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“I like it there.” I move it over and look at her again. “Over just a little more, little more, there. Perfect.”
“My hands are a little full. Any chance you can make a small mark where the bottom left corner is?”
“Oh, sure. Where is the pencil?”
“Uh, in my pocket,” I look down toward my front right pocket where the end is sticking out.
She steps closer to me, so close I can smell her hair as she grabs it gingerly before making the mark on the wall. “Like that?” She turns to look up at me.
“Just like that.” I place the picture back down on the floor. “You said you have the tools, right?”
“Yeah, they’re in my linen closet.”
I follow her back into the hallway and she opens the narrow closet door. “I put them up here”—her words strain as she stands on her tippy-toes to reach for a small tool bag—“since I wasn’t using them.”
“Allow me.” I step forward, reaching above her to grab the bag as she takes a small step back right into my chest. I feel her lose her balance as her foot lands on mine. I keep a firm grip on the bag with one hand, my other instinctually coming down to wrap around her waist to steady her.
“Shit, sorry.”
“This is starting to become a pattern with us, isn’t it?” I can hear my voice lower, the warmth of her body doing something to me. “At least no coffee was involved this time.”
“I swear I’m not even clumsy.” She giggles, stepping out of my embrace.
“Well, like you said, I bring out the worst in you so we’ll just chalk it up to that.” I don’t mean for it to sound condescending or pathetic, but it does.
“That was rude of me to say. I didn’t mean it. I was just lashing out when I said it.”
“Nah, you were right. It’s okay. No need to apologize.” The air grows thick between us again and I want to ask her what she’s thinking but I know I shouldn’t. “Well, let me get this picture hung for you.” I look through her tool bag, finding the nails, tape measure, and hammer, and place them on the end of the bed.
“Why didn’t you want Preston to help me hang the picture?” She leans against the doorframe of her bedroom.
“Is that his name?” I unbutton my cuffs, rolling my sleeves up slowly. “Mr. Fudge Sundae?”
She cocks her head as if she’s hiding a secret, then she smiles. “Yeah, the other teacher you saw me talking to in my classroom.”
“Preston,” I say his name again as I reach for the tape measure. “Figures, a man wearing deck shoes for fashion would have that name.”
“What’s wrong with his name? Sounds very similar to yours in fact. Preston, Weston.”
I take a few measurements, marking where the nail needs to go on the wall. “Did you want him to do this instead?”
I pick up the nail and hammer, lining it up and tapping it into the wall. I grab the picture, lifting it and placing the taut wire on the nail. I step back, making sure it’s level.
“Looks great.” She steps further into the room. I walk around the bed, standing beside her to look at it. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I grab the tools, placing them back in the bag, then in the closet. I start walking down the hallway toward the front door. “You didn’t answer my question, Daphne.” I level my eyes on her as I roll my sleeves back down, buttoning my cuffs. “Would you rather Preston be here right now?” She slowly shakes her head. “I can’t hear you.” I reach for my jacket, sliding it back on.
“No.”
“And why is that?” I adjust my jacket, stepping closer to her.
“No reason.” She shrugs, her eyes shifting away from mine as she circles the island, reaching for a bottle of wine. “Did you want to stay for a drink?”
I step around the island toward her and she takes a small step backward, her back hitting the counter.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” I take another step toward her, reaching for the bottle and placing it on the counter behind her.
“No?” Her voice goes up an octave. “Why not?”
