Authors: Tawna Fenske
“Something on your mind?” Drew asked.
“Nope, you?”
Drew just looked at her and took another sip of soda.
Violet swallowed. Should she say something? Frank was Drew’s landlord, too. Whatever she decided to do—give the fake reading, or just tell Frank to go to hell—that impacted Drew.
Violet bit her lip. “Drew, I—”
“Hey, dude,” came a voice from the other side of the wall. “You’re, like, dressed totally too nice to be a pizza man.”
There was a long pause, followed by another familiar voice. “Actually, I’m a doctor, though certainly I do appreciate a good pizza. Is Violet home, by any chance?”
Violet closed her eyes again, not sure whom to curse this time, but wishing like hell the floor would just swallow her up.
She opened her eyes as Drew clunked his soda can down on the counter beside her.
“Your night just keeps getting better,” he said, and moved past her on his way out of the kitchen.
“Chris,” Violet said, pasting a smile on her face as she nudged Dreadlock Dude out of the way and greeted her new guest at the front door. “It’s so good to see you.”
Chris beamed at her and held up a bottle of expensive-looking Pinot Noir. “Your mom said you could use some help with a construction project. I made a few calls, but the earliest someone can get out here to build a ramp is next week.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry, I’ve already pulled some strings, so Moonbeam’s extended stay at the rehab facility will be paid in full.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, but actually, I have it covered.”
“What?”
Violet smoothed her hair behind her ears. “Right. Um, a friend of Moonbeam’s and then you remember Drew, my mom’s neighbor? They offered to help build the ramp and move furniture.”
She felt Drew behind her and stepped aside, letting the three men come face-to-face. She saw Chris’s smile falter for a moment, but he recovered like a gentleman and extended his hand.
“Good to see you again, Drew.”
Drew shook it warmly and nodded at Chris. “Welcome to the party.”
Chris’s expression was more pained than festive, and he turned back to Violet as though expecting an explanation. Violet grimaced and turned to Dreadlock Dude.
“Um, Chris, this is… well, he believes names are too confining. He’s a friend of Moonbeam’s, and he came to help, too. And Chris here is my mother’s orthopedic surgeon, so… wow.”
“Dude,” said Dreadlock Dude again as he stepped up for a handshake.
“Well,” Chris said, looking a bit taken aback as he studied the assembled male faces. “It looks like we all had the same idea this evening.”
“Sure,” Drew said. “Helping Moonbeam, right?”
“Right,” Chris said uneasily. “Helping—exactly.”
Dreadlock Dude shrugged and shoved a piece of mustard-covered tofu in his mouth. “Actually, I was hoping to, like, get with Violet. In a spiritual way, you know?”
“Okay!” Violet said brightly, clapping her hands together. “Chris, I ordered a bunch of pizza and you’re welcome to stay for dinner. I see the delivery guy pulling up, so let me just run out and take him some money and I’ll be back in… well, in just a minute.”
She dashed out the door with her face flaming, relieved at the sensation of raindrops slapping her cheeks. She darted down the driveway and gave some serious thought to just continuing down the street, running as hard as she could until the house, the town, and most importantly, the men were all out of view.
Instead, she reached the door of the delivery car and rapped on the window.
The driver gave her a startled look and popped open his door. “Um, that’ll be—”
“Keep the change,” Violet said, and thrust a fistful of bills at him. “I don’t suppose you’re hiring, are you?”
“Uh—”
“Never mind. I’m just contemplating a career change.”
“Right. Here’s your pizza, ma’am.”
“Thanks. Have a good night.”
“Sure,” said the kid, and yanked his door shut.
Violet clutched the two large pizza boxes to her chest and marched back up the driveway to face her suitors. When she walked through the door, the three men were deep in conversation about the positioning of the couch.
“Gentlemen,” Violet called. “Shall we eat first?”
“Certainly,” Chris said, stepping up beside her and placing a possessive arm around her shoulders. “That was really nice of you to think of feeding everyone like this.”
“Oh, well…” Violet tightened her grip on the boxes, tipping a little under the weight of his arm and the pizzas.
Without a word, Drew ambled over and relieved her of the boxes. He set them down on the table and then set about rifling through the cupboard for plates.
Dreadlock Dude sat down at the head of the table and began performing some sort of complicated looking prayer ritual.
Chris released Violet and headed into the kitchen. “Where do you keep the corkscrew?”
“It’s right there in that second drawer. Let me get some glasses. Who else wants wine?”
