Chapter 22

Paul’s turn:

“You need to come to Mimsy’s shop. I got some tool questions.”

“What kind of tool questions?”

“We got some stuff from an estate sale. It’s old. I want you to look over it.”

“Okay. I’ll try to get there before y’all close.”

“We’ll wait. And just so you know, we’re going to eat with Mimsy and Jody at the café’.”

“I could do a country-fried steak and a Shiner,” I said.

So I showed up at the shop, greeted Mimsy, got a kiss from my angel. She grabbed my hand, tugging me to the back of the store.

“Paul, look in this box and tell me what they brought in today.”

I looked at an obvious hand-made, no, make that ‘hand-crafted’ wooden box, assembled with care, obvious veteran of many jobsites. Metal latch on the front. I opened it. Individual pieces of a set of craftsman’s tools, well cared for. Oiled, each piece in its own correctly sized pocket. “Looks like some augers, bits, and a brace. Holy crap! Look at the knob!”

“What’s a brace? And augers? And bits?”

“The augers are drill-bits, for drilling holes in wood. The brace is the tool for operating the drill-bits. Before electric drills. Stayed in use for decades after. An old-style craftsman’s tools.”

“OK, you’ll have to show me how it works. But what’s your point about the knob?”

“See the metal cover on it?”

“Yeah ... So? Aren’t they all like that?”

“Barb, that’s the lid of an old tin can. Looks like the wooden knob split, kinda down the middle.”

“How would you know? And what’s your point?”

“Somewhere, some old guy NEEDED that tool to work, so he fixed it with a tin-can lid and some upholstery tacks.”

For a second she was silent, looking. “OK, I see it. So, why didn’t he just get a new one?”

“Barb, sometimes you’re in a place where you can’t just go get a new one. Maybe you don’t have the money, or maybe the time.”

“So, this old guy -- he just fixed it where he was, so he could get back to work?”

“Barb, this is almost priceless to me, and not many people would appreciate it. How much did you pay for it?”

“Mimsy paid two hundred bucks for the contents of an old building. This was in it with a lot of other stuff. I paid $2 for the box. Nobody knew what it was, but I figured for $2, how could I go wrong?”

“This is nearly a treasure. It belongs in a museum, but none of ‘em would know what it is, or what it means.”

Mimsy jumped in. “Okay, buddy! You’re now the shop historian, Can you look over the stuff that’s still out there? I ... Two bucks...”

“Little Miss Hundred and Fifty Dollar Toaster... You need to be more careful. That little collection is representative of a day when a workman traveled with his tools. A REAL journeyman, and that box says, “I’m good. Here’s an example.”

“I think there are other toolboxes,” Mimsy said. “Bigger than this. We need to look.”

“We need to do that. You’ve piqued my curiosity. Uh, did Jody talk with you?”

“Not yet.”

“He’s gonna ask you to go to dinner at the café’. Meet us and Larry and Nicole. In a day or two.”

“Beats me trying to figure out what to cook.”

“Us, too.”

Barb giggled. “We could do soup and grilled cheese. Again.”

“We’re good at soup and grilled cheese, right, baby?” Barb chirped. I imagine she’s somewhat relieved that the truth is out now. A giggle. “Just the thing for a quiet evening together watching Alf reruns...”

I herded my little redhead out the door.

“I thought Mimsy already knew you were fourteen.”

“I heard her act surprised, but she KNEW already. I think she was playing dumb about it just so if things got into real trouble, she could claim not to have known.”

“Ah,” I said. “That makes some kind of sense.”

“I’ll talk with her tomorrow. I’m sure that’s what she’ll tell me. And interesting ... she DIDN’T tell Jody.”

“Guys’re different, when it comes to relationship stuff,” I surmised. “Now he knows. EVERYBODY knows at work.”

“And you still have the job?” Barb injected. “Good sign. And we’re definitely not a crime in TWO states now.” She waited while I unlocked the trailer door.

She locked it behind her. “Am I a bad girl because I really, really NEED you?”

“You’re not traumatized?”

The way she shook her head – not a simple quick back and forth, but a display of red, a corona arrayed around her head. She KNOWS I have a thing about her hair and this is just a blatant display that not only does she know, but she’s taking advantage of her power.

I bend over, lowering my shoulder into her mid-section, folding her over my shoulder to carry her squealing to the bed. We got our pants and underwear off before... “Dammit, Paul! Right NOW!”

That’s a new one for me. for her. She’s usually eager, encouraging, but never “right now!”

