I hoped I didn’t sound too eager, too pathetic.
“All right.”Shane smiled, devastating me with his lopsided grin.He followed me up the sidewalk and onto the breezy porch of my historic home.“Nice place,” he remarked, sliding his hand over the wooden scrollwork there.“You live here long?”
“About three years,” I said, trying not to think to about what his hands would look like moving over my curves instead.“I got it for a steal, but it’s been a bit more work than I anticipated,” I admitted while trying to unlock the door.“My dad warned me when I wanted to put an offer on it, but I kept seeing all the potential.”
“Any house this old is going to have a lot of hidden problems.”He watched as I fought with the tricky lock.“You need some help?”
“Um, well,” I glanced back at him and smiled nervously, “sometimes it’s a bit hard to turn, and I have to kind of wrestle with it.”
“Let me.”He gently shifted me aside and took the key.He grabbed the old handle and gave it an experimental lift.When he did, it seemed to realign the door.Hefting it up, he inserted the key and unlocked it easily.“Needs replacing,” he said gruffly.
“Yeah, well, it’ll have to join the list on my refrigerator,” I said with an embarrassed laugh.“I’ll get to it eventually.”
“You should make it a priority.”He eyed the door with mistrust.“Your safety is important.”
“Fair point,” I agreed, thinking he sounded an awful lot like my dad.
“I’ve done a lot of carpentry work on houses in this part of town.”He trailed me to the kitchen, the one space I had actually completely upgraded and renovated.“I can suggest a good handyman if you need one.”
“You’re not going to recommend yourself?”I teased, thinking most men would have.
“I couldn’t give you the time you deserve.”
“Busy schedule?”I avoided his heavy gaze as I dropped my purse on the counter and turned on some more lights.The way he talked about giving me what I deserved had me thinking decidedly unclean thoughts.
“Very,” he said, proving himself to be a man of few words.
“Are you allergic to anything?Or dietary restrictions?”I asked as I opened my refrigerator.“I meal prepped pasta salad this afternoon.It’s got bacon in it, and also dairy and some fresh veggies from Lulu’s garden.”
Bowl in hand, I turned to find him staring at me with amusement.“I think you’re the first person who has ever asked me about food allergies in my life.”
“I work with kids,” I reminded him.“I keep snacks on the counter and quick meals in the cabinet.I’m vigilant about asking.Don’t want to end up on the wrong end of a lawsuit.”
“I won’t sue you,” he promised.“And I’m not allergic to anything.No restrictions either.You learn not to be picky after spending time in prison.”
At the mention of prison, my head jerked up.He leveled a steady stare my way.Outwardly, he looked calm, but I could tell he was nervous about how I would react.He fidgeted with a belt loop, focusing his anxious energy into his fingers.I recognized the same behavior from my kids who came from not great environments.The ones who were afraid to admit to any mistake, no matter how small, for fear of the pain and abuse coming their way.
“Can I ask what you were in for?”I figured it was best to get it out in the open.
“Drugs,” he said simply.“Intent to distribute.Not using them,” he clarified, as if that was somehow worse than selling them.
“Oh.”My gaze settled on the patch that said SLINGER on his vest.“Dope slinger?”
He flinched as if I had struck him.To his credit, he didn’t try to lie.“Yeah.”
“How long were you in prison?”
“Seven years, four months, two weeks and nine days.”
“That’s a very precise answer.”
He shrugged.“Figured you’d want the truth.”
“How long have you been out?”
“Ten years next month.”He exhaled slowly.“I haven’t reoffended.I did my bid.I did my parole.I left the club.I started over, built a cabinetry and carpentry business.”
“Is that why you wear the EXILE patch?”I wondered.
