This time when the man left the store, his shoulders were a little lower than before.
* * *
Two days later the man arrived just as Charlie opened the store. His hair was messier than ever, and his clothes even more rumpled. There were dark circles under his eyes, and instead of a glare, his face was fixed in a nostril-flared pinch.
“Morning,” Charlie drawled.
“Hey, um, can I get that wood?”
“Sure. Tell me what you need and I’ll see if we have it or if I need to order it.”
The man took out a faded, spiral bound notepad from his back pocket. “I need, uh, 2x4s. About nine feet each.”
There were unspoken question marks after each statement.
“And how many of them do you need?”
“Oh, uh.” The man squinted, as if picturing the project. “Ten. No, twenty... Uh, yeah, twenty.”
“Twenty 2x4s at nine feet each?” The man nodded. “No problem. I can cut those for you right now.”
“Okay, cool.”
Charlie cut the boards quickly, forcing himself not to ask the questions he so badly wanted to. This guy obviously didn’t know what he was doing, and Charlie yearned to get involved.
When he went back out front, Marie was ringing the man up. For the first time, Charlie took a moment to watch him. He was a bundle of energy, fidgeting and biting his lip as he waited. But the longer Marie went without speaking to him, the more he relaxed. His shoulders dropped and his chin lifted, and Charlie saw his nostrils flare as he took a deep breath.
Charlie also saw that he was beautiful. Utterly, heart-stoppingly beautiful. Without the glare, his light eyes framed by dark lashes were tempestuous and deep; his cheekbones and chin were delicately pointed; his nose was strong and straight. And his mouth—cruelly bitten red—was a luscious pout, painted more brightly than the rest of his coloring.
He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, as he had been the last two times he’d come in, and the lines of tattoos snaked out of his cuffs and collar. Today he also wore a gray bandanna tied around his neck as if to pull over his mouth and nose, and Charlie wondered what DIY abomination the man was attempting that would require such a thing.
“Hey, Charlie,” Marie called, jerking him out of his reverie. “Are we sold out of those blue plastic tarps?”
“Yeah. But we’ll be getting more in next week.”
At least they would be now.
The man shook his head.
“‘S fine,” he muttered.
“Depending on what you want it for,” Charlie ventured, “I have one in the back. It has a small tear in the corner and some paint splatter, but you’re welcome to borrow it.”
“Oh, um. Okay,” the man said. “Yeah, thanks.”
Charlie got the tarp and loaded the cut wood onto a cart. He wheeled it to the parking lot, where it was immediately clear that it wouldn’t fit in the death trap parked there.
The man came outside, purchases in hand, and Charlie said, “I’ll follow you with this in my truck, all right?”
“Oh, it’ll fit,” the man said.
Charlie raised a doubtful eyebrow as the guy tried to shove one of the 2x4s diagonally through the passenger door and between the seats. It didn’t fit.
“I can just drive with the door open,” the man said, biting his lip. “No one’s ever around here anyway.”
He jammed another 2x4 in the same way. All twenty were obviously not going to fit. After he shoved in three more, he kicked at the ground, nostrils flaring, and crossed his arms.
“I can make another trip...”
“Three more trips,” Charlie corrected. The man glared. “Why don’t you just let me follow you in the truck?”
The guy was either incapable of gracefully accepting help or he was worried about Charlie knowing where he lived. As a big guy, Charlie knew quite well that sometimes people equated large with menacing.
“Or Marie can follow you?”
But the man just rolled his eyes, so Charlie didn’t think it was fear. After kicking at the ground again, he sighed, “Fine.” Then, as if it were physically painful for him to utter, “Thanks.”
Charlie hadn’t heard a more grudging Thanks since his younger brother, Jack, had broken his leg the year before and needed Charlie’s help around the house.
“No problem,” Charlie said easily, a spark of satisfaction flaring inside him that he got to intercede on behalf of this total disaster.
“Marie,” he called in the door, “I’m gonna drive this wood to—What’s your name?” he asked the man.
“Rye.”
“—to Rye’s house. I have my cell.”
She raised an eyebrow that said Can’t wait to hear how that goes, and saluted. Charlie loaded the wood into his truck, taking the 2x4s that Rye had put in his car out so the passenger door could close.
“I’ll follow you,” he said.
Rye’s nostrils flared again but he just nodded. The car started after two attempts and Rye set off down the road, car clanking and coughing exhaust. Charlie let a bit of distance grow between them so he didn’t have to breathe it in and enjoyed the clear, sunny day.