Secrets and Charms(7)

“Where did you find him? At the pound? Did he look at you with his big puppy-dog eyes?” He knew he should’ve kept his trap shut, but these days his mouth was on autopilot.

“You can be such an asshole.” She put her hand on her hip. “I met Olly at a party, if you must know. He was sweet and real—a rare thing in this town. And, yes, he has puppy-dog eyes. He’s cute, don’t you think?”

Rich shrugged. “If you say so.” Men didn’t use words like cute. They didn’t even think them. His father would’ve probably smacked him if he’d called a bunny cute, not to mention another guy. Even if said guy was a smooth-faced young man with floppy blond hair and a sunny attitude.

“I do. Look, I gotta run or I’ll lose my photo op. Be nice, or else. I’m serious.” She was; he could tell from the edge of her voice.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rich grumbled, watching her retreating figure. He wanted to apologize to her for being such a pain in the ass and thank her for putting up with him, but the words stuck in his throat, and then she was gone. So he grabbed another beer and went back to work. The best way he could manage to be nice these days was by not interacting at all.

Sadly, some people hadn’t gotten the memo. Rich barely got back to his carving when Sandy’s young friend moseyed out and planted himself next to Rich’s workbench. Rich ignored him, hoping he’d get the message. He didn’t. “What are you making? It looks nice.” He had a voice like liquid sunshine, and it made the hair on the back of Rich’s neck bristle.

Rich put the gauge down and reached for the beer can. Be nice, he reminded himself. He took a big swig of cool beer. Better. He gestured at the pieces of wood strewn on the grass. “Remaking the fireplace mantel. The morons who owned this place destroyed the old one.” The poor thing looked like someone had taken an axe to it. Maybe someone had. “It won’t be the same as having the original, but once I stain it, no one will know the difference.” What the fuck am I babbling on for? What is wrong with me? Rich took another sip of beer.

He had so far avoided looking at Olly directly, but it became impossible as Olly stepped into his field of vision and knelt on the grass. “What a shame,” he said, picking up a section of the wrecked mantel. “A little ornate for a Craftsman house, isn’t it?” He tilted his head up, giving Rich the full focus of his gaze.

Rich looked away. He was impressed the kid knew the house and its built-ins were in Craftsman style, but didn’t mean to dwell on it. “Life’s full of anomalies. Maybe the original owners had a vineyard,” he said, referring to the pattern.

Olly stood and walked into Rich’s field of vision again, damn him. He stared at the gray walls of the house. “If it was me, I’d paint the whole thing forest green, except for the columns and the eaves—those should be yellow.”

“Yellow?” Rich couldn’t help but picture the house as Olly was describing it, and he wasn’t sold on it.

“Warm yellow, like honey—something medium dark, like clover or orange blossom. Or maybe a little darker, like sunflower. And those brackety things under the roof up front could be burnt orange.”

“They are called brackets,” Rich said. The image Olly’s words painted became clearer, and it wasn’t half-bad.

“Perfect.” Olly spun around to face Rich. “It would be fabulous, don’t you think?” He stood with his hip pushed out and his face beaming with enthusiasm. As he smiled, a couple of dimples appeared on his cheeks.

If Rich ever had any doubts of the kid being a fruit—he hadn’t—he would’ve lost them right then and there. Olly couldn’t even stand straight. It was all too much, Rich couldn’t take any more—his bubble of niceness was about to pop. He took a deep breath. “Sure. Look, kid—”

“Olly.”

“Oliver—”

“Just Olly.”

“Look, Just Olly, I’d like to get on with this.” He motioned to his carving. “So, if you don’t mind…”

The joy dropped from Olly’s face so fast it almost made a sound. “Of course. Sorry to be a bother.”

A funny sort of pang jabbed Rich in the stomach as he watched Olly flounce back inside. He should’ve had a real breakfast, he told himself, and turned back to work. It didn’t go well, though, and he nearly fucked up the piece he’d been working on for three days. He put the gouge away and finished his beer. He was contemplating a third when Sandy arrived back with a coffee he hadn’t asked for.

She also brought bear claws and Danishes. Since there was hardly any furniture inside, they ate in the backyard, using Rich’s workbench as a table. They had a couple of folding chairs and an upturned milk carton to sit on. Olly pointedly ignored Rich and chattered with Sandy about some photographer.