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She is beautiful, there’s no doubt about it, but I’ve spent a lot of years maintaining a distant and contained disposition when in the presence of beautiful women. My ex-wife was a beautiful woman, and look how that turned out. I’m still trying to figure out who she is, and what she’s doing in Dad’s house, when the realization hits me.
Is this the housekeeper?
When Dad had mentioned he’d hired someone to help, I’d imagined a plump, middle-aged woman in sensible shoes. Not in any pockets of my imagination, did I picture a woman like this. I feel the tension growing as we both stand there, simply staring at each other. I’m on the verge of speaking when she suddenly blurts, “I’m so sorry.”
There’s no reason for her to be sorry, not unless she has X-ray vision and hit me with the door on purpose. She couldn’t possibly have known I was in here.
I’m about to respond, when I see the door move again. She’s about to suffer the same fate I did unless she moves out of the way, which she won’t, because she doesn’t have eyes in the back of her head.
I grab hold of her arm and yank her out of the way. Only, instead of merely stepping forward, she falls straight into me. Instantly, a soft musky aroma floats up to meet me, and without any warning, my gut twists.
Hell no!
I shove her off me and end up spinning her around. I don’t let go of her straight away, since I’m really not sure whether she can find balance yet. She seems fine, so I let go, and turn toward the door, trying to ignore the twisting sensation that still remains in my stomach. And I know it’s not the hunger.
Dad comes crashing through the door, and I have to hide a smile at his bullish demeanor. He struggles to enter, and when he finally does, he looks up at me, then glances toward Bree, who’s currently standing way too close to me. She hasn’t moved since I saved her butt—literally. Then he glances back at me. I can see the glint in his eye, but I ignore it. Already, the match-making cogs have begun turning in his head; I can almost hear them. But there’s not a sliver of chance between me and this woman, as stunning as she is. There’s not a sliver of chance between me and any woman ever again. I’m done with women.
“Ah, I see you’ve met my son Jackson,” Dad says, far too enthusiastically for my liking. Then he looks back at me. “Jackson, this is my housekeeper, Bree.”
I know what you’re doing, Dad. It won’t work.
“Well, what an introduction,” Bree says.
She sounds as breathless as she looked a few moments before, and I still wonder what she was doing before entering the kitchen. She’s looking up at me, waiting for some sort of reaction, but after Dad’s obvious attempt, I’m retreating more than usual. Maybe, if I hadn’t been wholly suspicious of Dad’s intentions, I might have been more polite, even smiled. But now, not only do I not want to give him the hope, I don’t want Bree to get any ideas either.
“Nice to meet you,” I mumble.
I mean, I have to say something, right? My reticence does not dissuade Dad, and stubborn as a mule, he tries again.
“Bree’s from the city too. Hey, who knows, you might even have been neighbors.”
In New York, Dad. Really?
There’s seven and a half million people crammed into that concrete jungle and somehow, this woman and I might have been neighbors? Oh, come on.
There’s no point even entertaining the idea. I’m sure the same ridiculous thought is likely going through her head, and I’m not about to make an idiot of myself by asking. The sooner this little match-making soiree is over, the better. So, I simply stay silent. It’s the best way out.
An achingly long moment passes. I mean, painstakingly long. Eventually, she shuffles her feet. Even if Dad didn’t take the hint, Bree certainly did.
She makes some off the cuff comment that’s supposed to be witty. It’s not dreadful, but I’m so desperate for this ridiculous situation to end, I don’t even smile. Dad lets out a chuckle, and immediately after, Bree has bolted out of the kitchen.
“What the heck are you playing at?” I glare at him.
Dad just laughs, clearly not in the least bit repentant. “What?” He shrugs, still laughing. He’s trying to pretend like he has no idea what I’m talking about, but we both know that’s a load of crap.
“Please tell me you didn’t bring me down here to set me up with your housekeeper?”
It’s a passing thought, and I know the answer before he starts shaking his head, but it’s out of my mouth now.
Dad settles a little at the suggestion, and looks at me with a more serious expression. “You know I wouldn’t have brought you here at all if I didn’t have to, son.”
“I know,” I sigh. I take a good look at him, my eyes lingering a few extra seconds on his injured leg. “How are you feeling?”
He beams a smile. “As right as rain,” he banters back. Pointing to his leg, he continues, “I’ll be back on my feet in no time.”
A fact of which I have no doubt. There wasn’t much that could keep my father down. He had proven that time and again over the years. Even after all his suffering, he had never become bitter. There had never been cries of woe, or that life was unfair. I wish I could say the same about myself.
At that moment, Bree walks past the kitchen window with a watering can, catching my attention. Dad loves his garden as much as he loves his woodwork. It made me wonder whether Bree knew what was in store for her before she took the job. She’ll certainly not get bored here, at any rate.
