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"You keep treating me like this, and it makes it hard to want to go home.” I sit down at the table.
“Well, I at least have to give you a taste at life here, with me.” He winks at me and sits across the table.
“Pancakes are my favorite breakfast food,” I tell him.
“Oh yeah? Mine is biscuits and gravy.”
“I don’t know that I have ever had biscuits and gravy.”
“What! Oh, we are having it tomorrow. I will conquer these icy roads to make you some.”
We eat our pancakes while talking about other things that are our favorites. Troy likes the color dark green. But not just any green. He calls it peacock green, which I totally understand. His favorite season is summer, and I agree. But he loves the snow.
I take Troy’s plate when we are finished and wash all the dishes while he takes all the shopping bags into the room.
Troy has really made me re-evaluate him as a person. His confidence might come off as cocky, but the guy has every reason to be like that. You can’t fault a man for knowing what he likes, seeing what he wants, and taking it. He can takemerepeatedly. That is, until I leave. I grab the hand towel and drop my face into my hands.
“Ugh,” I groan into the towel.
I finish drying my hands. What am I doing? Ihave togo home…don’t I?
When I walk into the room, Troy is already assembling the chair and has everything else out of the bags.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask him.
He looks up to me, cranking the screwdriver a few times.
“Well, if I told you that, we would never get this room done.”
My center tingles at the thought. To say I have had the best sex of my life over the past couple of days, would be putting it lightly. It’s been astounding. I am not sure another guy will live up to what he has made my body feel.
“Later, but for now I’ll add the pillows and start hanging pictures.”
He smiles at me then goes back to tightening the screws. Then, when we are done, he can screw me. Lord, that was cheesy but accurate.
I grab the scissors from the floor and start removing the tags from the pillows before I set them up in the window seat. Then I arrange the artwork on the floor before I start hanging them. Troy notices me struggle to get the nails where I want them.
“This is dumb, there should be an easier way to get them lined up.”
He takes the hammer from my hand.
“There is. I’ll show you. It’s a little trick my mom showed me.”
First, Troy goes over to the pile of tools, he grabs some square thing with a level in the center, a roll of painter’s tape and a pencil.
“First, let’s attach this level to the wall. He gets it even, pushes little pins in then turns it on.”
When he does that, it suctions on, and a beam of red light shoots across the wall.
“That’s cool,” I say.
I’ve never seen a level quite like that. I’ve seen the normal plastic chunky ones, but this is so handy.
“Then you put the tape along the back of the frame, making it even with the top and shade over where the bracket is.”
He does a couple then I do the rest.
“Now, let’s take the tape to the wall and line up our bracket marks with the level light.”
