“And the fridge and stove?”
“I use the stove for my candles. The fridge has supplies, and we often have snacks after classes. It’s social, too.”
He thought that perhaps the questions had soothed those ruffled feathers until she added, “Did you come to chat all day or are you going to get to work?”
“Sorry I’m late.”
She walked up to him, surprising him by cupping his chin in her fingers and staring him in the eyes. Disapproval showed on every feature. “I’m sure you are,” she replied, letting go and turning away.
“Jess, I overslept. That’s all. I didn’t hear the alarm.”
She laughed, but it was a hard, dry laugh. “Sure, Rick. Whatever. I’ve got work to do. Tom left you the supplies on the back landing and said to call if you needed anything else for tools.”
Frustration burned inside him. She was making assumptions again. It was as plain as the nose on his face. “Don’t dismiss me like that, like you’re all high and mighty. Don’t you dare, Jessica Collins.”
She spun back. “What am I supposed to do when you show up nearly two hours late, with bloodshot eyes and looking like you were dragged out of bed? Well, if nothing else, Rick, you’re consistent.”
Rick was tired. He’d had a ro
ugh night last night. He couldn’t sleep—scenes with Kyle kept revolving in his head, making his mind whirr and his body tense. He’d kept thinking about what he might have done differently. If it would have changed the outcome. Naturally, he’d felt the urge to drink and drink a lot, just to make the whole cycle stop. It was ironic, wasn’t it? That the thing Jess was accusing him of was the one thing he’d worked hardest to avoid?
“You automatically think I was drinking,” he ground out. His temper was short today, he realized. He needed something physical, an activity to take up some of this energy pounding through him. He clenched his fingers into a fist and released them again.
“Weren’t you?” One eyebrow went up this time. He had the unholy urge to kiss the condemning expression off her face. Plant one big one on her and wipe that smug, disdainful look clean away. That would fix her wagon …
Who was he kidding? Kissing Jess would be about like puckering up to a viper, the mood she was in.
“If I said I wasn’t drinking, would you even believe me?” She opened her mouth but he held up a hand. “Enough, Jess. I’m late, I’m sorry you’re angry, let’s both just get to work and stay out of each other’s way.”
She stood there, hands on hips, glaring at him.
“Look,” he challenged again, fed up with her passing judgment all the time. “Do you want these shelves or not? If you don’t, I’ll take off right now, and you can call Tom and explain why you need someone from his crew to fit you into their schedule.”
Ah. She looked slightly uncomfortable at that notion. And he supposed he could tell her the truth—that he’d stayed up late working on a project to keep himself from breaking a promise. But he shouldn’t have to. Especially when his painting was something he guarded carefully. It was his and his alone.
Besides, Jess might laugh at him. And he’d rather take her anger and judgment than mockery.
“Well?” he asked, none too kindly.
She flounced her hair over her shoulder. “Fine. I’ll be in the front working on consignment statements.”
Jess was gone in a cloud of scent that reminded him both of his mother’s garden and sugar cookies. He sighed and wiped his hand over his face. Thank God Tom had sent over the dimensions for the shelves a couple of days ago. Otherwise Rick might have needed to ask Jess for input and he’d rather deal with an angry badger than tangle with her at the moment.
He spent the next hour lugging in the materials, taking longer than normal since he could have used two arms at 100 percent. Still, he managed, including a large tote that held all the tools he’d need for the job as well as a spare battery and charger for the cordless drill.
It helped that the shelves were pre-cut and only needed to be installed. Once Rick made sense of the lengths and where they’d go, he sorted through the hardware and organized brackets and screws into neat piles. He measured, then marked everything with the level, and it was all going smoothly until he went to screw the first bracket into place. He was holding the metal piece with his prosthetic, and the screw clung to the magnetic tip of the drill bit, but he didn’t get it set quite right and the moment he pulled the trigger, it spun off the tip and went careening away, tap-tapping on the floor as it fell.
Rick sighed.
“Do you need help?”
Jess’s voice was soft, coming from the doorway. He looked up, irritated. Her expression had softened and she’d lost that condemning look she’d had when he’d first arrived. Just looking at her made his body react in ways he wished it wouldn’t. It made things damned uncomfortable. How could he possibly be attracted to someone who made him so angry?
“I’m fine.” He retrieved the screw from the floor, then marked the spot, gave it a tap to set the tip, put the bracket back in place, and pressed the drill bit firmly against the top of the screw. To his relief it went perfectly into place.
“Rick, I’m sorry I was so angry.”
For some reason her apology made him nearly as mad as the accusation. Maybe he should do the gracious thing and accept it. He didn’t feel like it. Maybe Jess needed to learn to think before she spoke … and that words were more than just words.