The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating(26)

My date was a disaster.

Ben knew nothing about home improvement. Nothing worth knowing. Still, he wielded his tools with a swagger that suggested otherwise.

"Stop, stop," I yelled, waving my hands to get his attention. He was cutting plywood to replace parts of the subfloor in the living room, but even from ten feet away I knew he was doing it wrong.

Ben switched off the saw and pushed his safety goggles to his forehead. "What now?"

I walked over to him, studying the long, narrow strips of plywood on the bench. "What…what are you doing?"

He gave me isn't it obvious hands. "Cutting the flooring, just like you told me to."

I stared at the boards for a long moment. "But why? Given the dimensions of that room, you should only need to cut a few pieces. The rest can be nailed down as is."

Ben glanced between me and the saw bench, his lips pressed together in a scowl. "If you say so," he murmured. "I just thought it would look better if they were all the same size. Fancier, you know?"

I brought my gloved fist to my lips to hold back a laugh. It was better than crying—which was how I wanted to react after taking a hard look at Ben's work—but I didn't want to be cruel.

"Right, so, this isn't the floor-floor," I said, dropping both hands on the boards. "This is the subfloor. We put this floor down, the subfloor, to keep the actual flooring surface level and steady. In other words, we're going to put something on top of this. Something fancy."

Ben blinked at me for a second before ripping his goggles off his head and chucking them across the room. "I fucking hate this shit," he yelled. "Fucking hate it."

Before meeting Ben this morning, I'd decided I wasn't going to mention anything about our run-in at the bakery. I didn't want to harvest any of those sentiments again and I didn't want to defend myself or Rob. Also, I wasn't sure I wanted to return to the alternative universe where he was sorta-kinda-maybe flirting with me. Without my boob flapping in the wind, I didn't understand the motivation for it at all. And even if he was flirting with me, I didn't have the brain space to juggle two men. If history served as any proof, I barely possessed the skill to juggle a single man.

Instead, I'd slipped into my favorite on-the-job jeans and t-shirt, laced up my boots, and stepped into boss mode. No time was wasted on pleasantries. I rattled off a list of basic tasks for Ben while I set to righting some of the more alarming issues at this property. I didn't ask after his intentions for this remodel or why I'd seen several people here previously, but it was only him on the job now. Nope, I went straight for the electrical panel and then checked the water shut-off, and left Ben to organize the materials and cut some plywood to size.

But now, as I watched him pacing the length of the room with his hands fisted on his hips, it seemed as though I'd made a mistake. There was work to be done, yes, but why was he alone? Why was he doing this? I was especially curious about that given he didn't know screwdriver basics. I'd spent five minutes on righty tighty, lefty loosey.

"Why don't we sit down for a minute?" I gestured toward a large ice chest, the one I'd left near the front door this morning. "I have some drinks and sandwiches. In case you're wondering, I didn't make them. My mother did. I told her I was working on a project today and she dropped by with all this food because she thinks I survive on takeout alone. If you knew her, you'd see that's an issue for her."

Ben stopped pacing but kept his fists on his hips. His sleeves were pushed up past his elbows, exposing his corded forearms. There was a tattoo peeking out from under his shirt, near his elbow. I couldn't make out the design.

God, those forearms. I needed a fan.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Food. I have food. Let's take a break and eat," I said. "Maybe outside? The snow is gone, it's not raining like the end of days, and I saw a sunbeam or two poking through the clouds on my way over here. In other words, a perfect spring day in New England."

Ben didn't say anything but edged me aside when I tried to collect the ice chest. He hefted it up and followed me into the backyard. The house sat on a deep lot with long-abandoned gardens and overgrown trees. We settled on the edge of the brick patio, in a sun-warmed spot.

I dug into the ice chest, setting the foil-wrapped sandwiches, fruit, and drinks between us. Ben popped the top on a black cherry seltzer and guzzled it down. "God dammit, this is awful. It's like drinking fizzy, fruity hairspray. No, I take that back. It's not even fruity. It's like fruit-inspired." He held out his arm, peered at the can. "Cherry. Huh. It tastes like it was near a single cherry once for five minutes."

"You're disparaging my favorite beverage," I said.

"Maybe you should reevaluate your beverage choices. This is the worst thing I've ever put in my mouth." Then, he demolished a ham and Swiss sandwich in three bites. "That was good," Ben announced with a sigh. "Got another?"

I waved my arm over the spread between us. "I have a dozen more."

"That's what I'm talkin' about," he said, holding each package up to read my mother's precise printing on the foil.

I waited until Ben was halfway through his second sandwich to say anything. He seemed famished, and I needed the time to figure out how I wanted this conversation to go. That was the smartest way forward: knowing where I wanted to go and getting us there.