“What do you mean? It’s pressure-treated lumber.” I stressed “pressure-treated” like I had any idea what that meant. I didn’t. But the contractor had specified that he was using it to build the deck, and it sounded suitably impressive to someone like me, who knew nothing about carpentry.
“Pressure-treated means it’s not going to rot, but that won’t keep it from splitting. You really want to stain it.”
“Oh.” I studied the planks of the deck, looking for any signs of . . . splitting? Was that what he’d said? I wasn’t a handyman, how was I supposed to know this stuff? “But if we stain it now it’ll be okay?”
“Absolutely.” He nodded vigorously. “It’ll look so much better than the bare boards too.”
He had a point there. I’d always intended to stain this deck when it had been finished, and then of course like any good homeowner I’d never gotten around to it.
We worked in companionable silence for a little while before I remembered that we were meant to be talking strategy. “So.” I reloaded my paintbrush and spread some stain across the railing. “Tell me more about this family dinner situation. You said it’s for your grandparents’ anniversary? Fiftysomething? Why are you celebrating fiftysomething? Isn’t fifty the big milestone?”
He nodded. “We did that too. On their fiftieth, we had a big blowout. Like a family reunion. Malones everywhere.”
“Oh, God,” I said to the porch railing. Mitch on his own was enough to handle. Malones everywhere? I’d never survive.
Thankfully, Mitch didn’t hear me. “It was great. I saw cousins I hadn’t talked to since high school. It was a big deal. The whole family got along for probably the first time in history. So now we have to do it every couple of years.”
“Oh. Wow.” I blinked. That was . . .
Mitch nodded, as if he could read my mind. “It’s a lot. But my grandma was so happy. Then she insisted we all get together again the next year, so we did it. And now it’s become this annual tradition.”
I shook my head. “You can’t do Christmas like a normal family?”
He snorted. “Nope, that would be too easy.” He moved farther down the stairs with his brush and can of stain. “Besides, someone always misses Christmas, what with in-laws and all. So now, it’s this whole anniversary thing at the beginning of June. And if anyone says anything about not coming . . . well, Grandma looks so sad.” He shook his head mournfully.
“Oh, God,” I said again, but this time I meant it. “That’s terrible.”
“Exactly,” Mitch said. “Grandma’s a scammer.” That wasn’t the response I’d expected and Mitch knew it; he looked up and grinned at my bark of laughter. “You should see it. Total crocodile tears. But you can’t say no to her.”
“Of course not,” I said. “Saying no to grandmas is illegal in some states, I think.”
“Exactly.” Mitch balanced his paintbrush on his small can of stain before standing up to stretch his back. He’d been hunched over those steps for a while now, and I had to say I enjoyed this little show of weakness from him. It proved he was mortal, or something. Plus, I was getting a pretty nice show here. Hands on his hips, chest practically thrust into the air, those arms with biceps roughly the size of my head. You could see each muscle stand out in relief as he stretched, like an anatomy model covered in warm skin and a tight T-shirt. A shock of blond hair fell over his forehead as he bent forward, and I blew out a long breath.
Then I stood up too, and the cracking of my knees reminded me of who I was, and who he was. All joking about MILFs aside, I was at least a decade older than anyone he’d be attracted to. Cut it out, I told myself. He’s being a nice guy and helping you, and you’re ogling him while he does so.
I was the actual worst.
“How’s it going up there?”
I started guiltily. Oh God, had he caught me watching him? But he looked guileless as he tilted his head up and looked at me from where he stood in the backyard.
“Um.” I looked at how much I’d gotten done. “Not too bad?” I had a few boards left, but I was almost to the French doors. The plan was for me to stain backwards until I backed myself into the house. But now I saw the flaw in this plan. I looked across the mostly stained deck, down the stained steps to Mitch. “You’re kinda trapped, huh?” We’d painted him right down the steps and out of the project entirely.
He waved a hand. “I’ll go around to the front and meet you.” He popped the lid onto the can of stain, hammering it on with the heel of his hand.
“Sounds good. It’s time for a break anyway.” I knelt back down （knees cracking all the way） and applied my brush back to the boards, finishing another one as I heard the front door open and close in quick succession. A few moments later I felt his presence in the doorway behind me. I tried to ignore him and concentrate on finishing up, setting the brush and stain aside and wiping my hands on a rag before I stood up to face him. My knees didn’t crack this time: small mercies.
“Want something to drink?”
“I’d love it.” He gestured, waving me to walk in front of him to the kitchen. I moved to the sink to wash my hands, and behind me the fridge opened, and closed again as he made a disgusted noise.
“No beer, huh?”
“Nope,” I shook my head. “You know I’m a cider drinker. Wine sometimes. But beer’s never been my thing.”
Behind me Mitch let out a long-suffering sigh, but when I glanced over my shoulder I caught his smile that said he wasn’t being serious. Of course. Was he ever serious?
“Sorry,” I said. “I should have said it was BYOB.”
“Next time,” he said as he took two bottles of water out of the fridge. He handed me one and we leaned against the counter on opposite ends of the kitchen. I tried not to notice the way his throat worked when he swallowed. But not noticing Mitch, when he was standing right in front of you like that, wasn’t easy.
“So the dinner with your family . . .” I said, desperately trying to find something innocuous to talk about. “It’s only a dinner? I only have to be your girlfriend for one evening?”
“Gee, thanks. Try not to sound so excited.” He made an attempt to look insulted. “I’ll have you know I’m a catch.”
“Your mama tell you that?” I quirked an eyebrow.
“Every day.” He quirked an eyebrow right back, and I had to laugh. He made it so easy to laugh around him. He grinned in response to my laughter, and his smile lasted just a beat too long. Long enough for my blood to spark with heat, and for me to wonder what I needed to do to keep him looking at me like that.
“Anyway, yeah,” he continued, as though he hadn’t noticed how something inside me had just shifted. “Sometimes it’s an afternoon barbecue situation—Grandpa got a smoker not too long ago, and he loves that thing—but the latest info from my mom is that it’s going to be a dinner out somewhere.” He shrugged. “So it’s only a few hours, really. You’re getting off easy.” He coughed into a fist, and I was pretty sure the cough sounded like that’swhatshesaid.