Life Reconstructed: Chapter Seventeen

Passing him the cash, Cat stared down at the paint. “But seriously, you know you don’t have to come over and help me paint.”

He glanced up at her, his expression obvious. “Yeah, I know.”

At the words, the patent indifference, Cat swallowed vague disappointment. Hell, who was she trying to kid? There was nothing vague about it. At Mary’s offer, she’d felt a surge of excitement at the idea of Matt inside her home. Well, never mind that now. Reaching for the handle on the paint, she pushed it toward her.

“This’ll be enough?”

He shrugged. “Depends on the size of your kitchen. But as I said, better to need more than to spend a bunch of money on unnecessary paint.”

Ignoring the weight in her stomach that told her that the playful, teasing Matt had retired at the sight of his grandmother, Cat nodded too quickly. “Okay.”

“Well,” with a pull, she hefted up the paint can up in her arms. She’d never been much good at small talk. She was always worried she’d bore the listener with her banal stories, or that she’d miss the signal that it was time to say goodbye. Her coping mechanism was easy. Avoid it at all costs. Today, however, she mourned the societal skill set. “Thanks for the help. Again.” Wrinkling her nose for point, on those words, she turned toward the front entrance.

“Hey Cat?”

Half-turning, she smiled. “Yeah?”

“Did you, ah, want to see the cabinet door?”

Feeling her cheeks suck together at the words, at the slight condescension in the question, Cat smiled tightly. Then she nodded again.  The fuck. How could she have forgotten about the door. Again!

“Yes. Of course. I just thought…you know, I didn’t call and tell you I was coming down and I didn’t want to distract you from—” Petering to a stop, Cat refused to meet Matt’s imploring expression. “Besides,” she added flippantly. “I didn’t know if it was a silly think to ask. I mean, it’ll look like all the other doors, right?” Finally admitting defeat, Cat clamped her mouth shut. God, would she never learn to shut the hell up, already?

“You can leave that here if you want,” Matt said, coming around the counter, his gaze taking in the heavy paint in her hands.

Placing it back on the wooden countertop, Cat followed Matt to the very back of the building, through a door that’d be almost unnoticeable except for the sign that read, Employees Only across the front.

Through it, Cat entered into the warehouse. The first half was crowded with supplies, stacks and stacks of cut, raw wood, washing machines and various appliances, slabs of marble and quartz, and beyond these things, more and more shipping crates and boxes. Past that, however, Cat saw the loading dock and to the right of that, Matt’s work bench. This, at last, was familiar territory.

“Should I close my eyes?”

“Uh. No,” Matt chuckled.

“Spoilsport,” Cat muttered with a pout.

Matt didn’t even bother replying. Instead, walking up to the workbench, he plucked off a rectangular piece of wood. Then, bending down to a shelf below that, he grabbed another one. Holding them out in each hand, he nodded toward Cat. “Here you go.”

Stepping forward hesitantly, she let her eyes shift. In his left hand was the new door, the walnut a whiskey brown in color. In the right was the sample door, its white paint coated with sawdust and time.

Her eyes flicked frantically from the one to the other, processing, comparing, testing. But, besides the color, which only required a new coat of paint it was … “Perfect,” Cat breathed, leaning forward to trace the lined edges on the new door.

She raised her eyes to Matt’s, surprising a look of pride etched out on his high cheekbones, slivered through the narrowing gaze of those brown eyes. “It’s beautiful, Matt.”

He coughed. “Easy design.”

“No, it’s more than that.” Looking back down at the pieces before her, she felt her gaze moving again, shifting to one and then the other. “You’re a real craftsman.”

“All right, all right.” Placing them down on the workbench, he brushed his hands against his jeans. Cat had a feeling she’d embarrassed him. For some reason, she was sort of proud of that fact.

Leaning over the doors, again, she sighed, her gaze riveted. “I can’t believe it.”

Turning around, she felt moisture hit the backs of her eyes. “It’s an exact match. Perfect. No one will ever now.”

“I’m glad you’re not being overdramatic about it.”

“Oh, shush,” Cat said, bating away his words. She peeked up at him. “Really though, thanks.”

He rocked back on the heels of his feet, his hands digging into the front pockets of his jeans. “Yeah, no big deal.”

“It is to me.” His frame blurred a little in her eyes. Dropping her gaze, she gathered her composure. The last thing she needed to do right now was break down and cry. He’d already accused her of being overdramatic. He’d probably faint if she started bawling.

She didn’t know Matt well, but she had a pretty good feeling he wouldn’t appreciate that.

“I can see that.”

Shaking her head, Cat didn’t respond to Matt’s quiet mockery. How could she explain to him what this meant? She wasn’t sure she entirely understood it herself. Looking down at cabinet door, she knew it was an exact replica. In fact, the lines were a little cleaner, a little straighter than the original. How could she explain that her life felt a little like that broken piece of furniture? At first, a little worn out, fragile, easily broken. How could she explain that, by breaking that door, she could feel a part of her life healing? And looking at the finished piece, so much stronger and better than the original, that she felt hope?

“How much?” Her voice came out rough, uneven. She didn’t bother lifting her eyes. She wasn’t willing to meet the challenge in his eyes.

Out of her peripheral vision, she saw his hands lift up in an empty movement. Then one of them went to play with the bill of his ever-present baseball hat. “I don’t know. It wasn’t a very difficult piece.”