Chris grimaced a little and bent toward her. “I didn’t realize we’d be splitting this four ways,” he whispered. “It’s actually a very expensive Pinot.”
Violet stared at him. “Would you like to just keep it for yourself?” she whispered back. “I don’t think anyone would mind.”
“No, of course not. I just thought… well, I was hoping to share it with you. Sort of a romantic thing, I guess.”
“Oh. Um, well—”
“Never mind, it’s not a big deal. The more the merrier, right?”
“Right,” Violet said uneasily as she glanced back out at the other two men. Drew was studying her with a curious expression.
“Wine?” Violet asked weakly.
“None for me, thanks,” Drew said, lifting his cherry Coke.
Dreadlock Dude opened one eye and looked at her. “Does it have sulfites?”
“God, I hope so,” Violet said, and reached up to grab two glasses.
Once they were all assembled around the table, Drew opened up the pizza boxes and released the heavenly scent of sausage and mushrooms. Violet inhaled deeply, feeling some of the tension ease out of her shoulders.
Beside her, Chris frowned. “I hope the wine pairs all right with sausage.”
“It’ll be fine,” Violet said, and took a healthy gulp of it. “Perfect.”
Chris gave her an awkward smile. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“Want some?” Drew offered, nudging the box out to Dreadlock Dude.
“Dude, no. I don’t do animal flesh or dairy or—”
“Right. Enjoy your mustard.”
“Thanks, man.”
Chris shoveled a piece of pizza onto his plate and smiled at Dreadlock Dude. “So Drew here owns a bar. What is it you do… uh…”
Dreadlock Dude wiped some mustard off his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m an artist.”
“How fascinating. What medium?”
“Medium?”
“Acrylics, pottery, metals…”
“Nah, man, I do dirt art.”
“Dirt art?”
“On car windows. Like, if I see a car that’s, like, really dirty, I’ll study the windshield until the form, like, comes to me, you know?”
“Oh. I see.” Chris nodded thoughtfully. “So how do you… well, I mean, how do you make money at that?”
Dreadlock Dude stared at him, uncomprehending.
Chris flushed a little and picked up his wineglass. “I’m sorry, maybe I misunderstood. Is it a hobby or a career?”
“Dude?”
“Well surely you have to make money to survive, to have a stable income, a sense of purpose, a retirement plan…”
“I don’t believe in capitalistic greed, dude. It’s like… totally a drag.”
“But why do you—?”
Drew looked up from his pizza and stared at Dreadlock Dude. “Do you like doing dirt art?”
Dreadlock Dude swung his gaze to Drew and nodded. “It’s my calling. My passion. The reason I was, like, placed upon this earth.”
“Do you eat regularly?”
Dreadlock Dude shoveled another piece of mustard-covered tofu in his mouth and smiled.
“Okay then,” Drew said as he picked up the pizza box. “Sounds like you’re doing just fine. Anyone want another slice?”
Violet hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she felt Drew’s words dissolve the tension like sugar in a glass of warm water. She held out her plate and smiled at him with gratitude.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Here, have the one with all the good toppings on it,” Drew said as he shoveled it onto her plate. “Anyone else?”
Chris shook his head and swirled his wine around in his glass before taking his sip. “So Violet, how’s the life of a psychic accountant treating you?”
“Fine, thanks. Busy, really busy. Don’t worry, though, I finished up your accounting paperwork last night.”
“I’m not worried about that. Take your time on that, really. I’m just glad you’re enjoying your mom’s business.”
“It has its moments,” Violet said, and took another gulp of wine.
“Maybe sometime I could come in and watch you work?”
“Oh… well, I really don’t—”
“Or I could book an appointment. That would be even better. What’s your schedule like next week?”
His expression was so eager Violet didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d rather stick bamboo under her fingernails and soak her hands in grapefruit juice than give a psychic reading to a man she was dating.
“Well, I’d have to check my schedule,” she said slowly. “I know things are really booked up, though.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about the fact that there might be ethical issues with doing a psychic reading for someone you’ve been… well…”
“Right,” Violet said. “Ethical issues. Well, there is that.”
“Violet’s all about, like, ethical stuff,” said Dreadlock Dude somberly. “Like this thing with her landlord—”
“Let me get you some ketchup to go with that,” Violet said, standing up so fast she knocked her chair over.
Drew reached over and caught it with one hand, setting it upright without a word. Violet retreated to the kitchen and stuck her head in the refrigerator, determined not to meet Drew’s eyes.
