Page 57 of Dandelion Sighs

I might’ve kissed Jasper in my office last Monday, but we’d been nothing more than boss and employee since then. One of the families who had stayed over the weekend had checked out of a room that suddenly had a hole in the wall, dog pee in the corner, and vomit on the carpet. To keep Landon from quitting on the spot, Jasper helped with the physical cleaning while I took care of the legal side. The family claimed the room was in normal condition when they checked out, and that Landon must’ve thrown up, let the dog he doesn’t own piss away, and that he must’ve punched the wall.

So that had given me a headache for two days. After that, another guest had a toddler throw the remote into the window. Jasper was a miracle worker for that repair. Then there was the normal maintenance, and it had kept us apart for the week. It was Saturday, and he’d decided to mow the lawn again, thanks to the rain we’d gotten Wednesday.

I stayed home. Better not to tempt fate. It was hard to be in his orbit. I had kissed him and told him that nothing had changed and that I understood. And I did. He was in a tough position. I couldn’t escape the sense of being convenient, and that was my issue to deal with.

I wanted more. He couldn’t give more. That was what I understood.

Boxes surrounded me. This task was bigger than I anticipated. I tackled it today to bring back a sense of control. I was in charge of my surroundings. Not Jasper. Not some investment group.

Mom had worked so much that she’d hardly sorted through her things. It was like she left me this amount of work because she knew I’d need the distraction. I opened closets and linen cabinets and found my dad’s stuff shoved in the nooks and crannies. My weekend would be a giant trip down memory lane. I was prepared to cry, and thanks to another run to the resort, I was also ready with more boxes.

I started in the kitchen. That was where I’d keep the most stuff, having gotten rid of my own when I moved. I cranked some country party music loud. An hour ticked by. Then another. I had two boxes half full, and I’d stopped for one crying session, allowing that grief I’d been shoving away to wash through me. Each thing I put in the box was freeing yet scary.

Look at me. Doing this on my own too.

The doorbell rang and I jumped. A scream ripped from me. Putting my hand on my chest, I rolled my eyes. That was what I got for blasting music my mom hated. I turned it off and went to the door. I couldn’t get a peek outside to see who was here. Was everything okay at the resort? Was this also what I got for taking another weekend mostly off?

A familiar ball cap was visible through the high window.

Jasper?

The sight brought back all the same butterflies from before. Was he here to check on me? How did that make me feel? Excited? Panicked? Treasured?

With no answer, I opened the door to him holding a six-pack in one hand and his other shoved in his pocket.

“Hey.”

“I heard you picked up more boxes.” His eyes were shaded by the brim of his hat, like he was afraid to lift his chin and face me. Or because he was irresistible with the slightly mysterious air it created. A rugged guy on my porch. How could I say no? Especially when I didn’t want to.

“Yeah.” I stepped back to let him in. “Come inside. You can help me wrap valuables.”

“I brought more boxes too.” He glanced to where he was likely parked. “You don’t have to fill them all tonight.”

His thoughtfulness comforted me. I might be all up in my feels, but he was still a good guy. “Where did you have boxes?”

“I just moved too.”

He ran home? When he walked past me, the cedar and pine smell of his shampoo stroked across my nose. He must’ve showered.

I couldn’t look too far into it, or I’d be back in the confused cloud from last weekend. “I’m working in the kitchen.”

He followed me and set the six-pack on the table. It was from Reservoir Barrel. “You liked their pale ale.”

“Would it surprise you that I remember?”

He laughed. “You weren’t that drunk.”

I pushed my hair behind my ears. “I only got through two boxes so far, and I cried. I’m warning you now there will probably be more tears.”

A furrow crossed his brow. “You already cried?”

“Yep.” He sounded like he’d wanted to be there for it, but today was about learning to deal with something myself. And I had. I crossed to the cupboard I was working on. “That was before I had to sort containers and lids.”

“The math never maths.”

“No.” I dropped to the floor to finish trying to match tops and bottoms. At least I had no memories attached to these.

He settled next to me, crossing his long legs and handing me a beer. “Tell me where to start.”