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I take a novella off the shelf. I just need something quick and fun. I get comfortable in one of the oversized bean bag chairs, set my coffee to the side, and start reading.
Two hours and three cups of coffee later, and I am done. The book was steamy, and the story line was amazing.
Mrs. Olsen is outside checking on the feeders when I get up, so I put the book on the counter. I give the store one more look before I head out and go back to my home away from home.
When I get there, I see an all too familiar truck parked in the driveway.
“What are you doing?” I ask as I walk into the house.
The overwhelming smell of paint attacks my nostrils. He’s pushed all the furniture back and there are six giant shelves spread out around the living room and dining room.
He looks up and smiles. He has a small can of something in his hand and a paintbrush in the other.
“Staining the shelves,” he says so nonchalantly.
As if I should have just known this was happening.
“Yes, but why are you doing it in here?” I weave my way through the shelves to the kitchen.
“It’s cold outside and driveway isn’t big enough. Where else was I supposed to do it?”
I tsk my tongue against my teeth. “Where you built them.”
He goes back to staining.
“Yeah, but I didn’t want to risk them getting dented or scratched after they got stained.”
I walk up to one of the shelves in the kitchen and look at the details. They are at least seven feet tall. The top of them has a swirling design going across, and the bottom has something similar, just smaller, above a drawer. Two of the shelves are half the width of the rest. They all have hooks sticking out from the corners.
“What is that for?” I ask him and point to the hooks.
“I’m going to add a steel bar across the top for the rolling ladder.”
“Of course. What’s a library without a rolling ladder?” I ask, and Troy laughs.
“It’s all very princess-esque to me,” Troy says.
“Sarah will love it. That’s all that matters, anyways.”
“I already installed the window seat, if you want to check it out. But just imagine shelves on either side.”
I walk back to the spare room and see that it’s transformed into a hot mess. Stuff everywhere, but the window seat looks amazing. Big enough to curl up on and drawers’ underneath for storage.
Off to the side I see a good-sized box. As I get closer, I see it is a writing desk. Not just any writing desk though, it looks antique. With a top that flips down and all the little drawers along the back of it. She’s going to faint when she sees that.
“You want to help me put it together?” Troy asks.
I turn and see him leaning against the door frame. His navy shirt is tattered with holes and covered in paint and stain. His light blue jeans, the same.
“Take a picture, it will last longer,” he says smiling.
“Oh no, no. I wasnotlooking at you.”
“Alright. But for real, you want to help me with that?”
I look back at the desk and then again at Troy. This time, not letting my eyes wander.
“Sure. I actually like putting furniture together.”
