Page 7 of Redeem

“You need help,” he repeated.

“I can handle it,” I said, my voice adamant, as adamant as I wished I was. I didn’t need help, but I wasn’t adverse to spending more time with him, and I didn’t like that one bit.

“I can help you do it faster,” he replied.

I looked at him warily, trying to gauge his angle, looking for any hint that he was trying to convince me or pressure me into taking his offer. There was none, though, nothing in his words or tone that was designed to push me. Damn. I’d been counting on that. Any hint of a hard sale, any indication at all that he was trying to convince or otherwise change my mind would have been enough to get me back on point, make it possible for me to do as I knew I should and get into my truck and drive away.

But in its absence, I was left with my own feelings and opinions. And I was tempted, far too tempted.

“There’s a lot to do, but I can only give you two hundred dollars for all of it,” I said.

The temptation proved too much for me, but he would save me from my own folly. There was no way he could do any substantial work for that amount, and since he’d now see that I couldn’t pay him, he’d move on.

I looked at him, waiting with my breath frozen in my lungs.

“Okay,” he said.

I thought I had misheard him, but when I dared looked into his eyes, I saw his acquiescence. My first thought was hooray! My second, fuck.

“You can’t work for that amount,” I said, gaping, far too excited for my liking. He’d clearly misspoken, so I waited for him to say so.

He jumped in the back of the truck.

Five

Ciprian

I’d gone back to the hardware store almost certain she wouldn’t return. She had reacted to me yesterday. She’d tried to hide it, and probably would have fooled most people.

Not me, though.

Everything about her had been wary, and she’d tried to keep her distance. But I’d seen little flashes, the way she’d worked so diligently not to look at me, especially after I’d brushed against her.

Given what I’d seen of her, I sensed she wouldn’t like that reaction. She’d seemed almost offended when I’d helped her, and had worked hard to keep me from seeing anything of her at all.

I didn’t take it personally.

Anyone stubborn enough to try to unload that truck alone would have issues asking for help, and everything I’d seen about her so far only confirmed that she did.

Which was my fault.

I’d done that to her, had killed her husband, and by extension, killed a part of her. The night before I had argued with myself, told myself I didn’t know it was true. Maybe she just liked to keep her own company, do everything for herself for reasons having nothing to do with me and my crimes against her.

A comforting story, but one I couldn’t quite make myself believe true.

She was hiding out there, and seemed damned intent on doing so, so much so, I knew her allowing me to help her was something she regretted, something I knew she wouldn’t allow to happen again.

I’d been certain returning in hopes of seeing her again would be futile, but absent anything else to do and fueled by a stubborn kernel of hope, I’d found myself back at the store. Yesterday, I’d been too stunned that I’d actually found her to do as I’d intended. I wouldn’t be the next time I saw her, so I waited, sure she wouldn’t come back as I plotted the best way to get to her house. I’d memorized the route, and though I didn’t want to invade her space, I still had to tell her the truth.

Thoughts of how I’d get to her again, how I’d tell her what I needed to had preoccupied me completely, so when she’d arrived at the hardware store, I’d been shocked. Even now as I sat in the back of her truck, I still suffered that disbelief.

I also had confirmation.

I hadn’t missed Dana’s interest, much as she tried to hide it, and that she’d come back confirmed that I hadn’t been wrong, confirmed that she had responded as strongly to me as I had to her. I fought to ignore that realization, to keep my mind centered on my purpose and nothing else. Whatever interest Dana might have had in me was irrelevant, just as mine in hers was. That physical spark, one that had been immediate, intense, was simply a reaction on her part, a fucked-up, misplaced emotional reaction on mine, and I couldn’t allow myself to lose sight of those facts.

When we reached her house, I saw that she had been busy.

She had rearranged the wood, and when she got out of the truck and came to stand next to me, I looked at it and then at her.