Plight(15)

And that's not because I was a cocky bastard who rated himself, even though I was a cocky bastard at times. It was because you couldn't fake a connection like ours, just like we couldn't fake it when we were younger. It was impossible. Our laughter, our shared secrets  …  our sleepless nights - because we'd had so much more to talk about and couldn't due to the impatient setting sun stealing our time together - none of that could be dismissed as just childhood friends. We'd been so much more. So much more.

And I knew she knew that too.

Stepping away from my floor to ceiling window, overlooking the city lights and buildings surrounding Docklands, I climbed into bed. But what are her reasons for bullshitting me now? Why is she lying about Chris? Not knowing was pissing me off. Clearly, they weren't dating, because if they were, he certainly didn't know about it. And, clearly, I was her type, because she'd blushed at least three times during the day.

A smile stretched my face, and I folded my arms above my head to rest upon. She was even more beautiful than when we were kids, albeit fundamentally more muddled, flustered, and so damn cute. But why she was already building a barrier between us and fighting getting to know me again was beyond me. We'd only just reconnected.

Okay, so granted, I'd inadvertently fucked up and landed us in hot engagement water, but surely that wasn't the reason as to why she was knocking us down before we'd even had the chance to walk  …  to the altar.



       
         
       
        

Kidding.

Fuck! I had to figure it out, and the only way I knew how to figure things out was to use facts and to use them to my advantage. Most people didn't know how to argue facts, but I did. Quite well. It was what I did for a living.

Turning my head to the side, to once again take in the glow of the city lights outside my window, I decided I was also going to start my process of discovery by deploying a defence tactic I called 'you want what I have' by withholding information from her, or at least appearing to do so. I was going to give her the cold shoulder, to an extent, until she confessed her reasons for sabotage.

Yes, Danielle Cunningham was a case I was going to crack.





When I woke the following morning, I'd initially had grave fears that day two of Operation Let's Fix Hillier Community Garden/Crack the Case of Danielle Cunningham was going to be cancelled due to wet weather. Thankfully, the clouds were on my side and had decided not to piss on my tactical parade. And, now, I couldn't wait to further test my theories where Danielle was concerned, starting with me being her type and not the other way around.

I had to get under her skin more than I already had. It was how you broke a person, how you cracked their shell and peeked inside. And fuck did I want to peek inside Danielle. I wanted to explore that woman like a Where's Wally book. Discover every one of her fine details and commit them to my memory bank.

Knowing most women liked a well-dressed man who took pride in his appearance without overdoing it and looking prettier than she did, I figured I'd start my exploration assault on her eyes. I wore tailored suits day in and day out. Power clothes. Designed to lower the defence of your counterpart. Unfortunately, I couldn't wear a suit while gardening so instead chose black loosely fitted jeans, a black woollen turtleneck, coat, and steel capped boots, hoping it would add to the 'tall, dark and handsome' effect she'd confessed to liking. Thanks to that little text message she sent me the previous night, I was now armed with the knowledge that my appearance did appeal to her. She couldn't take that back. I had hard copy evidence.

Thank you, digital age.

Pulling up to the garden at the crack of dawn, my plan was to get there before she did and busy myself with the task at hand, ignoring her and seemingly emphasising I was there for one purpose and one purpose only, to fix the garden.

No one else had arrived, so I got to work right away, tearing down the rotted wood shed with a sledgehammer, which, thankfully, wasn't all that crippling considering I hadn't been to the gym in weeks. I'd been too busy. Plus, I much preferred running along my local dockland paths as a means of stress relief and exercise. 

As a youngster, I'd never been the sporty type. Team sports had just never interested me. I'd preferred exercising my brain and exploring nature by climbing trees and walking nearby tracks, instead. As an adult, though, I'd learned to appreciate the benefits of a gym, I just didn't benefit from it as much as I should.

"Wow! Have you been here all night?" Mum asked as she stopped just short of where I was bent over, picking up planks of wood.