Page 4 of Always the Matchmaker
No one has ever known how to light the fire beneath my coals…
The mechanic certainly had me piping hot.
I shake off the thought. He’d obviously made an impression on me, but annoyed and frustrated aren’t a great impact.
We hit a few more stores, each trying to secretly shop for a meaningful small gift for an exchange at the Library Bar later that night. I found matching necklaces for us all, simple silver chains with intertwined gold and silver rings dangling at chest length, a circle of friendship that never breaks.
The woman behind the counter wrapped each one for me in individual boxes, and I feel done with shopping.
“I’ll see you tonight,” I bid the group farewell.
“You better!” Holly shouts. “Us singles are dropping out here like sex-flies!” Belle swats Holly’s arm, blushing darkly at the comment.
“Yes, yes, we single women must stick together!” I shout as if it were a battle-cry, and Holly roars back with her fist punched in the air while Noelle shakes her head at us.
No doubt missing her video games and done with men for a bit, after the last guy stole not only her heart, but eventually, her PlayStation, too.
I start to hike my way back to the Red Wreath Inn, too much to chew on for my brain to be out in the business downtown square. I’ll change my clothes for tonight and then, I need quiet to think…
And there’s only one place I know I can go to get it.
Ben
After work, I need a shower and shave before I can unwind. My days are spent on my back or hunched over and all kinds of fluids spurt from the cars. Sometimes I don’t even know that I have grease in places that I have grease. I’m sweaty and grimy when I walk through my door. The numbers13748in fresh painted white on the front in contrast to the black door, give me pause, thinking of the hot tempered redhead from first thing this morning. The thought passes quickly as I’m assaulted by massive paws of a golden retriever who I still curse the rescue for lying to me about how big he would get.
Being tackled everyday isn’t a terrible thing but when I’m thinking of a woman and my mind out of sorts for almost the entire day, it’s a different kind of assault with Bracken’s kisses and attention. I bend over to pet him ferociously to match his elation and talk sweetly to him. It’s the kind of high pitched voice an animal owner speaks only to a dog and another human should never hear.
But since Bracken’s happiness is contagious, I keep forgiving the rescue when he raises my spirits every single day.
“Hey buddy, you have a good day?” My hands quickly become covered in his fur, the tiny slicks of grease in the crevices grabbing hold of the fluffy strands. I chuckle, nowreallyin need of a shower.
I stop at the foot of the stairs. I couldn’t hear it before, too distracted by Bracken to notice it.
Is my house haunted?
I crane my neck, listening to soft sobs coming from upstairs. I rationalize it’s more likely I have a sad burglar than a ghost of Christmas past in my home. Without regard for my safety, I climb the staircase cautiously until I reach my guest room, peaking around the corner to see indeed an intruder in my home… a crying female, and somewhat familiar, criminal.
Candy Cane to me—or Miss Owens, as she wishes—lays on the bed curled up in fetal position, softly weeping. She’s lost the red and white candy-cane look, dressed in a black dress billowy and accentuated by colorful scarves that float all around the skirt. The dark coloring of her clothes makes her hair pop vividly, waves of reflective red that appear soft to the touch, and as delicious as the wine coloring they remind me of.
I feel uneasy about disturbing her, but it is my home. I clear my throat loudly, leaning on the doorframe. Bracken sits obediently beside me, the two of us filling up the doorway.
“Some guard dog you are…”
He seems to smile at me and I shake my head. Bracken lays down, his nails sliding against the wood flooring.
The noise catches her attention and she freezes for a moment, before slowly rolling over and locking eyes with me. The uneasiness I felt becomes melty pool of sadness. Her eyes are puffy from tears and the blue deeper than in the shop. My feelings morph into hers at the sight. I feel the unbearable urge to make her feel better, to take away whatever is causing her this pain.
I don’t act on the impetus though, able to control myself far more than this siren in front of me.
“Having a little B&E moment?” I ask her to break the silence. She wipes her eyes and sits up on the edge of the bed. “Breaking and entering,” I explain when she looks confused.
“I needed to see it. I haven’t been here in years.” She avoids apologizing I notice.
“So you break into my house?” I snort and fold my arms to my chest.
“It used to bemyhome,” she huffs, “and you didn’t change the locks, like you should have.” I can already see the tears sizzling and turning to steam at the heat of her temper.
To have a woman like that in bed. I can only imagine what it would be like.
