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“In the backyard for now. I’ll call Isaac Cross and get him to come out with a dumpster but we might as well start.”
“It’s not like we’re going to do much damage to the jungle out there.”
“Exactly.”
As it turns out, jungle or not, the garden isn’t in the worst shape. The soil report from Lizzie’s purchase survey said that the land is fertile and arable. When cleared, Lizzie would have no problem growing all kinds of plants. Even her own root vegetables if she fancied some homegrown produce.
And the house is in a similar state. The surface is a mess, and some of it needs to be replaced but the bones are good. The joists, the posts, the weight-bearing walls… All of them are in good condition. The windows need replacing but only to bring in something better than single-glazing. With a bit of luck and timely supply orders, the whole place could be brand new in only a few months. Maybe one.
“The surveyor said the plumbing is good but I’m definitely going to need a new suite in here,” Lizzie says, moving around an airy but distinctly old-fashioned bathroom. It’s not the original bath set either but a horrid design brought into the house in the sixties to ‘modernize’ the place. The bath is green.
“If the pipes are good, then that won’t take much.” I lean around an old shower curtain to find a setup from a similar decade. A lever switches the water between the faucets and the showerhead. When I turn on the tap, clean water funnels into the bath. “We’ll get the water turned off while we work and then—Ah!”
I’m suddenly splashed by water. As I throw myself out from behind the curtain, Lizzie takes one look at me and bends over double with laughter.
I sputter on the water rolling down one side of my face. Half my hair is plastered to my scalp and I can feel my left shoulder growing wet.
The look of amused guilt in Lizzie’s eyes tells me all I need to know. She’d snuck a hand around that curtain and flicked the lever when I wasn’t looking, moving water from the tap to the shower. I’d been doused down my left side.
“Was that entirely necessary?” I ask, rubbing my face with a sleeve.
“No,” Lizzie laughs. “But it was definitely fun."
“Oh, really?”
I lunge for her. She squeals. My hands reach for her waist, arms wrapping around her. Within seconds, I have her tight little body up against the bathroom wall, one thigh pressed between hers. Her yelps of surprise fade into a soft and supple moan. Heat rushes through me and I wonder if I’m ever going to get enough of this woman. If she’ll ever stop sending my desire into the stratosphere with a single look or sound?
When I kiss her, everything else seems to fade. The taste of her mouth, the scent of her skin, the feel of her hands in my hair… It pushes all thoughts about the future to another time. A time for things less urgent.
“Hmm…” Lizzie’s sigh flows over my tongue and she smiles against my mouth. Her now wet fingertips work their way around the nape of my neck teasing at the edge of my sweater and seeking more skin. My own are reaching beneath her t-shirt. I can feel the warmth of her belly, the silkiness of the skin just below her navel.
“Caleb,” she groans as I fall into her, pushing her hard against the wall, and sending little plumes of plaster dust raining down upon us.
We both freeze and flinch.
We blink at each other as the dust falls over our heads. I feel it settle on my nose and spark the urge to sneeze. We both laugh.
“Perhaps,” I suggest, moving a step back, “we should focus on fixing the place, not breaking it further.”
Lizzie’s expression matches the feeling in my body; a cool disappointment as reason takes the place of desire. She pouts.
“If you insist.”
But her eyes tell a different story. One that promises all kinds of excitement once the day’s work is done, and old Miss Agatha’s house isn’t playing third wheel.
For the rest of the day, it’s all business. I take up the role of demolisher, while Lizzie plays the role of clearer. After a few hours of work I smirk, and remind Lizzie that I’m the one on the clock and she could always pass her day in town or relaxing back at my place. She simply shoots me the evil eye and continues to scoop broken tile and plaster dust into canvas bags. Secretly, I’m thankful. Without the need to haul the everything down the stairs and out into the back garden, I’m left to battle the walls with gusto.
By the end of the day, all three of us—me, Lizzie, and the house—are looking significantly different. The upstairs had been stripped bare and cleared. The downstairs is now wallpaper free and the kitchen is free of tiles. I’m coated in powdered dust from head to foot and Lizzie, much to my pleasure and discomfort, had stripped down to her sports bra mid-afternoon.
It might be fall, but Lizzie had been laboring all day, working up a blush and a sweat lifting heavy bags of debris back and forth. When I wasn’t being distracted by that damn spandex, I couldn’t help but be impressed with her stamina. Not for a moment had she whined, complained, or even sat down. She’d even filled the smallest breather moments with other tasks like setting up an internet modem in the front room and keeping us supplied with bottles of water.
Neither of us had stopped for lunch.
“Nice view.”
I glance over my shoulder and can’t help but smile. Lizzie is standing in the back doorway, dusting her hands of the last bag of plaster pieces. The setting sun is gilding her in a pretty peachy-orange. Her skin, damp with perspiration, glows brightly.
I’m on the kitchen floor, hands and knees testing the boards. She’s watching me, eyes deliberately fixed upon my backside.
