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But what a cold bastard. Even if he didn’t like honey, did he really have to be so hostile?
What really stings is that I’ve not been honest with him. I didn’t take honey to anyone else in the neighbourhood. I will, of course. Soon. But this was an excuse to meet him properly. And yes, I did imagine sharing a nice pot of tea.
But come on; I’m not the first woman to contrive a visit to a man she wants to know better, am I?
Alright, it may have been a bit intrusive to walk around his house looking at everything. The truth is, sitting so close to him when he was shirtless made me a bit self-conscious. Did he think I was ogling him? I wasn’t. It’s why I got up to walk around the room, because I was too aware of his very blue eyes, and the dusting of light-brown freckles over his nose. He must have some red in his DNA even if his hair seems light copper brown. Although, the light scattering of hairs on his chest was slightly darker.
Okay, so maybe I was ogling a bit; and he probably noticed, which is why he wanted to get rid of me.
A flush of embarrassment spreads all through me. It’s one thing to like a guy, quite another to intrude on him and hang around like a teenaged groupie.
My face boils.
I will never visit him again or even nod good morning if I see him in the street.
I’m almost at my front door before I notice the two men waiting for me. I straighten my back and force myself to relax. “Hello?”
Everything about them says builders. Tools, rough dusty boots, and pencils behind their ears.
“I think you want next door,” I tell them.
“Miss LeFevre?” One of them steps forward.
“Yes?”
“We’re going to be working next door, yes, but Myles de la Cour says you might need some things doing. We’re Trever and Terrence Malon.”
Now they’ve introduced themselves as brothers, the resemblance is clear. “Come in.” I open the door. “But please tell me what you’re going to charge before we st—”
Trever waves a hand, stopping me. “Hedge is one of us. We can fit you round the other job for The Hemingway house.”
Wonderful! My unfriendly neighbour issogoing to like sharing his workers with me.
I worry about this while the brothers look around and consider the job and write things down.
“No problem, we can knock this wall down between the two rooms. You’ll need an RSJ but we can find you one.” Terrence pulls the pencil from behind his ear again and makes a note. “And you could do with new plaster here.” Trevor points to one wall.
They even offer to paint the walls for me once they’ve been replastered.
“You’re lucky, the place is in good shape. We can start on this in a couple of days.”
“How much?” I ask, not wanting to assume their affection for my grandfather means free labour.
“No charge. Happy to help. We might be able to find you some surplus paint too, so you don’t have to buy new.”
And so, it goes.
Tyrrell, a short bald man, drops by to tell me he has a horse-drawn caravan and can help me move the stock over when the shop is ready. Another man promises to come help out with the electric wiring and light fittings.
Myles de la Cour has been busy spreading the word around. But it’s not until two days later that I find out the extent of his ball-rolling.
The Malon brothers start their repairs, and the next day, a woman drops off two tins of left-over paint, one turquoise blue the other deep red. “You can use them for the new shop.” She turns to go.
“Did Myles tell you?” Surely, he hasn’t been calling people asking for donations.
“It was in the Cock,” she says.
The What?“Is that a pub?”
