Blinking eyes. Blinking eyes. Blank stare. Blank stare. “Come again?”
His paramount confusion almost made me burst into laughter. “You wanted to know.”
“You’re a really, really odd woman.”
Mr. Henson smiled. “Ah, the same thing happened to me during the summer of 1976.”
“You had a sex dream?” I asked, confused.
“Dream? No, honey. I was tossed around a green room and smashed.”
Awkward moment number five thousand four hundred and forty-two of my stay in Meadows Creek. “On that note, I’m leaving. Thanks for the tea, Mr. Henson.”
“I’ll be by to cut the grass later today,” Tristan said.
I knew there was nothing dirty about his words, but still, I blushed as if there was.
That afternoon, Faye came over because I wanted her help picking out the best designs and paint colors for Tristan’s house. She always had such a solid eye for the tiny details.
We sat on the front porch with the three design boards I’d created, but instead of her focusing on the task at hand, she was watching the handsome man cutting my grass. Standing on his feet, helping him push the lawnmower was Emma, who was convinced she could cut grass better than Tristan. She argued with him the whole time, telling him how he was doing a terrible job. He just smiled and sassed her back. Faye stared at Tristan, almost awestruck at his transformation. She hadn’t seen him since he’d cut off all of his hair and revealed his strong bone structure. She also hadn’t ever seen him smile until today. His beard was already growing back in, and honestly I was happy about that. I loved his beard almost as much as I loved his smile.
“I can’t believe it.” Faye sighed. “Who would’ve ever thought that that wild, dirty hippie, asshole thing would ever become something so…hot?”
“We’re all a little wild, and we’re all a little something.”
She turned to me, a silly grin finding her lips. “Oh shit. You like him.”
“What? No. He just helps around the house. Mostly with the lawn.”
Her voice took on a loud shout—she had no clue how to whisper. “Are you sure it’s just the lawn? Or does he help unclog your drains too?”
“Faye! Shut up.”
“Does he wash your dirty dishes? Your dishes were always so, so filthy.”
“I’m not doing this with you.” I blushed. “Anyway, I need your input. Which layout do you like the best for the living room and dining room area? I want to incorporate his wood pieces that he makes. Tristan builds a lot with wood and I think—”
“Is his wood good? Thick? Does Tristan have thick, long wood?”
I stared at her with narrow eyes. “Is your mind always in the gutter?”
“Always, babycakes. Always. You like him, though. I can tell.”
“Not at all.”
“You like him.”
With a whisper and a turn of my stomach, I stared at Tristan, who was staring back at me. “Yeah. I like him.”
“Jesus, Liz. Only you would fall for an asshole dude who ends up looking like Brad Pitt circa Legends of the Fall. Get it?” She smiled. “Legends of the Fall—character’s name was Tristan?”
“Well, aren’t you clever?”
“It’s almost ridiculous.”
I laughed. “Almost.”
She stepped in closer and studied my face. “What’s that?”