I chuckle. “Don’t let these pencil arms mislead you, there is a lot of strength behind them.”
“Either way, I’ll help you. I’ll tear everything up, and you can remove debris. Trust me, you’re going to want a strapping lad like myself maneuvering the floor ripper around.”
“Huh . . . wasn’t expecting that to happen,” Brig says, scratching the top of his head, staring at the hole in the wall the floor ripper broke through.
“So glad I had a strapping lad helping me. Who knows what might have happened,” I deadpan.
“Cheeky,” he says with a grin and then steps forward to examine the damage. “Not going to lie, this will set back your construction timeline. Unless you were looking to have a hole in the wall that connects to my shop. If that’s the case, I did us both a favor.”
“I can see it now, a Dutch door connecting the two spaces with a slot where we can pass sandwiches back and forth.”
“Like a dumbwaiter. Your innovative problem solving is commendable.” He takes out his phone again, presses a few buttons, and then brings it to his ear. “Hey Rogan. Slight problem. Think you can come to Ruthie’s Parlor? Just come here. No, I don’t need a medic.” Huffing, Brig hangs up and then says, “He’s right around the corner.”
“Why is he coming?” I ask. “I think we can dislodge the floor ripper from the wall ourselves.”
“Want him to make sure this isn’t going to hurt your sales contract or anything like that, plus, I don’t want to take the machine back to his place. Lazy like that.” He shrugs and then turns to the rest of the space. “At least we finished the floor. Told you it would be quick.”
There is old flooring piled up in the corner. A dumpster is supposed to arrive tomorrow, and the floor is concrete decorated in old yellow glue. Not much of an improvement, but I know once we get the new white oak floors installed—sans glue—it’s going to be gorgeous in here.
“It was quick. Thank you for the help, even though you smashed the floor ripper through the wall.”
“Frankly, I blame you.”
“Me?” I ask, shocked. “How is this my fault? I was stacking the garbage in the corner.”
“Yes, but I was concerned with how you were stacking it.”
“Oh my God, that is the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”
“At least it’s an excuse.” He winks and my stomach flips.
The Parlor door opens and Rogan comes in. The temperature of the room feels a thousand times better thanks to the AC unit, so when Rogan steps in, he simply looks confused. Until he sees the hole in the wall.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, walking up to us. “Why did you let him handle the machine?” Rogan asks me.
“Uh . . . because he said I couldn’t.”
Rogan pushes his hand through his hair. “Brig, you and I both know you always have a hard time with the floor ripper. This is the third time you’ve lost control of it.”
“What?” I ask, turning to him, arms crossed.
Looking slightly bashful, Brig dips his head and winces. “I was thinking fourth’s time a charm?”
“I knew I shouldn’t have let you borrow it, but I thought maybe you would have been smart enough to let someone else handle it.”
“You know”—Brig looks at me—“I was wrong. You’re not to blame for all of this happening. Rogan is.”
Pressing his fingers to his forehead, Rogan takes a deep breath and says, “I can’t deal with your idiocy right now. Why am I here?”
“Well, to ensure Ruthie won’t be in breach of the contract still in process, and also so you can take the floor ripper home, as we’re done.
“Fucking lazy,” Rogan mutters under his breath as Brig smiles brightly at his brother. I can’t help but love the dynamic between the two of them. The older brother having to take care of the little brother’s mistakes. It’s endearing. “You signed an addendum with Mrs. Burberry that stated you were allowed to make any changes to the space. A hole through the wall would be considered a change, although not a smart one, so you’re fine.”
“Well that’s a relief, isn’t it, Ruthie?” Brig pretends to wipe his forehead. “All right. So, shall we put this in the back of your SUV?”
Rogan grumbles something, pulling the floor ripper from the wall. “I hope you make him fix this. He might not be good with heavy machinery, but he’s one of the best drywallers I know, besides Reid . . . and maybe Griffin.”
“Bullshit, I’m better than Griffin. Reid, maybe not, but Griff for sure,” Brig defends, hands on his hips.
“I’ll make that decision after you fix Ruth’s wall. Now come help me get this into the SUV.”
“Shit, he’s cranky. Maybe he should have some ice cream, huh?” Brig says, playfully elbowing my arm and God, it’s adorable. Everything about him is adorable.
I’m infatuated.
“Yeah, ice cream,” I answer, unsure of what else to say.
“Are you done for the day?”
I nod. “Yeah, I’ll follow you guys out.”
“I didn’t see your car,” Rogan says. “Need a ride home, Ruth?”
“No, it’s really nice out, and I’d prefer the walk.” I watch the boys load up the floor ripper and then Rogan shuts the back door. “Thank you for the help, for letting us borrow the floor ripper, and for . . . putting a hole in my wall I guess.”
“My pleasure,” Brig says and then rubs his hands together. “Okay, I have some planning to do for you know . . .” He gives Rogan a knowing look. “See you tomorrow, Ruthie. I’ll be by with supplies to make everything good as new.”