“It’s almost eight o’clock.” She turns to walk away from me, going toward the stairs. I hear the sound of her putting the bottles down before she comes back over to the kitchen. “I thought for sure you’d be gone.”
“Is that why you came home so late?” I ask her as I spread the joint compound down the wall. “Were you avoiding me?”
“Obviously,” she answers sarcastically, then her tone turns. “I know this is going to be shocking to you, Caleb, but my world doesn’t revolve around you.”
“Don’t I know it,” I retort, avoiding looking at her because if I look at her, I’ll just want to stare at her the whole time. And I already told myself I wasn’t going to throw myself at her again. I’ve done it three times now and nothing.
“But seriously,” she huffs out, ignoring what I just said to her, “what are you still doing here?”
“Besides waiting to see you?” I wink at her before I go over the joint again. “I was able to get the painters to squeeze me in”—I turn to look at her—“but in order for them to squeeze me in, I had to make sure the joints were done. The guy we usually use for this is backed up, and I didn’t want to delay this for three weeks, so here I am on a Saturday night, working, for you.” She looks around the kitchen. “After the painters come in, I have the cabinet makers coming in.” I turn back to the wall, my shoulders aching from working nonstop all day long. “I emailed you his name and number so you can reach out to them. I also sent you the name and number of the tile and counter guy. He’s waiting for your call on Monday. He can rush anything, so it looks like this time next week, you’ll probably have your kitchen up and running. Depending on what you choose for appliances.”
She looks around. “That’s so fast.” Then her eyes come back to mine, going soft. “Thank you for rushing this.”
“I didn’t have any plans,” I admit, but I don’t tell her I was hoping to spend time with her and maybe convince her to rethink going out with me, “so it’s fine.” She looks around the room at the progress, no doubt probably seeing how things are going to look. “Was today stressful?”
She stops, looking around the room to turn back to me. “Why would you ask that?” She folds her arms over her chest.
I point over to the stuff that she dumped on the stairs. “A box of donuts and two bottles of wine.” I chuckle as I finish the wall. “If that doesn’t scream today sucked ass, I don’t know what does.”
“Wow.” She shakes her head. “Can’t a girl enjoy her night in the tub with a donut and a bottle of wine?” She lifts her eyebrows, waiting for me to answer, as I walk over and put the rest of the putty into the pail.
“Sure, but two bottles mean things didn’t go well.” I put down the tools, then walk over to the cloth and wipe my fingers. “Trust me, I should know.”
“Old girlfriend drank a lot with you, did she?” She makes the joke, and I can’t help but bark out a laugh.
“Probably, but I also have two sisters, one younger and one older, so I know what two bottles mean. Usually, it means, one, a guy is a dick or, two, a guy did you dirty by being a dick.” I fold my arms over my chest. “Are you drinking because of me? Because, baby, I have to say, I’m a sure thing, and I would never do you dirty.”
She rolls her eyes. “Again, news flash, the world doesn’t revolve around you, Caleb.” Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to kiss her. I lick my lips thinking about it. “Wait here,” she says, turning, and I watch her walk back over to her purse. She opens it, grabs something out of it, and then grabs one of the bottles of wine before coming back to me.
“I’ll show you something if you can figure out how to open this bottle,” she bargains as she holds up the wine bottle in her hand, “since I don’t have a corkscrew.” She hands me the bottle, and I shake my head, turning and walking back to my black tool chest. Squatting down in front of it and opening the top, I snatch up my Swiss Army knife with a corkscrew attached to it. “That is kind of cheating, isn’t it?”
“You didn’t ask me if I had one. You said you didn’t.” I get up after I pull out the cork and then hand her the bottle. She grabs it from me and then glances around, probably looking for a glass.
When she finally realizes that she is not going to find a glass, she smirks at me. “Oh well.” She holds up the bottle. “Cheers.” She smirks before bringing the bottle to her lips and taking a gulp of it. “This is some good wine.” She looks at the label.
“Okay, well, I held up my end of the bargain,” I tell her. “What did you need to show me?” I look her up and down. “And will I be able to touch it?” My cock stirs in my pants.
“Good God.” She shakes her head and then hands me a newspaper that is folded in two. The black-and-white newspaper now looks like it’s yellow and black, so it must be old as fuck. I open it gingerly, seeing a picture in the middle of the article. Seeing two firefighters squatting down in the middle of them, is a small square cardboard box with what looks like a blanket in there and a small child in the arms of the big firefighter. My eyes go up to read the headline before I feel them go big as I look up at her, and she takes another swig of her wine. “In case you’re wondering”—she leans in—“that’s me.” She points at the newspaper, and I look back, reading the article and wanting to pull her into my arms and give her a hug.
“Wow.” I look at the little baby in the picture, then look at her. “You were always beautiful,” I admire softly. Her eyes twinkle as she tries to hide her smile by looking down and then back up at me. But she can’t fight it even if she tries and her whole face lights up as she smiles shyly at me.
“Smooth.” She brings the bottle of wine back to her mouth, taking a couple of pulls. “I met that man today.” She comes over to my side as she points at the fire chief, who is holding her in the faded picture.
“That’s incredible.” I look over at her. “You’re lucky.”
“Lucky isn’t a word I would use”—she sighs—“but I guess you can say that.” She shrugs. “That’s the whole reason I moved here.” She takes another sip of the wine.
“You moved all this way and bought a house to meet the fire chief?” I ask, confused.
She chuckles. “No, I’m not that crazy.” She takes a deep breath in. “I moved all this way because,” she blows out a deep breath, “I want to look for my birth parents.”
“Whoa.” I look down at the paper, making sure I read what I read before looking back at her. “What makes you think they come from here? Like, are you even sure they are from around here or maybe they drove into town and then drove back out?” I fold the paper and hold it out for her. Our fingers touch each other’s when she takes it from me.
“I have no idea,” she admits as she takes another gulp of wine, “but I figured I would start here and see where it took me.”
“Sierra,” I say. When she looks up at me, I see the bottom of her eyes are brimming with tears, and the need to hold her is so strong I don’t know how much longer I can hold myself back from taking her in my arms again and kissing her just like I did last night.
“I know it’s stupid,” she says in almost a whisper, her voice trembling with emotion, “I mean, they dumped me in a cardboard box, for goodness’ sake. What makes me think they even care where I am or what I’m doing? If they even thought about me over the years.”