***
An hour later, Drew looked down at the growing pile of sawdust at his feet and tried hard not to feel depressed.
Once Dr. Abbott had realized the other two males would be wielding power tools in Violet’s presence, he couldn’t resist the urge to demonstrate the size of his testicles by donning a tool belt.
Backward, as it turned out.
That was pretty much how the whole operation was unfolding. Building anything with Chris and the guy Violet quietly called Dreadlock Dude was like trying to pound nails with a meatball.
Actually, that might have been more effective. After Chris kept missing the nails with the hammer, Drew had casually offered to take over that task while Chris wielded the saw. But after about five minutes of that, Drew found himself hoping like hell that Chris demonstrated considerably more precision in the operating room.
“How’s this, Drew?” Chris called as he deposited a couple of chewed up pieces of lumber at Drew’s feet.
“Looking great,” Drew said. “Nice work.”
Jesus, they looked like he’d gnawed them apart with his incisors, but Drew wasn’t about to say so. Guys staked a whole lot of ego on their ability to use power tools. Even guys like Chris and Dreadlock Dude were no exception, and Drew figured it wasn’t his place to suggest they might be better off moving furniture than out here trying to impress Violet using their prowess with a cordless drill.
But it was a damn good thing he’d brought extra lumber. At the rate these guys were going, they’d be building this ramp with popsicle sticks before the night was through.
“Dude, is this, like, sanded enough?” Dreadlock Dude called to Drew as he held up a piece of wood.
Drew grimaced. “Maybe try using the scratchy side of the sandpaper.”
“Good idea. Hey, you’re sure this wood is rescued?”
“Yup. I got it from the foreman at a construction site just down the street from me. It’s all their scrap wood.”
“I don’t know,” Dreadlock Dude said as he frowned down at the wood. “I think Moonbeam would rather have that stuff made from recycled plastic.”
“I’m sure she would, but this was free, and it was going to end up in the landfill anyway,” Drew pointed out. “Besides, this ramp is temporary, right?”
“Right,” Chris said as he set down another piece of mangled wood in the pile beside Drew. “Moonbeam should only need the wheelchair for a couple months. Then she’ll be back on her feet.”
And
Violet
will
be
back
in
Maine
, Drew thought, and tried not to feel glum. Really, he’d only known her for a short time. As soon as she left, his life could go back to the way it was.
That was a good thing, right?
“Here you go, Drew,” Violet said as she stepped out onto the porch. “I found those extra nails you wanted.”
“Thanks. Can you toss them in the box right over there?”
She leaned down, and Drew looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of black lace down the front of her shirt. He looked away quickly, feeling like a jerk. Then he saw the other two men staring openmouthed at the black lace.
He didn’t feel like such a jerk anymore.
Violet straightened up, taking her black lace with her. “Want me to keep sanding, or can I help you get those rails erected?” she asked him.
Drew’s thoughts veered dangerously close to middle school humor at the word
erected
, but he cleared his throat and shook his head.
“I think we’ve got it covered here,” he said. “Actually, we should probably wrap it up for tonight. I’m not sure the neighbors will appreciate it if we’re running power tools past their bedtime.”
“Good point. In that case, could I borrow you for a few minutes?”
“Borrow me?”
“Inside. There are still a couple more pieces of furniture to move, and I could use a quick hand if you don’t mind taking a break from this.”
Drew looked up at her again, his eyes catching on the black lace for a few moments before they found their way up to her face. She raised an eyebrow and leaned closer.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you alone for a second,” she whispered in his ear, making Drew feel light-headed. “About what Dreadlock Dude was saying earlier about ethical issues and—”
There was a sickening
whack
followed by a howl of pain. Drew whirled around and saw Dreadlock Dude doubled over, gripping his hand.
“Shit, are you okay?” Drew asked, scrambling over to where he was hunched on the other side of the porch. “What happened?”
Violet dropped to her knees beside them. “Ohmygod, are you okay? What did you do? Can I get you some ice or a Band-Aid or—”
“I hit it with the hammer,” he moaned. “My thumb. I think I broke it.”
“Let’s see it,” Drew coaxed, shooting a quick look at Chris. He was a damn doctor. Why the hell wasn’t he the first one over here?
Chris must have seen something in Drew’s expression, because he set down the board he’d been measuring and walked over to where they were clustered.
“Let me take a look,” Chris said with authority. “Did anyone see the mechanism of injury?”