My laziness is paying off today. I grab them and a Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt and go back downstairs.
“Here, this will help.”
“Thank you.” She takes the clothes. “This will go great with my heels.”
“Oh, right.” I laugh. “Sorry, I can’t help you out there. Unless you want socks.”
“I’m tempted to say yes.” Her smile lights up the whole fucking room. “But I don’t think I’d be able to fit my foot in my shoes if I did. Though if anyone questions my fashion choices, I’m blaming you.”
“Fair enough.”
She steps into the pants and pulls the hoodie over her head. It’s just about as long as her dress. “These are comfy. You might not get them back.”
“The pants don’t fit, but I might have slight emotional attachment to that sweatshirt.”
“To this old thing?”
“That’s my lucky sweatshirt.”
She rolls her eyes again, and I take her in my arms, wanting to feel her body against mine one last time.
“Where are we going?” She eyes the clock. “There aren’t a lot of places open for breakfast around town, right?”
“Right. The café is our only option. Have you been there yet?”
She nods. “A few times. I’ve gone in on my way to the hospital for coffee.”
“They have decent coffee. Though there is a rumor we’re going to get a Starbucks soon.”
“No way!”
I nod. “A new shopping center just got approved. We’ve been watching it closely so we can put bids in and have our company head up the construction.”
“Wow. That’s a big project!”
“Yeah, it is. I hope we get it.” I grab my coat and my wallet. “Do you want a coat?”
“Nah. I’m fine in this. I already look like a homeless hooker.” She sits on a barstool and puts her heels back on. “How do I look?” she asks, standing up.
“You pretty much nailed it with homeless hooker,” I chuckle.
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Try to resist me now.”
“I’ll do my best. You don’t mind going out like that?” I ask carefully, surprised at her attitude toward, well, everything.
“I’ve worn weirder clothes in public. Don’t ask. And I wasted a lot of my life worrying about what other people thought of me. They’re going to judge you no matter what, right?”
“Right.” I shove my feet into my shoes and open the garage door. “Hang on a second, actually. With the snow, I think I should take the truck.”
“Good idea. We don’t want to be responsible for knocking out the power as soon as it came back on.”
I tell Blaire to stay in the house where it’s warm and quickly take the tile samples from the passenger seat of the truck, stacking them on my workbench in the garage. I brush off the seat and go back inside to get Blaire.
“You weren’t joking when you said your truck was full of stuff,” she comments when she gets in, looking at the backseat.
“Yeah, it’s all shit I need to take to the office, which I will this afternoon.”
“Let’s just hope you don’t have to slam on the brakes or all this stuff is going to kill us Final Destination style.”
“No pressure or anything.”
She holds up her hands. “I’m not the one driving.”
I fire up the truck and back out of the driveway, going slow through the neighborhood since it hasn’t been salted or plowed yet. We get a lot of drifting snow in Eastwood, thanks to the flat land and all the cleared fields during the winter.
A few miles pass and Blaire is looking uncomfortable.
“I, um, I need to tell you something,” she says, twisting in her seat.
“You’re not married, are you?” I blurt. It’s one of my biggest fears and something I’d never forgive myself for, though I’d never do it on purpose.
Bringing home a married woman.
Being the asshole who broke up a marriage. A family. A home.
It wouldn’t be done knowingly, and it’s not like my women of choice are going to come out and tell me they’re married right off the bat.
“No,” she says quickly. “I’ve never even been engaged.”
“Good.”
“It’s good I haven’t had anyone want to marry me?”
“Oh, I, uh, didn’t mean it that way.”
“I’m just giving you shit,” she says with a pretty smile. “Are you married?” she asks slowly.
“Not anymore.”
“Um, sorry?”
I shake my head. “Don’t be. I’m better off now.” She’s still looking at me like she’s trying to figure me out. I’ve already said too much. She pulls her arms in close to her body and bites her lip, brows furrowed.
“So,” she starts, taking a breath. Then my phone rings, and I see it’s one of the vendors we work with.
“Sorry, it’s work. Do you mind if I take this?”
“Of course not,” she rushes out. I answer, and end up talking to three different people before I resolve the problem. And now we’re at the diner and I’ve been on the phone the whole time.