Next To You: Heart of a Wounded Hero by Abby Knox

Author:Abby Knox [Knox, Abby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Author Abby Knox, LLC
Published: 2022-07-02T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 8

Andrew

Now, I’ve stepped up my project to build a bed. I should be replacing the flashing around the chimney—with the leaky plumbing fixed, next on my list is that decrepit fireplace.

Not that I’m looking forward to climbing up on the roof.

I bought enough boards to build a king-size box spring and headboard. With the tools I inherited from my uncle, I spend all day Sunday in the garage.

It feels pretty satisfying, cutting wood to fit the exact specs in these directions I found.

When I finish with the box spring, I have to decide if I want a headboard or a poster bed. Looking over my late uncle’s scroll saw, I should be able to make some nice-looking posts without too much trouble. Sure I’ve never done it before, but I’m pretty good with tools.

After two more trips to the hardware store and enduring a lot of the same strange feedback from the female staff and knowing looks from the male ones, I’ve decided that my hometown is full of lunatics.

I’ve got 24 more hours to back out of this closing, sell the house back to the bank, and lose all the money I put in escrow. I’m a cheap bastard, though, and I know I won’t do that.

Even if Maren keeps calling me Squidward, even if she makes me regress into full-blown panic attacks every day, I don’t know how I will stay away from her.

How can I think I’ll avoid Maren when all I want to do—in my calmer moments—is spend more time with her? As it is, I cannot stop thinking about helping her fix up her house so I can spend time there without worrying that the walls are closing in.

After lunch, I decide I’ve spent enough time in the garage. Time to get started on the roof.

I wondered if all the noise from the saws on a Sunday would bother Maren, but I haven’t heard from her.

Not since earlier today when she brought by some oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. She wanted to check on me and thank me for cutting her grass. She nearly did me in between her scent, the aroma of the fresh baked cookies, and the cute little sundress. And then I fucked it all up again because I offered to help her organize. She lightheartedly teased me with that cartoon nickname again and left me to enjoy my cookies.

Maren’s probably still stinging a bit from all my criticism last night, and I feel crappy about how I talked to her. Why didn’t I apologize this morning? Why do I have to be so laser-focused on making everything perfect in my world and hers, too?

I let my anxiety do the talking, and it came out sounding authoritative and bossy, and I do not want her to think of me that way. I want her to consider me helpful, capable, and dependable.

I admit it, I’ve got work to do on myself.

While thinking of that, I pull my phone out of my cargo pocket, remove my gloves and check my appointment schedule for my next therapy appointment in Gold Hill.

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