IT’S NOT YET TWO, and Simon and I agreed to meet back here at three, after our admittedly late start. Truth? I do love a schedule, but, damn, that was worth the delay.
So, I figure I have enough time to get started on my newest project. The space heater is cranked to maximum capacity in my mudroom-turned-workshop, so I get to work scraping the outer layers of paint from the old wooden filing cabinet and bureau that will be perfect for my powder room. Once I’m finished, and with a few more trips to the hardware store, the bureau will become a sink, though, I still need to find a basin… And the filing cabinet will become a linen cupboard.
At first glance, I thought this would be a relatively easy job, but each scrape only reveals more layers of years-old paint. These pieces have history, and though it’s hell on my manicure, I relish the work. There’s something soothing about peeling back the layers of an old, battered piece to reveal its sturdy bones and unseen potential.
And sure, I don’t need my years of therapy or my English degree to point out the symbolism. In a weird way, I can relate to the furniture, though, I laugh out loud at my self-conscious thoughts, even in my own space. Still, I scrape and scratch at the wood, revealing varying phases of decor that offer me a peek into the life of this piece of furniture. I wonder about the things it has held, the hands that have carried it, even the secrets it has heard. And that’s silly, I fully realize. But there’s a measure of comfort to be found among these old, scarred, but beautiful pieces. There’s also a measure of pride to be gained from revealing their beauty.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I jump when I hear Simon’s knock on the door as he turns the key.
He crosses the small space and kisses the top of my head.
“Hey, I didn’t want to scare you, but I think I did anyway.” His sheepish smile makes my heart swell.
“Sorry. I was a little lost in my thoughts.”
“Looks like you’ve been busy. I’ll put the groceries away and then report back for duty.”
He turns to go, but my question stops him. “Duty?”
“I figured I’d help, if you tell me what to do. I’m not gonna lie, though. I’m probably terrible at this. I never even took woodshop.”
“Then why do you want to help?” My puzzlement causes him to frown.
He squats down in front of me and reaches a hand out to my face and leans forward, peppering a kiss on my forehead. “Because spending time with you is way better than not spending time with you.” Another kiss lands on my cheek. “Because you love this, so I want to know all about it.” His eyes capture mine and hold my gaze for a moment before he presses a kiss to my lips. “And because the faster we get this done, the faster I can get between your legs.”
I’m a veritable puddle on my workshop floor, but true to his word, Simon returns, about ten minutes later, in sweats and a t-shirt, his arms outstretched. “Put me to work, pretty lady.”
I smile at his teasing words and settle back on my heels to survey what I’ve already accomplished. “That wooden filing cabinet is ready for sanding, and I should only be another half hour with this piece. Grab the sandpaper off that shelf and get to work.” I wink, as I toss him the rag for dusting.
“I like it when you’re bossy.” His eyebrows wiggle as he settles into his task.
“You know, I never realized it before we started sleeping together,” I catch his frown as I wince at my word choice. “You know, since we started dating...but you pretty much turn everything into a sexual innuendo.”
“Only for you, Lainie.”
“Haha. Seriously, who knew you were such a flirt?”
He pauses, and I follow suit. “Seriously. Only for you.”
“That makes no sense.”
He inches closer to my dropcloth and drags the filing cabinet over. “It makes perfect sense. You bring out that side of me, Lainie. For real. I’m not this open with anyone else. I’ve never wanted to be, but you—”
“Me? Simon—” I put down my scraper and turn to face him. This needs to be a face-to-face conversation, and I can’t rely on banter to help us skirt the subject. As though he senses the seriousness of my tone, he sets down the sandpaper and gives me his full attention.
“Right here, Lainie. Why is it so hard to believe that I want you? That you’re incredibly sexy. That—”
“Because it is! Because I’m not!” I take a deep breath. “Gah. That sounds self-pitying, and that’s not where I am. I’m just practical. I know I’m a good person—a fun, nice, reliable person. And I know I’m not hideous. My clothes are pretty, and my hairdresser is a genius, and no one crosses the street to avoid looking at my face.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and forge on, trying to turn all my neuroses into words that don’t make me sound neurotic…
“You know I’m divorced, right?” At his nod, I continue. “So, Logan, that’s my ex,um, he’s remarried now. And...ugh. I’m saying this all wrong. I don’t want you to think—”
“Lainie...” His hands cover mine, and his voice is warm and soothing. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. Take your time and tell me your story. Whatever and whoever got you here? I want to know everything.” His dimple peeks out, and he wraps my fingers a bit more tightly around his. This guy. I’m a freaking mess right now, and I’m falling all over the place for him.
“So, yeah. If I told you all of the stories that make me the mess I am right now, we’d be here for a week. Let me give you the basics. Logan and I met at a party thrown by mutual friends. We dated for a year or so and then we got married. Things were good, really. He was charming and outgoing and I was...just me. And, like I said, things were fine. Well, I thought so. I mean, they weren’t great. It wasn’t, you know, like it is with you.” I’m sure I’m blushing scarlet right now. “Like I said, you’re kind of insatiable, and I’ve never really inspired that reaction in anyone. And definitely not Logan. But his job was stressful and we were busy, so I didn’t think much about things being kind of lackluster. Anyway, we’d been married about three years, and I was ready to have kids. Logan kept putting me off, almost scolding me for rushing him, saying we weren’t ready.” I cringe at this part because, though it’s been years now, the reminder of that painful time still stings.
He gives my hand another squeeze. “That sucks, Lainie. And for what it’s worth, you will be an incredible mom, if that’s still what you want. Just because this douchecanoe didn’t please you in the bedroom and didn’t want kids is not—”
My laugh is mirthless, but it cuts off his words. “That’s the thing. He did want kids.” At his questioning look, I finish the story that highlights pretty much all of my insecurities. “We were going out to dinner one night. I was fully ready—I had even written a speech—to tell him that the time was right for us to have a baby, and I was willing to make any necessary sacrifices for that to happen. Gah. That sounds so pathetic! But it seemed like a good idea at the time. Anyway, it turns out that I wasn’t the only one with a declaration to make that night. Logan was half an hour late to dinner, but he stopped in just long enough to tell me that he was in love with someone else and that he planned to marry her. That would bad enough, right? But then he dropped the biggest bombshell of all: that she was pregnant. Then he left. They have three kids now. And according to my mother, who still socializes with them, they’re very happy.”
