The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating(19)

There was a man operating the saw, his profile shielded by a hooded sweatshirt, but I ignored him in favor of yanking the saw's power cord from its hookup at the generator.

"What the fuck?" he yelled, whirling toward me.

"I could ask you the same thing," I replied, giving him what the hell is wrong with you hands. "It's two in the morning, bro. Why the fuck are you cutting tile right now? Do you have any idea how loud it is?"

"I'm half deaf because it's so fucking loud." He shoved his hood back and gestured toward his ears but then shook his head once, his eyes flaring wide. There was no heat there, all horror. That was what I got for leaving the house in jammies. "Yeah, it's, um, I mean, yes. I know it's loud."

"First of all, you should be wearing earplugs or noise-canceling headphones," I said, waving at him. He crossed his arms over his chest and turned his glare toward the ceiling. "And where the hell are your safety goggles? My dude, if a chip of stone flies off that wheel and into your eye, being half deaf will be a quarter of your problems."

"And second of all?" he prompted, still staring at the ceiling.

"Second of all, it's bad form to do loud repairs at night. Not only does it violate local building codes, but it also makes your neighbors very unhappy." My corner of the world was landscape architecture, but I worked shoulder to shoulder with interior designers, general contractors, specialized tradespeople, and preservation architects. I knew the basics—and then some—when it came to building houses. "Save drywalling, painting, plumbing, and finishes for late-night work."

"Great, thank you," he said. Still staring at the damn ceiling. "I'll get right on it. Can I assume that's all the advice you have for me? Or do you plan to continue shouting at me?"

I peered at him, confused. If it wasn't the middle of the night and I wasn't annoyed as hell, I would've handled this with more finesse. Unfortunately, I was all out of finesse. "Is something wrong with you?"

He ran a hand down his face as he shook his head. "Nope. Nothing. Nothing at all."

"You're a terrible liar," I said. Not an ounce of finesse.

"Undoubtedly," he mumbled to the ceiling. "But—uh—if that's all—"

"It's not," I interrupted. "The blade on your saw is wrong for the stone you're working with and, most importantly, where the hell are you putting this tile? Please tell me you're not laying it straight on the subfloor. You need cement board between the subfloor and the tile. It's bad enough you're keeping me up but you're not even doing a decent job at this renovation."

"This is what I get. Penance. This is how it's gonna be for me. All kinds of penance," he whispered at the ceiling. "Can we start over? Don't answer that. We're starting over." He shot me a quick glance. "Hi. I'm Bennett. Bennett Brock. Call me Ben."

"Hi, Ben. I'm Magnolia."

"It's nice to meet you, Magnolia." He waved his hand toward me. "Since we've started over and now we're having a neighborly conversation, it's only right for me to tell you that your shirt is—um—malfunctioning."

"My what?"

Glancing down, I found that my baggy tank top was fulfilling a small fraction of its duty to clothe my upper body. My left boob was escaping out the arm hole and my right nipple was peeking out over the top. It was tit city up in here and Ben was seeing it all.

"Oh, this is fuckin' bananas," I muttered, tucking the girls away and clasping my cardigan shut. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't come over here to flash you."

"But you did come over to give me a lesson in home renovation?" He met my gaze but looked away quickly. The boy was probably traumatized by my peep show. I didn't blame him.

"Listen," I said, gesturing toward him. "You can't be running a tile saw at two in the morning. It's obscene. Knock that shit off before someone calls the city and you're fined for violating the terms of your building permits." I pivoted toward the front door, careful to keep my sweater shut. "Where are your permits? They should be displayed."

Ben scratched the back of his neck. "Um, which permits would those be?"

"Are you kidding me right now?" I shouted. "Dude, you have to get your show under control."

Ben's gaze swept over the building materials as he nodded. "Since you seem knowledgeable," he started, "can I ask where you'd suggest I begin with that?"

"Not in the middle of the night, no," I replied. "I have a place to be tomorrow and I don't want to be a bedhead-zombie-disaster for that. Okay?"

"Right, sure," he murmured, his gaze still on anything but me.

I should've turned around and gone home then. I didn't. I stayed there, in the middle of this skin-and-bones house, and stared at Ben. When I blinked a few times, I was able to see a man rather than a physical manifestation of my annoyances.

He was all the things. Every last one of them. Tall, broad, scruffy. Thick, wavy, dark hair. A curious scar wrinkling his cheek and a scowly smirk on his lips. His hands were huge and his eyes like midnight. His thighs were wrapped in well-worn denim and they looked strong enough to crack rocks.

And I'd shown him about seventy-five percent of my breasts while yelling about the basics of building craft.