He nodded, and I tucked my hair behind my ears, both of us silent.
“Well, I’m going to get started,” Anderson said after a moment, pushing off where he’d been leaning against the counter.
“Wait, I’m coming.” I used the microwave as a mirror to tie my hair back, turning to catch Anderson staring at me with a quirked brow.
“You’re going to watch me this whole time?”
“What? No, of course not. I’m going to help.” I gestured to my overalls, the ones I’d worn only once before my trip out to Gold Bar for the summer. They’d been a cute trend last summer, now they were turning out quite useful. “Look. Ready to work.”
He rolled his lips together and bit down, fighting off a smile.
“Oh, come on! Look at how useful these things are.” I snagged the screwdriver I’d used the other day off the kitchen counter and tucked it into one of the front pockets. “See?”
Anderson gave in and chuckled. “I don’t even know what I’m working on just yet, so maybe you should hang tight. I know you said you have some sketching to do, too. Don’t let me being here keep you from what you need to do.”
My shoulders slumped and I stuck out my bottom lip in an over-exaggerated pout. “Wel,l you’re no fun.”
“Just holler if you need anything, okay?” At that, he smirked a little. “Not that I have to tell you that.”
I rolled my eyes and shoved him as he grabbed his toolbox, though he barely budged at all. I had offered to help mostly because though I had plenty to do, I didn’t particularly feel like doing any of it. But I knew, in reality, I would have been more in his way than of any assistance, so I grabbed my sketchbook with a sigh as he headed down to the busted water spout.
I learned quickly that having Anderson around the cabin was a distraction. I couldn’t not glance out the window at him as I washed and put away dishes, nor could I ignore him when I tried to sit on the front porch with my sketchbook. The way he worked was mesmerizing, his face and concentration both hard as stone.
Maybe it was because I’d grown up with parents who called a professional anytime anything broke, and then I married a man who had hands softer than my own, but I was impressed by Anderson’. He was so comfortable, so confident as he moved around the cabin, his hands working as if they were made for that purpose—to fix things. He didn’t need a manual or a tutorial. He just knew exactly what to do.
After over an hour of sketching—only to rip several pages from my book and crumple them up—I gave in, retreating inside to call Adrian. It was nice to just catch up—he told me all about Naomi’s crawling adventures, and I made him laugh with the tale of the pipe burst, another in a series of awkward moments. We ended the call with him updating me on the boutique just as Anderson walked back inside, a light sheen of sweat covering his neck and forearms.
“I was just about to make lunch, want some?” I asked, tossing my cell phone on the counter.
“I’ll just take some water.” He was breathing heavy, scribbling notes on the same paper he’d shown me that morning. “Can I use your laptop, too? Need to order some parts.”
“Of course.” I filled a glass with ice and water from the tap and handed it to him. “You sure you don’t want to eat? It’s already past one.”
Anderson paused at that, looking up at the clock above the stove with a frown. “I didn’t realize it was so late already.”
“I’ll make us some sandwiches. My laptop is over on the couch if you want to bring it over. And my credit card is in my purse here on the counter. You’re not paying for any of the parts,” I added, pulling the turkey and cheese from the fridge before he could argue. He made a face, but when I dropped the ingredients on the counter and crossed my arms with a pointed look, he seemed to think better of fighting. He disappeared into the living room and returned with my computer, taking a seat at the bar and drinking half of his water in one gulp.
I went to work on our sandwiches, toasting six slices of the whole wheat bread I’d pulled out. I figured Anderson would be hungry enough to eat two based on his size alone. Add in the fact that he’d been working all morning and I was sure of it.
He worked silently at the counter while I spread mayonnaise on the first slice when suddenly I stopped, hand frozen mid-spread.
I hadn’t even asked Anderson what he liked on his sandwich. I’d just started making it, and I realized then that I was making it the way I used to make Keith’s. My hands faltered, and I dropped the butter knife still thick with mayo. It clanked against the plate, startling Anderson and me both.
“Sorry,” I murmured, picking it back up again and swallowing the knot in my throat. “Um, do you like mayonnaise? I have mustard, too.”
“No condiments, please,” he said—the knife drop hadn’t held his attention. He was back to clicking away on the laptop. “Thank you.”
I nodded to myself and made my own sandwich on the bread I’d already dressed. When his lunch was plated in front of him, I tore open a fresh bag of potato chips and set them between us as I grabbed the seat beside him, looking over his shoulder.
“You’d better not try to sneak and use your own money to pay for the parts,” I said as I took my first bite.
“I think I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to arguing with you,” he replied. His tone was playful, eyes still focused on the screen. He grabbed one of his sandwiches without even looking and took a bite the size of four of mine combined.
“Thank you again for lunch,” he said when he’d swallowed.
“No problem.”
A strange sense of pride washed over me then, because I’d done something for him finally, and he’d let me. I didn’t know why it was that he wanted to help me fix up the cabin, but I was thankful he was here.
Rev pranced in through the open front door, meowing his arrival not too long after we’d finished eating.
“Hey, Rev,” I cooed without thinking. As soon as I bent to scratch behind his ears I cringed, peeking up at Anderson to see if he’d heard.
He had, his hands paused over the keyboard and arms stiff and rigid.
“Sorry,” I murmured.
Anderson frowned, hands working again. “No, it’s fine. Really.”
He finished typing and closed my laptop, pushing it forward a little before he stood. As he towered over the kitchen island, his eyes were hard on Rev, who was purring under the scratch of my nails on his neck. When Anderson moved to round the kitchen island, I thought he was going to leave, but instead he knelt next to me, hand reaching out toward Rev.
My feline companion appraised Anderson’s hand at first, sniffing his fingers before nudging into them. Anderson ran his hand over Rev’s head and down his arching back, purring with approval.