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He rocks back on his heels and tips his head toward the kitchen. “Can I show you what I have in mind?”
I deflate, then nod and follow him down the hallway. That’s when I notice little cuts on the backs of his arms, and I want to ask if he’s okay. He said he broke his coffee table—but how? And did he disinfect the cuts? Were any of them worse than the little scrapes I can see?
My pride holds me back. Or maybe it’s fear—fear that if I let this man get any closer to me, I’ll actually let him in. He’s already proven to me that he can raise my rent with no thought to how much I’ll struggle. He’s merciless, mercenary, and rude. I shouldn’t care about minor injuries that he brought on himself.
So there.
As it turns out, Desmond’s ideas are great. He wants to rearrange the layout of the kitchen and living/dining rooms so they become connected in a larger L-shape. It’s a clever use of space and the living room will end up slightly smaller, but we both agree it’ll be worth it.
When I head for the barbershop door, Desmond calls out my name. I turn to see him leaning a shoulder against the wall, watching me. “This is the first time we’ve been able to have a conversation without fighting. Feels momentous.”
I snort. “Quit while you’re ahead, buddy.” I zip my fingers over my lips and mime throwing the key over my shoulder.
Des laughs, then—a true belly laugh. I watch, fascinated, at the movement of his chest, his throat, his shoulders. When I feel my own lips tilt up, I shake my head and turn around, throwing him a wave over my shoulder.
By the time I’m safely in my barbershop tending to my first client of the day, there’s something strange going on in my chest. Despite having a terrible day yesterday and feeling like my life was going down the toilet quicker than I could blink, I’m starting to feelhope.
Hope that I’ll get my home back, that things will work out, that my date will go well. Hope that my life from now on might actually get easier, instead of harder. I’m no longer that frazzled woman hanging on by a thread who pees herself whenever she sneezes. I’m a lingerie-wearing, confident, sexy, dinner-date-attending babe.
Unfortunately, Lady Hope is smiling at me, beckoning with one hand—while the other is bent behind her back, hiding a very sharp knife. I should know the stab to the gut is coming. Things in my life rarely ever get better.
8
DES
I haveto tell Mia that she’s been talking to me on the Blind Date app.
It must have been some kind of delusion that made me think I could actually show up on our date without confessing to her. She’ll kill me. She’ll never speak to me again.
God, even the thought of hurting her makes me sick. I’ve got it so bad for this woman, I can hardly think straight. I broke my fucking coffee table by falling off the couch at the thought of her wearing a blue silk nightie.
And it turns out, she wasn’t wearing one at all. When I saw her the next morning, I wanted to laugh and tackle her to the ground, maybe redden her ass with my palm for teasing me like that.
Ihaveto tell her it’s me.
I knew I shouldn’t have taken the conversation anywhere flirty that evening, but the anonymity of Blind Date seems to allow her to open up in a way she won’t in person. I’m so desperate for a crumb of her attention that I’m not willing to let that go. Not yet.
I stare at the stud wall separating the kitchen and bathroom, cursing myself. She’s right—I’m an ass, a total piece of shit. I’mlyingto her.
It’s now Saturday, which means our date is in six days. I’ve spent all week at her old apartment, trying to fix things up. Work is progressing, and the plumber’s scheduled to come back on Monday. I’ve just finished the last of the demolition, with the kitchen completely stripped and all the debris cleared away. That’s all I can do for today.
Now I have more work to do at another house, so I get in my car and drive across town.
I pull up to my grandparents’ place and see the net curtains twitch. I cut the engine and wave as my grandmother appears in the doorway, beaming. She spreads her arms like she wants me to run to her for a hug.
“Des!” She turns her head to yell inside. “It’s Desmond, Arthur!”
“Hey, Grandma.” I hop up the three steps to the front porch and give her that hug. “Looks like the leaves need to be raked already. I can mow the lawn while I’m at it.”
“You’re a darling.” Grandma Maude pats my cheek. Her face is lined with deep wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, evidence of a life full of laughter and joy.
“Anything else that needs to get done around here?”
“Oh, I’m sure I can put you to work.” My grandmother winks. “Come on in. I was just going to put a pot of coffee on.”
I walk inside and wave at my grandfather, who’s got his legs up in his favorite brown armchair. “Hey, Gramps.”
“Desmond!” he yells. “Maude, put on some coffee!”
