Em
“How come I don’t see more of you on weekends?” I asked Ian. He had come over for a Thursday night dinner. I made a mushroom-stuffed ravioli and mixed salad.
“What d’ya mean? We’re going out on Saturday night, aren’t we?”
“Yes, but couples do things together all day. Like brunch, shopping, or something outside.” It was easy to talk to Ian because he was so blunt. If I made him uncomfortable, he let me know.
“On weekends, I work on my house,” he said.
“Oh, right. You flip houses, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “Not exactly. I fix up the places I live in and sell them. I don’t do it full out.”
“Isn’t that tiring? You work in construction all day and then do it at night too.” Ian seldom talked about work.
“I don’t work on weeknights. I go to the gym, play hockey, or enjoy stuff like this.” He pointed to the empty plate in front of him.
“Why do you do it? You make a good living at your carpentry job.”
Ian leaned back in his chair. “Security. When you work with your back, there aren’t any guarantees or big pensions. Guys get hurt, and it really sets them back.”
So, the house was Ian’s back-up plan. A way to make extra money.
“That’s pretty smart,” I said.
He flashed a smile. “Coming from you, that’s huge.”
We always came to my place, but I had assumed that was because I liked to cook and Ian lived in some sad bachelor apartment. Abby had mentioned his renos, but I’d forgotten all about them.
“What are you working on this weekend?” I asked.
“The downstairs,” he replied vaguely.
“Can I help?”
Ian frowned. “Really? You don’t seem like the home reno type.”
“I can paint.” That was the end of my home repair skill set. “But I’ll do whatever you tell me.”
Ian raised a suggestive eyebrow. “Is that a promise?”
“When do I say no to you?” I asked.
“True.” He reached over and caressed my arm from the wrist up to my inner elbow. His rough fingertips made my skin tingle.
“Oh,” I breathed.
He stood up. “Let’s take this party to your bedroom.”
I glanced at the dishes around us. There was an order for dinner dates at home: first clean up the kitchen, next have tea and watch something, and then have sex. Everyone knew that.
Ian pulled me out of my chair. His firm grip made me forget everything except how good his hands would feel on me.
“Okay, let’s go,” I agreed.
On Saturday morning, I drove up to the address Ian had given me. It was in Mechanicsville, a neighbourhood in transition. Some streets looked cute while others looked…well, the polite word was gritty. Ian’s place was in a gritty part, of course.
The house looked unimpressive. It had white siding, fake brick, and a metal awning on dark steel beams over a concrete porch. No stairs, and the house sat quite close to the street. It looked like the home of an elderly person.
I went up the neatly shovelled walk and knocked on the front door.
“Hey, Em.” The door swung open and Ian stood there in all his carpenter clothes. Of course, I’d seen him get ready for work before in his waffle Henleys and dark work pants with pockets, flaps, and hooks. But I’d never seen him with a tool belt hanging low on his hips, his slim torso accentuated by the holster of tools. Even the creases in his dusty clothes were sexy. Suddenly I was having fantasies of having sex with Ian wearing only that tool belt. Of giving him a blowjob holding on to the leather loops on each side.
I fanned my flushed cheeks. I needed to watch less HGTV.
“What are you staring at?” he asked.
“You look really hot,” I confessed. “Especially that tool belt.”
Ian chuckled. “Woulda worn this over to your place if I knew I’d get this reaction.”
“I’m going to add sex with a man in a tool belt to my fantasy list.” We had taken care of my original list in no time.
I went inside. The house seemed to be a maze of rooms taped off with plastic. I shed my coat and hung it on a crowded coat rack.
“Those are your work clothes?” he asked. I was wearing an old McGill T-shirt splattered with pink and white paint from my last DIY project. I’d added running shoes and my oldest jeans, which had several rips, but not the stylish kind.
I nodded. “Do I not look okay?”
Ian grunted which was his noncommittal answer. Sometimes it was like communicating with a caveman. “It’s about protection, not looking good.”
“I can do both. Are you going to take me on a tour of the house?”
“If you want.” Ian’s voice had a definite lack of enthusiasm. “But it’s not done.”
“I can see that. Don’t worry, I have imagination.”
“You’ll need it. This place used to be a duplex with apartments up and down. I’m converting it back to single family.” Ian led the way through a dated kitchen. “I’ll do this closer to the end, so it doesn’t get messed up.”
“How many people work on this place?” I asked.
“Mostly me. A few buddies’ll come by if I need help. I know an electrician for wiring shit. Mason helps on the weekends Abby works.”
He pointed out the places where he had to reconfigure walls to make the downstairs rooms bigger. “The good thing is that with double bathrooms and kitchens, the water is already where I need it.”
He unzipped a plastic seal covering over the stairs, and I followed him. The upstairs was a completely different story. The main bathroom was gorgeous. It was done in white and shades of pale grey, with a freestanding tub and rain showerhead. There were chrome fixtures and a large round mirror. Also tucked into the hallway was a stackable washer and dryer.
“Wow,” I said.
He shrugged. “Families like an upstairs laundry. I prefer the basement.”
He opened the doors on two bedrooms that were painted and pristinely empty.
“Do you furnish it before selling it?” I asked.
“Of course. I work with a stager, but I got some of my own stuff in storage. Can’t bring it too early or it gets all dusty and shit.” He pointed to a side window. “Those windows are gonna be a pain to cover.” The window had some pretty glass patterning at the top, but the lower view was the ugly house next door.
“Because you want privacy, but also to display the glasswork?” I asked.
“Yeah. I couldn’t save much original stuff because this place was too trashed.”
“We could put tension rods up to here.” I motioned to just below the window insert. “And I could sew gathered sheers.”
Ian squinted at me. “You can sew?”
“I have a machine.” I was an okay sewer. I didn’t make dresses like Abby, but I could sew a straight line.
“Nothing personal, but things have to look good. You know, to get top dollar.”
“How about I do this one window? If you don’t like it, you can take it down. My feelings won’t be hurt,” I said.
“Bullshit,” said Ian.
I laughed and wrapped my arms around him. “Okay, I will be a bit upset. But I promise I’ll get over it. You have to buy me ice cream, though.”
Ian chuckled. “Deal. But nothing pink, okay?”
“Neutrals all the way.” I looked up at the light fixture. I had exactly the same one on my Pinterest Dream House board. “Who chooses the room colours and fixtures?”
“You’re looking at him.”
Wow. Ian had really good taste. I tried not to be surprised or point out that someone whose wardrobe featured way too much buffalo check had such a refined home. Besides, he was finally letting me help with something. One of our main conflicts was over my urge to be helpful against his need to be independent.
The master bedroom was the only furnished room upstairs. It had a king-sized bed, a table, chair, and a television. Ian’s clothes were neatly hanging in the closet.
“It’s like a bachelor apartment.” I peeked into the compact ensuite, which had a shower enclosure and white fixtures.
“Easier this way.” Ian was practical, as always.
It seemed sad to be living in only a small portion of your house, especially since Ian was the one always encouraging me to seize the day. But if he was comfortable here, who was I to judge?
“Your place is really nice. I mean, of course it will be better when it’s done, but I can see the potential.”
“Thanks. Let’s get to work.” He handed me a pair of new work gloves. “Don’t say I never give you stuff.”
I pulled them on, and they were a perfect fit. “And they say romance is dead. Okay, what do you want me to do?”
“I figured you could go down to the basement and sweep it up. First check that there’s nothing in the mousetraps and watch out for spiders.”
“What?” I shrieked.
“Kidding.” Ian couldn’t stifle his laughter, even when I pummelled him with my fists.