Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Fox

“So what’s Josie’s deal?” Two hours later, Porter hopped down from the ladder. He wiped the spackle from his hands onto his jeans.

I glanced over and went back to measuring for the last piece of sheetrock that needed to be hung on the walls. “There is no deal.”

“You’re not interested in her?”

My jaw flexed. “Nope.”

“Then why are we over here on a Sunday morning working on her living room when the high school job is running a week behind? If we were going to put in overtime, it would make more sense to be laying the oak floor in the gymnasium.”

“Let me manage my business, and you manage yours.”

Porter stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Don’t have any business to manage. Opal said Josie hit your mailbox.”

I looked up at the ceiling and shook my head. Did the whole, entire town need to gossip? “Why the hell is Opal talking to you about my mailbox?”

“Remember that time I accidentally backed into the address sign at the office? The bed of my pickup was full with boxes of cabinets for the Woodward job so I couldn’t see so good.”

“What about it?”

“You almost fired me, you were so pissed.”

“So?”

“So your best employee almost gets fired for hitting a sign, and some woman you just met gets her living room done on a Sunday?”

“Shut up and finish spackling.”

“I am done, at least until Josie gets back from the store with the joint tape I need to do that corner.”

I looked up at the ceiling. Sure enough, everything was finished except that one edge. I gestured to the giant can of spackle on the floor. “Start the walls.”

“No more left.”

“There’s a full bucket in my garage.”

“I thought you only wanted me to do the ceiling?”

“Just start the damn walls.”

Porter took his time moseying over to my place. He came back with the bucket in one hand and a Pop-Tart in the other.

“Don’t you ever get any flavors except brown sugar cinnamon?”

“Don’t you ever ask to go into someone’s kitchen and raid the cabinets?”

He ignored me and continued to chomp away at the Pop-Tart. “So you wouldn’t mind if I asked Josie out? She’s freaking hot, man.”

I didn’t like the knot I felt in my stomach even thinking about Porter laying a finger on Josie, but I’d never hear the end of it if I warded him off. “I’m not her keeper.”

“Great.”

Since the sheetrock was done and I wasn’t half as fast as Porter when it came to spackling, I decided to go next door and get a few fans to help the drying process. The humidity on the lake in July kept everything wet for days. While I was there, I got a call from a subcontractor I’d been trying to reach all week. By the time I returned to the neighbor’s, Josie was back from the store. And fucking Porter was already making moves.

He stood behind Josie real close, his hand covering hers as he guided the spackle knife around the wall. I felt like punching him.

“Hey, boss.” The fucker grinned. “Josie’s a real natural. Painting landscapes is also one of her hobbies, same as me.”

“Oh yeah?” I gritted out between clenched teeth.

“I’m not very good,” Josie said. “And I haven’t done it in years.”

“That’s a shame,” Porter drawled. “Maybe you should change that. The lake at sunset makes a beautiful subject.”

She smiled. “I’m sure it does.”

“I have an extra easel. I can drop it by one day…”

“Oh, I don’t want you to go out of your way.”

“It’s no trouble at all.”

I’d had to give Porter the all clear to keep the town’s rumor mill quiet, but I didn’t need to stand here and watch him spin his stupid web. I cleared my throat. “I’ve got it from here, Porter. Thanks for the hand.”

He frowned. “I still need to finish three walls.”

“I can handle it.”

“But I’m quicker.”

“If you want to work today, you can head over to the high school job we’re backed up on. I was planning on waiting until the HVAC system went in to catch up, so there was some air when the temps hit ninety like it’s supposed to today. But if you’re itching to work…”

Porter held his hands up. “I’m good.”

“Alright then.” I nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He took his time collecting his shit, then walked over to Josie. “It was very nice meeting you.”

“You, too, Porter. Thanks so much for helping out. I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime. I mean that. You need a hand with anything around here, just give a holler. In fact, let me give you my number in case you want to reach me.”

“Oh. Okay.” Josie walked into the kitchen, grabbed her phone from the table, and handed it to Porter. He grinned as he typed in his number, then used her phone to call his. “Now I have your number, too.”

“Thanks again.”

“Maybe I’ll stop by with that easel sometime soon.”

She smiled politely, but didn’t encourage him. My not employee of the month tipped his baseball hat to me on his way out. “Have a good one, boss.”

“Yep. Later.”

Once he was gone, I went about spackling the living room.

“What can I do?” Josie said.

“Nothing. This is the last of it for today.”

She looked around the room. “I can’t believe you got all this done in only a few hours. This would’ve taken me weeks, at least.”

“It’s what I do.”

She sat on the ladder. “How did you go from hockey to contractor?”

“Blew out my knee. Wasn’t even thirty yet. Needed something to do with the rest of my life.”

“Oh, that’s terrible. Was it during a game?”

