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There was a brief pause on the line. “I’m actually on my way out of town for the weekend, and just leaving. We can wait until Monday, if that’s easier.”
If I waited, it took time away from the project, and the deposit now would help soften the blow on Vera’s new hearing aid. Tipping my head back, I stared at the ceiling and shook my head. “No, now works. I’m at 24 Wings Gate, my shop is at the back in the garage.”
“Perfect. I’m less than five minutes away.” Which wasn’t surprising. Cheshire Bay wasn’t that big a town. However, five minutes didn’t give me any time to freshen up and make myself presentable. Damn.
In case he didn’t have the contract signed, I needed another ready to go. Flipping through the papers on a makeshift desk covered in a fine layer of sawdust, I dug out a file folder marked contracts and popped the copy into an envelope before the dust in the air had a chance to claim the fresh paper. I had just set it down when through the glass main door, I watched as a little green Mini pulled into my driveway.
Rather than greet him, and have Francesca walk out at just the perfect time, I let him find his way to the door and knock as the doormat chime sounded his alert. However, he ignored it, knocked, and stepped inside.
His jaw dropped as he closed the door behind him, his left hand tightly gripping a thick envelope.
A quick glance down was all I needed to realise I was out of place. Even in my own workspace. My horrid jean coveralls with a rip in the butt and frayed hems matched with a tank top that was originally white, were a far cry from the business attire two nights ago. That lady and I could’ve been distant relatives for all the similarities we currently shared.
David looked beyond me, whistling as he checked out my space. “Wow, what a place.”
I surveyed the mess, inhaling as I approached. Smelled like someone washed in an expensive cologne, and it should’ve been offensive, but for some reason, it was intoxicating and warm; like a comforting scent.
“Yeah, it is what it is, but if I were you, I wouldn’t come in much further. Wouldn’t want to get your pants or shoes dirty.”
There was a shine about his footwear that likely came from a solid buffing. Ten feet deeper into my shop, and his work would all be for naught.
He held out the envelope. “The deposit, in cash, and the contract.”
“In cash?” That was unusual, given the amount. “Do you mind if I look?” I took the envelope and gently grazed his hand, curious at the little tingles of electricity zapping up my arm.
“And if I said I did?” A coy expression popped his left eyebrow up. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Trust is earned, not freely given out.”
He tipped his head to the side, putting his weight on his left foot.
“Do you not check when your customers pay?” At least I said it nicely, with a hint of playfulness.
He nodded. “Fair enough. Go ahead, check, it’s all there.”
I pulled out a thick stack of twenties, fifties, and a few hundred-dollar bills. There were so many I wanted to protect them like little babies and snuggle them against my chest. It was so much money, and this was just the deposit. Keeping my calm demeanor in check, I opened the contract and scanned it for anything out of the ordinary. It all looked perfect. And the best part, it was signed.
With a pen in hand, I signed my name at the bottom of one copy and handed it back. “For your personal records.”
“Thank you.” He stepped closer, and gently touched my hair.
It was weird until he showed me what was between his fingers. A chunk of wood.
Heat singed my cheeks. “That’s where that went.”
Damn curly hair. Acted like a net every single time.
He handed it to me, and I took it from his hand only to toss it onto the floor where it could party with its friends.
“I’m not a pig, but I do a sweep every night.” Meh, it was closer to once a month, but he didn’t need to know that.
“I wasn’t going to say anything.” He threw his hands out in a not-guilty pose.
“And I assure you, it doesn’t affect the quality of my work. Constantly cleaning up after myself, well, that’s a horse of a different colour.” If I had to clean up after every carving or sanding, production would halt, and I didn’t have time for that.
“Do you have a website?”
I shook my head, curious where he was going with the question he pulled out of thin air. “Just a Facebook page, or whatever the hell they call it these days, although I have all the social media platforms, I stick to Facebook. I’d rather work and carve and cut than spend hours putting information online. It’s like yelling into the void.”