My mind might’ve been startled but my dick reached a new level of hardness. When I started between her thighs she rose up to meet me. Frantic. Her mouth welded itself to mine in a desperate (it felt that way to me, anyway) collision. Nothing subtle at all. Animalistic. All the way up to the peak, then as quickly, the release. I rolled sideways keeping her against me.

“Nobody gets that but you. First time. Every time.” And she kissed me to seal the statement.

“You know,” I whispered, “I worry about you every day when I leave you. You’re my life. Today scared me.”

“Didn’t do me much good, either, but I fought. I’m not gonna give up while I’m conscious. Never. I wanna get back to you.”

“Maybe we just bag this trip off and go back home. Me and you and our beach house...”

“I’ll follow you anywhere, Paul baby, but you made a commitment to these people. Let’s finish this out. Then we ride home victorious, we have money in the bank, and we can pick our next adventure.”

“You sure? We could be sitting on the deck watching the water...”

“When you turn the lights on here, THEN we’ll go back.” She kissed me, a tender one this time. “Thank you for giving me an option, but we don’t run. We stay.” Her nostrils flared. “That musky aroma was pure sex a while ago. Now ... Go shower.”

“Rude!” I snorted, kissing her then rolling out of bed. I looked. Damn, that’s a pure sexy little thing there. I’m lucky.

Five minutes in the shower sanitized my carcass. I got out, shaved, giving the little trailer’s water heater a chance to catch up before ... Okay, she was nude from the waist down from that surprise supernova of a coupling just a bit ago. Now her shirt and bra are off and she’s coming up the middle of the trailer for her shower.

I still do it – when she’s naked, I marvel. All the riches in the world in one neat redheaded package. And...

“You’re staring again.”

“Worshiping,” I countered.

“Be careful. I believe in an active worship style.”

Barb’s turn:

I don’t know what I used to do, waking up in the days before Paul was in my life. I mean, wake up? Lie there in bed? Get up? What? Now, it’s easier on workdays. There’s an alarm. Not loud and intrusive. Neither of us needs that to get started. And ours is timed for a little dawn cuddling.

From a conversation over coffee early in our merging of two lives into one household:

Me: Be honest with me...

Him: (Shocked look) I’ve been mostly honest with you since the first day I met you.

Me: (Fake shock) only ‘MOSTLY’?!?

Him: I didn’t come right out and tell you the first time I met you that I wished I was teenaged again so I’d have a chance with you...

Me: Oh, I knew that. We’ve had that conversation.

Him: So what do I need extra honesty for today?

Me: Us sleeping together. Gramma says she’s not a morning person. Grumpier until she gets moving and has her coffee. I ... you ... we sort of collide ... I hope it’s not aggravating. I don’t wanna do something wrong that builds and builds until it explodes.

Him: Yeah ... No ... You’re what I dreamed of before I knew how to dream. The explosions we have in the morning are delightful ... And when there’s nothing pressing on our schedules, we are perfectly capable of curling up together and going back to sleep.

Me: D’ya know I love you?

So, dawn cuddle, then out of bed, brush teeth, wash face, brush hair (me only. Paul’s short, zero-maintenance haircut skips that step for him) and then breakfast and he’s out the door with a travel mug of coffee for his morning.

Clearing the morning dishes took a few minutes, then I pulled out the laptop and delved into the current range of college work until Mimsy was ready to go to the shop. Since I fancied myself a writer, I picked up some language arts courses.

Writing. Princess Donnabella and her sometimes-visible dragon reached a conclusion, neatly (to my thinking) packaged as the final chapter in my first book. Paul’s happy. The agent’s happy. The publisher is happy.

0815 (military time. Luvit! Using it puts a lot of people just a little bit off balance, allowing me a bit of an edge in early stages of a relationship.) and Mimsy’s coming out her back door. We meet at her big SUV.

“Glad you’re still smiling,” I started.

“Me? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I supposed you’d have realized all the deviance I’ve brought into your life...”

“I thought you’d still be curled up in bed with the covers over your head. Physical attack. Confrontation with the law...”

I smiled. “I’m good. I’m glad you’re okay with it all. This would be a bad place to be without you as a friend.”

“Kinda what I thought,” Mimsy told me. “Until you came along, I thought I was gonna have to learn to crochet to get through the days at the shop.”

“We got things going at the shop now,” I said. “And you’re fluent in eBay and online sales.”

“Getting that way. Paul and Jody are going through the tools from that estate sale. They say we’re gonna get a lot of money from antique tools.”