I certainly hadn’t intended to fall asleep.
Not bemoaning that fact either, but there’s no reason to stay now. Kyle is fine, and there’s really nothing that needs to be said. He made that clear last night at the bar. The icing on top was Barb Privett coming onto him—in a very familiar way that made it clear she had carnal knowledge of Kyle. That thought right there causes acid to surge in my stomach, and I walk quickly through his house to the front door. There’s not a doubt in my mind that had I not showed up last night, Kyle would have gone home with her. In fact, I’m not really sure why he came after me, because he’d told me not two minutes before that there was nothing to talk about between the two of us.
Yes, it’s best I get home and leave Kyle far behind.
Too much trouble.
Too much drama.
Not enough of the real Kyle to keep me interested.
?
I’m startled so much by the banging sound that my paintbrush slips a little in my hand, but not enough to ruin the stroke. I tilt my head to listen. It seems to be coming from my porch. It’s definitely not a knocking on my door, but something is definitely striking wood.
Bang, bang, bang.
“What the hell?” I mutter as I stand up from my stool and arch my back to loosen it up. I’ve been sitting in front of my easel for the last three hours—ever since I left Kyle’s house—and my muscles are screaming at me.
I follow the banging sound, which leads me from my back room/studio, through the living room, and to the front door. I open it up and see Kyle kneeling on the first porch step closest to the ground while he bangs a nail into the top step, which he’s replaced with a new board.
I step out and watch dumbfounded as he pulls a nail he’s holding in between his lips and hammers it in.
Three strikes. Bang, bang, bang.
“What are you doing?” I ask, and his head slowly rises.
He pulls the last nail out of his mouth. “Penance.”
“Penance?” I say with a furrowed brow.
“Yeah, for getting drunk and acting like an ass last night,” he says sheepishly. “And I noticed the top step was weak the other day, so thought I’d replace it for you.”
“So fixing my step is penance?”
“No, hammering nails when my head is already pounding is the penance part,” he corrects me, and then to prove his point, he drives in the last nail while grimacing the entire time.
“Did you take any aspirin?” I ask.
He stands up and shakes his head. “Nope. Got up, showered, and went straight to the hardware store to get the materials to fix your step.”
I shoot him an exasperated look and jerk my head toward the door. “Well, come on inside. I’ve got some aspirin, and I’ll cook you breakfast too.”
I expect him to decline because Kyle never seems to want to accept anything from me, but to my surprise, he merely climbs the porch steps and says, “Thanks.”
Kyle sits down at my kitchen table while I pull eggs and bacon out of my fridge. It’s closer to lunch than breakfast, but this is an easy, fast meal.
“I’ve got aspirin in the medicine cabinet if you want some,” I tell him as I put the pan on the stove and turn the heat on.
“I’m good,” he says, and I can feel his eyes on my back as I lay slices of bacon in the pan.
While they start to sizzle, I pull some orange juice from the fridge, a glass from the cabinet, and take them to the table to set down in front of Kyle. As I turn back to the stove, Kyle grabs my wrist, halting my momentum.
I look at him questioningly and he merely nods to the chair. “Let’s talk.”
“I’ve got to cook breakfast,” I say, suddenly not wanting to have a talk with him. He sounds far too serious at this moment.
“It won’t take long,” he says solemnly.
Hmmm. A quick brush-off. Quick is better than drawn out.
I step to the stove after tugging my wrist away from Kyle and turn the burner off. I then pull out the chair adjacent to Kyle and sit down. Clasping my hands, I place them on the table and give him a polite smile.
He doesn’t smile back, but I’m stunned when he says, “I’m sorry.”
Tilting my head to the side, I ask, “For what?”
Because I truly have no idea what he’s apologizing for. I’m thinking there are several things, but I couldn’t prioritize them.
“For last night,” he says softly. “For getting drunk and telling you there was nothing to talk about. That wasn’t true. I only did it because I was frustrated and pissed off I hadn’t seen you in a few days.”
My heart swells a bit, feeling warm and bubbly.
“Pissed off you hadn’t seen me?” I shamelessly fish for a compliment.