Page 5 of Always the Matchmaker
“Well, I bought it, and I own it,” I start, but when she closes her eyes and the tears roll down her cheeks, I ease off the hard facts. “Was this your room?”
We both look up to the ceiling. It’s painted in acrylic, a replicate of Van Gogh’sStarry Nighttaking up the entire canvas. It’s well done too, not a stroke out of place in comparison to the real version. She only nods to me in response and I feel that soft heart of mine being tugged on.
Momma, if you only know how hard I want to be for this woman, you’d wash my mouth out with soap.
“I have a contractor coming after Christmas to cover it in sheetrock. The painter I originally hired told me it would take twenty layers to even begin to cover it. I know when something’s going to be a waste of money.”
My jab at her car doesn't go unnoticed and while I still admire the ceiling, I can feel her eyes boring into me like Superman’s laser vision.
“Do you still paint?” I ask her to provoke something other than anger and sadness from her.
“No, not anymore. Not since…” She clears her throat and stands up, playing with a loose scarf.
And my soft heart feels for her. I think I know the end of that, it’s heartbreak, the same as when my mother died.
“Stay as long as you like, I’ve got to get ready,” I offer to her when she doesn’t expand more on the topic.
I take a lingering look at her, fingers itching to wipe the tears from her cheeks, but my hands are dirty and I don’t want to put a smudge on that pretty face.
Candy
Thankfully, he’s taking the break in fairly well. There are a couple of jabs, but I’m getting that’s his way.Maybe he’s not so bad after all.As Ben leaves me I make a small noise, it stops with his back to me, but I don’t speak my mind, I’m tempted to apologize and thank him but bite my tongue instead.
I hastily take pictures of the ceiling. I never thought I needed to preserve it. It was supposed to be my parents forever home. I always thought that it would be mine too. I lay back on the bed for a short while, no longer crying and absent mindedly petting the head of the largest golden retriever I’ve ever seen. His head rests on the edge of the bed and I run my fingers over that crest gently, staring up at the ceiling. I need to let go. It isn’t my home anymore. The idea hurts but I had said similar things to clients before:It’s just a home. It’s just an asset. It isn’t always yours forever.
I get off the bed, my black dress littered with the golden hairs of the retriever. Well, I guess I could use the extra layers walking in the snow to meet the girls at the Library Bar.
Shit, the gift exchange.
I swipe up on the pictures of my painting to see my phone blown up with messages. Here I was chastising Ben for making me wait this morning and now my pity-party was making me late. I roll my eyes at Holly’s numerous texts. I can almost hear her from here standing on a bar booth table calling me out.
Holly: WHERE ARE YOU, BIOTCH!
Obviously, they’re all at least two drinks ahead of me and it will be three if I don’t get my butt out of here.
I give the dog a last pet, a sucker for a good a boy, and run out the room.
“Oh!” We both shout in unison.
My short and dressed figure slamming into a tall and naked body. I stammer and step backward, looking down, thinking I would modestly avert my gaze.
But it does the opposite.
“Oh,” I repeat, this time softer and alone in my surprise.
His towel dislodged from his waist at our collision, and the man is not agrower...but ashower.
“What the hell? Shit. I thought you’d be gone already.” He looks down and yelps, bending down to grab his towel, not realizing its loss. “Hey, my eyes are up here!”
Dutifully I snap my gaze up, tilting my head back and struggling to remember how to breath. I feel a different heat this time, far from a bad temper or annoyance. My dress feels all too warm and my underwear all too tight with my fidgeting.Good..ness, the size of the thing.I continue to look up at the no-longer dirty grease-monkey. He is clean, every inch of him, sparkling with teardrops of water.
“Sorry,” I finally apologize, keeping my eyes on his hazel gaze. “I was just leaving.”
He holds the towel to his bellybutton only hiding his privates, the rest of him on display. I was right about his arms, sturdy and thick with hard work showing. The rest of him too has a stout muscularity, if not for his job and clean face, I’d have called him a mountain man, or mountain of a man.
I wonder how hard it is to be under cars all day at that size.I wonder how hard it would be to be under him all day…
He sidesteps past me and I turn a half circle to stand where the other had been a moment ago. I rock back and forth on my heels, not even admitting to myself I was sticking around for the show.