“But it’s beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

“How much?” Then she did lift her head, turning toward him expectantly.

“Fifty bucks?”

She stilled. “I think it’s worth more than that.”

“I don’t have that many hours into it.”

“But I looked up the price of having it customized. Fifty bucks is low.”

“And I’m no—”

“Professional?” she scoffed, her hands waving toward the door. “I’m not buying that line anymore.”

He grinned. “You’re not going to start crying again, are you?”

She glared. “I wasn’t crying.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“This is—”

“Look,” with a mild flash of annoyance, he interrupted her. “It’s been a long day. It’s been a long week.” Without notice, he walked toward the small refrigerator, huddled under a microwave and beside an industrial counter, against the back wall. Bending down, he opened the door and pulled out a beer.

“Want one?”

“Ah. Sure?”

Snapping the tops off both he handed one over to her.

“Okay. Proceed.”

“Price negotiation over beers?”

“Is there any other way?”

Cat laughed. Bringing the bottle up to her mouth, she took a swig. Matt was right about one thing. It had been a long week.

“Oh shit.”

Matt raised an eyebrow.

“I almost forgot,” Cat explained.  “I’m going to need paintbrushes for the kitchen.”

Matt grinned. “Yeah, I wondered about that…”

“Thanks for speaking up.”

“I figured I’d just bring them over myself. With drop cloths.”

Cat felt her stomach spasm at the words. “What?”

He sighed. “It’s not a good business move, of course.”

“Excuse me?”

“Left to your own devices, you’d probably pay the yearly mortgage on this place alone. In a month.”

“Gee. Thanks.” And probably, he wanted to see the back of her much sooner than that.

He took a long pull off his bottle. Leaning against the countertop of the makeshift—actually, Cat wasn’t sure what that was, employee break room? —he didn’t seem the least bit worried about offending her.

“You realize how big a job it is, taking apart your entire kitchen to paint some cabinets?”

“I have an idea, thank you.”

“It’s not just slapping paint around. You’ll have to take down each door—”

Cat could feel her fingers pressing against the brown bottle of her beer. Her right eye narrowed. “Are you trying to be patronizing?”

“No.”

“Good. Because I’m not an idiot.”

Matt either didn’t hear or didn’t care about the warning note in her voice. “But you are a little rash.”

“Excuse me?” Cat felt the slap in those words.

Matt frowned that way men do when they feel threatened by the emotions of a well-adjusted female. “Don’t get your feelings hurt.”

Cat’s lips pulled into a snarl. She took a step toward him, her whole expression a threat. “Don’t tell me what to do with my feelings.”

He nodded toward the cabinet door. “The evidence sort of speaks for itself.”

“Oh, hell,” Cat swore, following his eyes. “How long are you going to hold that over my head?”

Matt nodded. “Fine. Okay. How about today, coming in here to inform me that instead of painting one kitchen door, you’re now painting all of them.”

A fissure of silence descended.

And then, unbelievably, Cat smiled. “Yeah, okay. That was a bit rash,” she admitted. Still, she bristled. “But I don’t need my nose rubbed in it, repeatedly.”

His lips twitched. “Noted.”

“I’m not saying I don’t suck at this type of stuff,” Cat said, her lips thinning into a pout. “But at least I’m willing to fix my mistakes. I want to learn. But I don’t want to be judged.”

Matt seemed to consider her words. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I won’t tease you anymore.” At her raised eyebrows, he smiled thinly. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Cat shot him a knowing grin. Fair was fair. “And I’ll try not to hyperventilate when I screw up.”

Matt tried to swallow a laugh. It came out as a muffled grunt. “So, what time are you getting started tomorrow?”

“Well, I was going to do it early. Maybe nine?” She thought about it for a moment. “Is that too early?”

“Nine is fine.”

“I could probably take down all the doors this evening though.”

Matt didn’t respond to that. Instead, he held out his phone. “What’s your number?”

“My address?”

“Your phone number. I figure you can text me your address.”

“Oh.” Taking the phone, she quickly punched in her contact information.

Taking it back from her, he hit a couple of keys.

“There, now I sent you my number.”

Feeling the buzz of her phone in her pocket, Cat patted the outline of it for emphasis. “Got it.” Bringing the beer back up to her mouth, she was surprised to find that it was empty. “Should I, uh, should I take those with me?” She pointed with the empty glass bottle toward the cabinet doors.

“I’ll bring ‘em tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Seeing a small plastic garbage bin beside the mini-fridge, Cat threw her bottle inside it. Then, wiping her hands nervously against her jeans, she nodded.

“I really feel that I should offer you one last chance to get out of painting tomorrow. You really don’t have to.”

“I’m only too aware of that.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Masochist then?”

He grinned. He had the most devastating smile. She wondered if he realized that. “I could think of worse ways to spend my Saturday.”

“And better ones.”

He paused. “Do you not want me to come over?”

“No! No, I definitely want the help. I’m just not sure I should take it.”

“Birdie would never let either one of us live it down otherwise.”

“Ah. So that’s why.”

He smirked. “No, I didn’t say that.”

“Then you love painting?”

“I didn’t say that, either.”

Cat felt exposed, unprepared for what wasn’t being said. “Then what?”

But Matt wasn’t going to rise to the bait. “I’ll see you tomorrow Cat.” And just like that, he tossed his bottle in the garbage beside hers before leading her once again back up to the front of building, where her can of paint sat, half-forgotten up at the counter.