Page 13 of Work and Play
“Perfect.”
“Perfect,” I echo. We stand there, staring at each other in silence for a second before I realize there’s a connection forming between us that I need to steer clear of. “Anyway, I guess we should be going before the weather gets worse.” I turn away from her, grateful for my long winter coat that covers the evidence of what she does to me. My body clearly isn’t in sync with my mind given this ridiculous reaction to Ashley is purely physical. It’s simple biology, an understandable attraction to a beautiful woman. Still, it’s a little unnerving.
Ashley walks over to stare out the window where both of our cars are now covered in a blanket of snow. “Oh wow, it’s really coming down.” She doesn’t sound nervous, but I look at her carefully anyway.
“Are you okay to drive in that? I can give you a ride if you need me to.”
She turns and the smile she gives me is confident. “Nah, I’m good. I’ve got snow tires, and my dad made sure I could drive in snow when I was younger. We used to take a yearly trip to Whistler.”
I nod and stuff my hands in my pockets. I know we should leave but I’m reluctant to go. There’s an undeniable pull between us, in spite of all that she does to drive me crazy. Ashley isn’t the evil designer intent on ruining our budget that I previously believed she was. She’s got talent, lots of it, and her commitment to cost-effectiveness and environmentally friendly practice is admirable. She’s also one hell of an alluring woman, and I need to find a way to work with her without letting my baser desires get in the way.
Easy. No problem.
Right, I don’t believe me either.
The drive back to the house I’m renting in town takes way too fucking long thanks to the storm, and I can’t help but wonder if Ashley made it back safely to wherever she’s staying. I guess I’ll have to get her cell number so we can keep in touch about work, but right now I wish I had it so I could check on her. If my concern for her well-being doesn’t tell me how far gone I already am on this woman, I don’t know what does. I’m not the guy who worries about the women he’s dating, mostly because I don’t exactly date. I meet a woman when I want some company, we enjoy ourselves, and then we go our separate ways.
But Ashley isn’t some woman I met at a bar. No she’s not. And it’s perfectly fine for me to be concerned about her as a co-worker, but nothing more. Still, there’s nothing I can do right now since I don’t have her number. So I push any unwanted thoughts about her out of my mind as I climb out of my car, pulling the collar of my jacket tight around my neck against the freezing air. I’m going to need to come back out and shovel off my front path and driveway. It’s kind of a miracle I managed to get my car in as it is.
But when I eventually get around to the back door that leads to the laundry room where I plan on grabbing some warmer clothes and gloves, it’s clear that a snow-covered driveway is the absolute least of my problems.
The roof of the small laundry room that was a poorly built addition to the original house (according to Ethan, the construction expert) has caved in from the weight of the snow that must have piled onto it. Underneath the drifts, I can make out the shape of the washer and dryer, and I can see snow piled up in the hallway that leads to the rest of the house.
This is bad. Really bad.
I quickly turn around and make my way to the front of the house and let myself inside. The furnace is still pumping, so at least it’s a little warm in here. Then again, that could be a bad thing if all the snow melts. I look around and don’t see any other damage, but I keep my boots on as I walk through the main floor to check things out. Yeah, it’s bad. The snow from the laundry room is piling up, big time. Thinking quickly, I jog back out to my car and grab the emergency tarp I keep in there. The toolbox Ethan gave me as a gag gift when I moved in is sitting on the floor in my living room, and I open it for the first time to grab a hammer and some nails. I make quick work of attaching the tarp to the doorframe that leads to the hallway and the destroyed laundry room, hoping that it will stop more snow from drifting in.
When that’s done, my heart is racing from adrenaline. This is not exactly what I thought I would be doing tonight. I grab my phone and call my landlord to update them on the situation. Their shock is unmistakable, and they promise to come straight out and take a look.
An hour later, it’s getting dark outside and my landlord has gone home after agreeing to refund my rent for the month and apologizing profusely, even though this is mother nature’s fault and not theirs. Unfortunately, with this freak storm, there’s no telling when they can get someone to fix the roof, which means I need to find somewhere else to stay, and fast.
