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“Can’t I just do something nice?” I ask, frustration making my voice come out far harsher than I mean for it to.
I want to call back the words immediately or apologize to her. Instead, I busy myself with pulling the items I need from the back of the truck and when I turn around, Harlow has gone back inside. I tell myself that’s for the best. I probably should have made up some nice explanation for my behavior instead of snapping at her. I wish I could go back in time and keep my mouth shut. I’ve spent months keeping quiet when I’m around her. I don’t know why I picked today to start talking.
“Idiot,” I mutter as I turn to head back into the shop.
Luke and Piper leave a few minutes later and I spend the next hour replacing blown fuses and some of the wires in the fuse box in silence. By the time 5pm rolls around, I’ve got the shop lights on as well as the air conditioner. I warn Harlow not to use the washer or dryer until she can get an electrician in to look at the wiring in depth. I know I could do it myself, but I’m not sure how long it would take and I’m not sure Harlow would even welcome my help. Maybe I should come back tomorrow and see what I can do.
“Shit!” Harlow shouts from the front of the shop where she’s been busy cleaning up the rest of the water.
I rush out there, hoping she’s okay and no other disasters have befallen this old building. “What happened?” I ask.
“I forgot about a meeting I had,” she says, looking at her watch. “I was supposed to be there at 5:00.”
Her words spur a memory and I sigh, closing my eyes. “Damn it,” I whisper.
“What?”
“I was supposed to meet someone to look at some tools this afternoon,” I say. “I got caught up and completely forgot.”
Harlow goes still, staring at me for several long seconds before closing her eyes and letting out a soft laugh. “Of course,” she mutters. “Why the hell not?”
“What?”
She opens her eyes and gives me a curious look. “Cheating ex abandoned his tools. Sound familiar?”
Unsure what she’s talking about, I just look at her. “Huh?”
She rolls her eyes. “Follow me,” she says, turning to walk out the front door of the shop.
I follow her, still confused as to what she’s talking about. When we go out to her car and she opens the back, understanding dawns. In the back of her SUV are a bunch of nearly new tools that look identical to the ones in the ad I responded to last night. I look at them for a few moments before turning to face Harlow. She smiles at me.
“This saves me a trip to the police station, I guess.”
“I guess so,” I say. “What are the odds?”
She just looks at me. “In a town this small? Better than you think.”
“True enough.”
I look through the tools, lifting some items and turning them over. Some still have the tags attached to them from the store where they were purchased. She hadn’t been exaggerating in her sales ad. They really are practically new.
“How much do you want for all of it?” I ask, turning back to Harlow.
She shrugs. “I’m not expecting to get back what I paid for them. They’ve just been sitting by my front door for weeks now. Make me an offer.”
I turn back to the pile of tools and do some mental math. My guess is the tools cost her a good amount when she bought them new. That impact driver alone is worth $200. And everything is basically untouched. I think about the shop and all the repairs she’s going to need to pay for. I know how much a plumber will quote her to replace those pipes. And that’s just to fix the known issues. I’ve never seen a plumbing job that didn’t introduce at least three new problems when I’ve gone to fix it. That’s not to mention the electrical issues. The old building probably needs all new wiring. I know what I’d quote for a job like that.
“I’ll give you $850 for everything,” I say, tossing out a number that’s well over what I calculated for their worth.
Her mouth drops open in surprise and she shakes her head. “That’s ridiculous,” she sputters.
I know it is, but I can’t take it back now. “That’s what they’re worth,” I say, trying to sound like the expert I am.
“No way,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “I didn’t even pay that much.”
I shrug. “You must have gotten them on sale.”
“You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you pay that much,” she says, her eyes flashing angrily. “I don’t need pity money.”