I looked away. “Nope.”

Josie was quiet for a minute. I could tell she was waiting for me to say more. “How did you learn to do everything?” She grinned. “I bet it was YouTube videos, right?”

I chuckled. “My father was a contractor. I worked for him from the time I was twelve. He wanted me to have a backup plan in case things didn’t work out with hockey. I was convinced I was going to be a superstar, so I thought it was unnecessary. Turned out he was right after all.”

“I wanted to be a ballerina when I was little.”

“Oh yeah? You’re a good dancer then?”

“No. I’m terrible.” She laughed. “I have no idea why I just told you that.”

An energetic knock on the old metal screen door made Josie jump. I hadn’t heard anyone come up the driveway either.

“Is this Forty-Six Rosewood?”

“Yes?”

“I have a dumpster delivery. You want it in the driveway?”

“Oh. Yes, I’m sorry. Let me move my car for you.”

Josie grabbed her keys and went outside. When she came back, the sound of a backup alarm chirped as the delivery truck positioned a small dumpster up the driveway in reverse.

“What’s the dumpster for?” I asked.

She motioned to the newspaper piles in the kitchen. “The rest of this. There’s also a full room of magazines on the second floor. I misjudged how much junk was in here when I filled the first one I ordered last week. The VHS tapes from the living room filled almost three quarters of it.”

I looked at my watch. I’d told the subcontractor who’d called earlier that I’d meet him over at the Franklin jobsite to show him all the things his guys had done half ass. But I still had an hour. “I can give you a hand for a little while.”

“Oh gosh, no. You’ve done so much already. I can handle it on my own.”

“I’m here, and it’ll go quicker with two. Plus, having this paper all over the place is a fire hazard. I don’t want my place catching flames from yours.”

Josie smirked. “You don’t fool me, Fox Cassidy. All the excuses you make up can’t hide the fact that you’re a decent guy down deep.”

If she only knew how indecent my thoughts about her were last night…

Rather than debate, I walked over to one of the stacks of newspapers and grabbed two arms full. The delivery guy was finishing offloading the dumpster when I walked outside. I tossed the first heap in while Josie signed the paperwork. After that, we got into a rhythm going back and forth. The sun was blazing hot, so by the third or fourth trip we were both pretty sweaty. Josie’s white tank top clung to her, and every time she lifted her arms to grab a stack of newspapers, she flashed creamy skin that I fantasized about sinking my teeth into.

She wasn’t my type, at least not in the non-physical sense. I liked women who didn’t question why I wasn’t up for talking, women who wanted one thing from me—and it wasn’t to get to know me with my clothes on. Divorcées in their forties fit the bill nicely, preferably ones who were still bitter about men and not ready to find another husband. They also tended to know what they liked in bed and were comfortable making sure they got it. Simple. I liked it that way.

Which Josie was definitely not. She was the kind searching for something—a fairytale she still believed in. And not the original Grimm ones either.

She reached up to grab another pile of papers, and a bead of sweat slid down the hollow of her back as I walked up behind her. I salivated at the thought of licking the salty drop from her skin. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, at least not until she turned and caught me. I jerked my head, trying to play it off like I hadn’t been staring, and wound up banging into the kitchen table. A box teetered before falling to the floor. I tried to grab it but missed, and the top popped off as it landed on its side. Some of the contents sprayed across the kitchen.

“Shit. Sorry.” I bent down and gathered up the stuff that had fallen out. It looked like a bunch of Christmas cards. Hundreds. “Mrs. Wollman hoarded cards too?”

Josie knelt down and grabbed one that had skated across the room. She added it to the collection in the box. “These are mine actually.”

I felt my eyebrows scrunch up. “You brought a box of used Christmas cards with you from New York?”

“Yes.”

I looked over into the box again. “How many years’ worth you got in here?”

“Just one.”

“People sent you this many cards? I don’t think this many people live in this town.”

She smiled. “Actually, they do. I’m only up to N.”

“Huh?”

Josie placed the lid back on the box and stood with it in her hands. “Nothing.”

I shrugged. “If you say so…”

I went back to relocating newspaper piles to the dumpster. On my second trip, I noticed another card sticking halfway out from underneath the stove. It was open, so when I picked it up, I couldn’t help but see what was written on the inside.

Happy Holidays!

Tom and Renee Dwyer

What the fuck?

Josie came into the kitchen after her latest trip to the dumpster and found me staring at the card.

“Where did you get this?” I asked.

“The card?”

“Yes…”

She peered over and read the inside. “Oh, Tom and Renee. They’re really nice. They live here in Laurel Lake. Do you know them?”

“You tend to know people when you get engaged to their daughter.”

“I didn’t realize you were engaged.”

I caught her eye. “I’m not. Evie is dead.”