Hungry eyes. One day. One day I’ll get the chance to act on those hungry eyes. Yeah, I’ve seen them.
On my way to her little construction zone, I take her in. Yoga pants, long-sleeved pink thermal shirt, hair piled on top of her head, and safety goggles wrapped around her head with a pencil tucked behind her ear. Fuck, she’s so damn cute. What I wouldn’t give to be able to walk up behind her, wrap my arms around her waist, and kiss her on the neck. To feel her lean into my touch, to make that low, throaty moan she used to make when I kissed her below her ear.
Fucking hell, I ache for her. I want one more touch, one more kiss, one more night where it’s only us and nothing else. No boyfriends, no sick fathers, no unreliable moms, just us, together with the world tucked away to deal with another day.
But that thought is a far-off dream.
The sound of the saw cuts out. Amelia pulls off her goggles, sticking them on the top of her head, and brushes her hand against the wood, pushing the sawdust out of the way.
“Nice curve. I’m impressed.”
Quickly, she turns around and when she sees me, a small smile passes over her lips. Five years ago, that smile used to stretch across her face, now it’s the smile she gives everyone.
It’s not special for me.
“You’re late, Walters.” She looks me up and down. “And not properly dressed.” She motions to my shirt. “What’s with the cut-off sleeves? I never pictured you as one of those guys.”
“Didn’t have time to change after my workout, and I can’t wear sleeves when I lift weights.”
“Why? Do you pop holes in the sleeves?” She chuckles, but when I nod my head, her jovial laugh falls flat. “No way, you don’t pop holes in sleeves when you work out.”
“I do, but that was just once. I mainly go sleeveless because it’s less restricting on my arms.”
Shaking her head, she says, “That’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. You shouldn’t be popping sleeves open with your biceps.”
“It’s not an everyday thing.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “It should be a never-a-day thing. Honestly, the relationship gods must hate me.”
“What?” I ask, chuckling from her outrage.
She shakes me off. “Never mind.” Letting out a long breath, she takes in her work. “Get your goggles, Walters. We have a long night ahead of us.”
And just like that, we seem to be back to normal. Maybe she needed a little break. Maybe things were getting too heavy for her. Whatever it was, it’s over and I couldn’t be happier.
We spend the next twenty minutes cutting out giant pieces of wood for the post office we need to put together. I try to keep my eyes fixed on the wood, but I can’t help but look in Amelia’s direction every once in a while, and dare I say it? I caught her once staring at me, at least that’s what I’m chalking it up to, even though she asked me a question when I caught her looking. Could Mr. Buster be right?
We’re both sanding down the jagged edges of the large pieces of wood we cut out when I ask, “So your birthday is coming up. What do you plan on doing?”
“I’m going to have Thanksgiving with my dad in the afternoon, and then I’m driving to the city to spend the weekend with Trey.” She swallows hard, avoiding all eye contact.
Fucking Trey.
“Right,” I answer lamely. I don’t know how else to respond to that. Should I offer up a high five? Maybe a thumbs up? Both are stupid responses. Growing a pair, I say, “Trey, huh? Haven’t seen him around much.”
Haven’t seen him in many years actually. Last time I saw him was when I went to visit him for the summer. Worst idea ever.
When I take in Amelia’s reaction to my comment, I notice her shoulders slouch and her posture looks defeated. Okay, maybe not the best thing to say, but I mean, come on. Where is this dude? If Amelia moved away to be with her family, I would take every fucking opportunity to go see her. She needs supporting. Does he know how close she is to her dad? Has he even visited once?
Amelia eyes me. “He’s been working extra hours lately. He would be here if he could. He’s trying.”
She sounds a bit defensive. I might have hit a soft spot. “Speaking of working hard, remember when I used to visit you when you were working at A.C. Moore?” I use air quotes when I say working. Amelia has never hated a job more in her life because people came in at night after eating dinner at the buffet next door, smelling like rotten Chinese food and wanting her help. The smell had been so overwhelming that at nights, she’d begged to work in the stockroom. When they told her she had to work on the floor, out of spite, she would work at a snail’s pace.
“Ugh, that godforsaken job. If I knew old ladies were going to come traipsing in smelling like General Tso’s, I would have never applied for the job.”
“You made me bring you a bottle of Febreeze once.”
“Yes, and I went around spraying customers when they weren’t looking.”
“Which landed you in your manager’s office.” Oh man, was she spicy that day. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so mad.
“I regret nothing.”
“It’s a miracle you lasted six months.” My sandpaper wears down so I trade my scrap for a new piece. When the grain hits the wood, the tension in my shoulders starts to relax. Some people hate sanding, but I find it therapeutic, especially when I’m sitting comfortably talking to Amelia. Up until now, it’s been a shit day, but filling the space around me with her laughter and witty comments has brought calm.
Yeah, I’ve fucking missed her. This.
I hate that she’ll be with another man to celebrate her birthday. I took the job of spoiling Amelia quite seriously. But it’s not my job anymore.
I can try to spoil her from a distance, and I have to be content with that.
***
I hop out of my truck quickly and approach Amelia’s car. When she gets out, I say, “Hey, I was thinking about walking down the street to the diner to get something to eat. Never really got dinner tonight. Do you want to join me?”
I hold my breath, knowing there is a ninety percent chance she’s going to turn me down. We had a pretty good night, building the post office. We joked, kept our conversation light and casual, and then parted to our respective cars. But I wasn’t ready to say good night to her. I wasn’t quite ready to let her go. Next week we won’t have volunteering time because of the holiday, which means I probably won’t see her for two weeks. Fuck that.
Amelia twists her lip to the side, my question considered in that pretty head of hers.
Say yes, please fucking say yes.
“I, uh, I didn’t really eat dinner either,” she says as she plays with her keys.
I can’t help the smile that crosses my face.
“I guess that would explain the snarls you were making at the wood earlier. Looks like we need to get some food in you before you go completely hangry on me.”
Her eyes lift up, a little spark of humor in them. “I wasn’t snarling at the wood.”