Page 34 of A Love Like Christmas Time
I’m pretty sure this is how several porn films start. Only I’m not stuck in a washing machine.
“Because I’m going to build your damn bookshelves,” he mutters, his voice muffled by the thick fabric of his scarf.
“What?” I’m hearing his words, but they don’t make sense. “Build my bookshelves?”
He pulls down his scarf with an annoyed frown. “Unless you plan on letting me stand here for the next hour instead of inviting me in. Because I’m pretty sure by then my fingers will have frozen off.”
“Of course, of course. Come in,” I stammer and open the door wider, now that I’ve determined he’s not a serial killer, and step aside to let him in.
The good thing about winter is that I never need to worry about Jenna or Taytay escaping. They tried it once. As if they’d made an escape plan, they bolted outside simultaneously as I opened the door when I came back from decorating Caleb’s café with him.
As soon as their paws touched the snow, they let out a loud, angry ‘meow’ and stopped in their tracks. They tried one more time, but clearly weren’t too happy with the cold. I’d waited in the doorway, arms crossed in front of my chest, waiting for them to realize their mistake, and I swear they walked back inside like petulant children.
Ever since then, nothing can get them outside. I thought about bringing them over to Nic’s for a playdate, but not achance. I got them into the carrier, but as soon as I opened the door, they made their protests clear.
“I have tools, though. You didn’t have to bring your toolbox all the way here,” I tell Caleb as he brushes past me.
“Do you?” He glances at me over his shoulder, a skeptical frown almost hidden by the hair falling into his face. He turns around and crouches down to untie his shoes. “Are they proper tools or did you get them at a discounter because they are pink?” My cheeks flush, and I stare at him with wide eyes, mouth agape. He shoots me another look over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching when he sees my face.
“Ha! I knew it.”
“I beg to differ. They’re red.”
“Well, I bet you that proper tools will yield better results than bought-at-some-discounter screwdrivers that have the same budget quality as Ikea furniture.” I cross my arms in front of my chest and watch him get up.
“They might have been cheap, but I’ll have you know they get the job done.”
“Sure, sure,” he says and gets up, toeing off his boots. “If it helps, I can attach one of the boards with your tools. Now show me where the damn things are.”
“If youinsist.” I grin at him widely. “Follow me,” I say in a singsong voice and saunter ahead.
My cats lift their heads curiously as we walk by the living room, but stay cuddled up where they are. I wonder if they can even free themselves from the body part puzzle they twisted themselves into.
I guess I’ll find out sooner or later. For now, I lead him to what is hopefully going to become my library.
Suddenly his footsteps stop behind me at once.
“You haven’t unpacked?” The pain in his voice makes me freeze in my tracks and slowly turn around to him.
He stands in the doorframe, knuckles white around the toolbox handle, the color drained from his face. His eyes dart around the room, and I can see him swallow hard.
“Because I’m lazy,” I explain quickly and walk the few steps back to him. “Not because I’m about to leave.” I grab his sweatshirt and pull on it until his eyes land on me instead of the cardboard boxes. I want to hug him tightly, tell him everything is going to be okay, but a knot in my stomach stops me. “And also because I’m kind of lacking the shelves to put all of this stuff onto. Please don’t read more into it than it is.”
“Okay.” He gives me a hesitant sideways glance, which I return with what I hope is a reassuring smile. I reach for his hand and tug him with me to one of the adjoining rooms.
“Here we are.” I make a grand gesture as I push the door open, revealing a room that has beautiful high windows and an incredible view over the lake. It holds nothing but half-collapsed cardboard boxes of various sizes kicked into a corner, see-through zipper bags with screws, wooden boards, and my sad last attempt at building a shelf leaning against the wall to our left.
“You unpacked all of them?” he asks in disbelief, running his palm over his face. “Why would you do that?”
“Yes, I did,” I admit, pretending to be confused. “That way, I could sort the items from the individual boxes alphabetically. That’s how you build Ikea furniture, isn’t it?” His eyes jump to mine, and I glare right back. “Please, Caleb. I might suck at putting together furniture, but I’m not dumb. Obviously, I kept every knick-knack for each shelf together, each of them in a nice little pile.” I point to each of the five piles, one by one.
“Sorry.”
“You’re forgiven,” I say graciously. “Do you want me to help?”
“Not if you would like me to finish them up today,” he mumbles and sets down the toolbox. Rude. “You can keep thesetwo out of my way.” He nods at my two cats, who are sneaking around the doorframe, suddenly curious about the stranger in our home. I scoop them up, cuddle them to my chest and drop a kiss on their heads.
“Sure, I can do that. Holler if you need anything. I might put shelves together upside down, but I can still help you hoist them up.”
