The One That I Want

They’d been at it since seven that morning; a group of almost seventy volunteers hammering, cutting, sanding, painting, installing this and removing that, following the instructions of Jeremy’s construction company foreman helping to build Detroit’s latest community center. The building was in a prime location, central to a lot of neighborhoods trying to come back after hard economical hits, standing as a beacon of hope with its promise of an auditorium, smaller reception rooms, tutoring cubicles, computer labs, exercise classes, basketball and tennis courts, and a jogging track surrounding the multilevel facility. For the past hour, Carol had been helping to install slate tile in what would be one of the more intimate reception rooms. When finished, the fireplace, cozy chair settings, and earth-toned slate would creative an inviting atmosphere to anyone using the space.

She sat back on her haunches and wiped an errant lock of hair away from her face. In the process a smear of white grout was left across her cheek. Never again would she doubt the worth of what she’d paid her renovators. Rehabbing a building was hard work!

“Almost done,” Jeremy said, coming up behind her. “Your work looks good.”

“Thank you.” Carol took a drink from a bottle of water as she stood to her feet. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven; time for a break. You’ve been working nonstop for hours.”

“I didn’t realize so much time had passed.”

“Well, you know what they say . . .”

“Yes, I do, so you don’t need to say it again.” They laughed. Her stomach growled.

“You didn’t eat breakfast?”

“I did, but only cereal. What time is lunch?”

“Any minute now.” Jeremy looked at this watch. “A couple of the catering trucks have already arrived.”

One of the ways the restaurants had pitched in was by providing free food to serve the volunteers. They may have done the work for free; but they’d eaten well.

“Where are you setting up?”

“We’ve got two long tables at the back of the auditorium, the part still left to be finished.”

“Why don’t I go out and help coordinate this process. If we stagger out the time people eat, say just five, ten minutes apart, we can keep from having long lines and taking even longer to get back to work.”

Jeremy nodded. “That sounds good. You’re a great organizer. If this real-estate venture doesn’t pan out you might check into being somebody’s personal assistant.”

Carol rolled her eyes as the two walked out of the room and down the short hall into the main auditorium. As soon as she turned the corner, a pair of deep chocolate brown eyes stopped her cold.

Alex? What is he doing here?

One part of her wanted to push past him. She’d called twice and he hadn’t bothered to return either one. But the other part of her took in the look in his eyes, barely veiled passion mixed with remnants of anger. Or was it hurt? Last night, the latter had become a consideration, that she’d hurt him by seeming to want the man who’d shot him to walk free. That hadn’t been what she meant, but in retrospect, as she’d replayed the conversation over in her mind, that’s how it had sounded.

She walked over to him. “Hello, Alex.”

“Hey, Carol.” He spoke to her but looked at the well-built, dread-locked brother by her side.

“Alex, this is Jeremy, my business partner whose company is doing the construction for this building. Jeremy, this is Alex, a good friend of mine.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Jeremy said, with hand outstretched. “Thanks so much for taking the time to help us complete this building. Your volunteering is greatly appreciated.”

“Looks like a project that will be good for the community. It’s the least I could do.” He spoke to Jeremy, but looked at the jean-clad, grout-smudged piece of sexiness that hadn’t been far from his mind for the past few days.

“Alex, I’m heading over to get lunch ready to serve. There are several containers that will need to be brought in from the food trucks. Can you help me?”

They walked a couple steps away from her partner before Carol asked, “Is this your way of apologizing for not returning my phone calls?”

“What do you mean?”

“Coming here; volunteering.”

He stopped walking. “Is this your project?”

She stopped, too. “Not mine alone. My partner’s construction company handled the major building. I’ve been involved in developing the programs and overall direction of the space.”

“I didn’t know that. Until you turned the corner, I had no idea that you were here.”

“Why didn’t you return my phone calls?”

He looked at her squarely. “I didn’t want to talk to you.”

Well, damn! Carol chewed on this honest-without-malice delivered tidbit of news as she continued on to the back part of the auditorium where several volunteers were standing. “We’re going to lay out the food on these two tables,” she informed them. “Let’s put the meats, sides, and breads on this table; salad, desserts, and drinks over there.” She turned to Alex. “Can you go with them to carry in the heavier trays? The ladies and I will go get the plates, napkins, and utensils.”

For the next thirty minutes, Alex and Carol were preoccupied with setting up, feeding, and then eating with the volunteers. They all either sat on the floor or stood in clomps of two to four people, chowing down on exquisite cuisine from some of Detroit’s finest restaurants. Alex sat at a table with two other guys while Carol stood munching a sandwich with the volunteer who’d helped her set up the drinks.

“Awww.” The volunteer looked over Carol’s shoulder to the scene beyond. “That’s so cute.”

Carol turned around to see Alex on his knees, blocking and dodging punches from a jean-clad kid of around three, four years old. The little boy’s face was in a scowl as he tried to land a humbling blow. When a fist landed on Alex’s broad shoulder, he rolled onto his back. “Man, you got me!” he groaned.

“I beat you, I beat you!” the boy exclaimed.

Alex struggled to his knees, a slight frown racing across his face as he did so. Carol’s heart clenched. You’re trying to hide it, Alex, but that wound is still tender. She fought against rushing to his side. The child looked on, his expression a mixture of triumph and concern. Alex, head down, got to his knees. Then, without warning, he reached out, scooped up the child, and stood.

“Thought you got me, huh? Huh?” He turned the once surprised, now giggling child upside down. “Now I’m going to get you!”

Carol’s eyes went from a scene that was doing funny things to her heart to the mother looking on with blatant joy. And something else . . . adoration, desire. A pang of jealousy mixed with possessiveness flashed through her and she admitted how much she’d missed this man. Her comments had hurt him. His not returning her calls had hurt her. Something had to give.

After lunch, the work continued. Carol finished helping to lay the slate floor in the reception room while Alex helped his roommate, Grant, and other men finish installing the kitchen. They’d shared the same space a couple times, had acknowledged each other with their eyes. Carol had been thankful for the work to distract her from a myriad of mixed feelings while Alex’s anger for Carol had lessened with each strike of a hammer, or cut of a saw. By the end of the day he’d chided himself for letting valuable days pass without their interacting, when he knew he’d be leaving Detroit very soon. He pulled out his phone and sent her a text: Can you give me a ride when this is over?

The reply came quickly: Oh, you’re ready to talk to me now?

Smiling, he replied: That is only one of several things I want to do with you and these lips. He wasn’t surprised when he received no answer, nor when Carol walked up to him later, and simply asked, “You ready to go?”