I stomp upstairs and open my closet door, tossing clothes into a pile on my bed. At least the damage is contained to the laundry room. Still, this is the last goddamn thing I want to be worrying about right now, but thankfully I’ve got a responsible landlord who will take care of it when they can.
Ethan and his sister Mila own most of the rental properties in town, but this house isn’t one of theirs. If it was, I know for a fact one of them would be insisting I stay with them until it’s fixed. Hell, I could probably ask them for a place to sleep anyway, but I don’t want to. They’re both in relatively new relationships, as is Reid, now that he and Abby Martin have hooked up. Having an unexpected houseguest is probably going to cramp their style, and I don’t think I want to invade their privacy like that.
Thankfully, Dogwood Cove has a couple of Airbnb’s, and when I check online, one of them has a suite available. Shared kitchenette and bathroom, but that doesn’t bother me as long as the room has a lock. I won’t be there long, and most of my time will be spent out at the winery anyway. I click confirm on my booking, and turn back to packing a bag.
I’m just zipping my duffel bag shut when my phone buzzes with an incoming message from the person who owns the Airbnb. She lets me know the code to unlock the door and get into my suite, sends over a few guidelines, and asks me to please be quiet when I arrive as the other guest is already in their suite. Sure. Fine. As long as I have someplace to sleep where snow isn’t inside the house, I’m good.
I’m forced to drive at a crawl the entire way to the Airbnb. Fuck, this storm is something else. At least everywhere in Dogwood Cove is relatively close by, so even driving as slowly as I am, I get there in just a few minutes. Something tells me I won’t be driving tomorrow, however. Most, if not all of the town, will shut down with this kind of weather, I’m guessing. Hopefully Mila has some extra muffins or something at her house if she’s not able to open the bakery.
When I get to the small house where I’ll be staying, I grab my bag and lock my car before trudging through the snow to the side door that leads to the suites. As asked, I go in quietly, pausing to hear if any sound is coming from the other suite, but it’s silent. When I open the door to my room, I’m pleasantly surprised. It’s spacious, with a bed, a desk, a minifridge and a coffee maker. There’s a printout on the desk, reiterating the information about the shared kitchen and bathroom, and some etiquette rules. Hopefully I won’t be here long, but it’s still nice to see the place is well maintained.
Suddenly a wave of exhaustion hits me. It’s well after 9 pm, and I haven’t even had any dinner. I pull out the takeout boxes I grabbed from my fridge at home on my way out the door. I could go and use the microwave, but honestly, I’m too fucking tired. Cold Chinese food it is. Along with the box of lo mein, I pull out the bottle of sauvignon blanc I snagged from home. Thank fuck it’s one of those new style bottles with a screw cap, not a cork. The old-timer winemakers might frown on caps, but right now I’m grateful for it. I don’t even bother looking for a glass, just take a long sip from the bottle like the classy sommelier I am.
Good wine makes everything better.
Of course, my fucking phone rings when I have a mouthful of noodles, but when I see it’s just Ethan, I answer and give him a mumbled, “Hey.”
“Dude, why did your landlady just call and ask me to come over tomorrow to give her a quote on repairing your fucking roof?”
I swallow and roll my eyes at Ethan’s concern. “You sound like my mom. It’s fine, man.” No it’s not, that’s the wine talking.
“How is it fine? Where are you staying? You can always come here, you know.” I can hear Ethan’s brain at work, trying to come up with a solution. That’s just who he is, always the guy wanting to help everyone else.
“I’m already settled at an Airbnb. Seriously, don’t worry. I can stay here until things get figured out with the house.” I take another swallow of wine from the bottle, letting the cool, crisp liquid pool in my mouth so I can truly savour the taste. Citrus notes, a hint of green apple, and a slight spicy afternote hit my palate. It’s not great wine, but it’s not bad. I can do better. But it’s doing the trick for now.
“You’re sure?” Ethan says.
