Alive.
I released her from my grasp, and she looked up at me and giggled. I could’ve sworn I saw a hint of a blush creep across her cheeks, but the moment was soon ruined. One of my men was beckoning me back into the building to help move some old table or something, so I nodded down to Hailey before I put my mask back over my face.
I went back into the building and helped haul the table, opting to simply set it out front instead of tossing it into the dumpster. Knowing Hailey even topically, I knew she’d probably want to do something with it. So, I left it for her to experiment with.
If she didn’t want it, I could always haul it off later.
This arrangement was going to be good for all of us. It would get Drew’s passion for the company off the ground, it would get Hailey’s passion off the ground, and I could continue to delve into my passion for helping the homeless. We got a lot done on that first day. We ripped out all the things that didn’t come up to code with the plumbing and electrical, and we set ourselves up to come back in the morning and fix it all. We stayed on-site until about five thirty and then we all dispersed and went home.
I was happy Hailey stayed with us the entire day, and I couldn’t stop watching her as she crossed the street and ducked into the diner.
Part of me wanted to follow her and sit down and have a milkshake with her. I wanted a bit more time with her without the guys interjecting and asking me questions. But I had to shake that thought from my mind. I had to focus on the project at hand. There was too much riding on this for Drew without me screwing around with whatever emotions this woman seemed to be conjuring.
I needed to find a way to choke them down and fast.
Because all she would do is rain hell down upon my life before I could even blink my eyes.
Chapter 10
Hailey
When the guys ended up tearing all the sheetrock out of the place, I realized there was an entire back room in this place that had been cordoned off for some reason. Just a fun little space that was the perfect size for an easel, a small table, and a stool. I could use it as my own personal painting space, complete with a window that looked out into the small town. I had the ocean in front and the small-town view in the back, which meant I had the best of both worlds. I jumped up and down for joy, throwing my arms around Bryan’s neck as I started brainstorming exactly what I wanted to do with the place.
I told him I wanted enough wiring for one simple overhead light, nothing extravagant, just a light and a switch. He looked it over and told me it could be worked into the budget since there was wiring already there, and I was absolutely ecstatic. I set to the task of cleaning it up and organizing it so the guys could get in here and finish up for the day, excited that the first day of construction work had seen so much done.
I watched as Bryan trained the guys. They took off the sheetrock while another guy trained some of the other men on the plumbing. They were digging up pipes outside, trying to see where they ran while I dusted down this musty back room. I started daydreaming, wondering why someone would randomly corner off a piece of the building like this. I could see the worry on Bryan’s face as he looked over the place, probably trying to answer the same question himself. But, after his thorough investigation was done, we actually found a boarded-up door that had been cordoned off by sheets of wood and painted over.
Probably by people vandalizing the property, Bryan had said.
He theorized it was probably the original storage place. The previous owner, which I figured out was an elderly couple who had opened up a bar here, probably didn’t even understand it existed. They probably built the storage shed I was using now out of necessity, not even knowing there was a perfectly good storage space right here.
But what is someone’s trash can usually be made into my treasure, which meant I had a weather-proofed storage space and an area to form a daytime art studio without encroaching on any of the other space I’d divvied out for my plans.
Yes, the first day of construction work had been a blast.
I went out back after dusting so some guys could get in there to take the sheetrock off. I went over to the storage shed and began organizing paintings. I set the cabin picture aside, a small feeling of dread creeping up my stomach as I ran my fingertips over it. I hated to part with it. Out of all the emotion John poured into his artwork, this one held the most. I could tell it resonated with Bryan, even though he didn’t know who the original artist was, but I didn’t have the heart to refuse him. It was like the painting was seeking out its home, and I knew it would find its home with Bryan.
I didn’t know how angry that would make him in the process.
I was organizing all the paintings by background colors. It was easier for me to sift through things that way. I had a wonderful memory when it came to attaching artists to paintings, so I never had to organize them by who painted them. It was simply easier to categorize them by dominant color. I got less overwhelmed by all the designs and more comforted by how all the pictures seemed to blend together. Like the chaos of the world finally coming into a beautiful sort of order despite the fact that the main subjects were always so different.
Most people wouldn’t put a picture of a sunset and a picture of a tornado in the same category. But, when their main background colors are dark blue and gray, there becomes a sort of poetic beauty in marrying the two subjects together in a dissonant type of harmony.
I was ripped from my reverie by a commotion in the building.
I put the paintings down and locked the door. I stepped back into the building as the commotion escalated into yelling. I saw one of the homeless workers storm out as Bryan pointed his finger toward the door, and I could tell something terrible had happened. The homeless man was crying, kicking equipment and the generator as he left. One of the guys wearing a B.D. Construction shirt put him into the truck and hauled him off, most likely taking him back to the shelter.
And I saw Bryan, nervous, agitated, and running his hands through his hair with his chest trying to take in deep breaths. I could see his hands gripping the tendrils of his hair and the way his legs couldn’t quite stop moving. I looked around the floor for blood, wondering if someone had gotten hurt as Bryan checked all the equipment.
He rounded around the building, checking everything in sight before he went outside to see about the plumbing. I kept my distance, wanting to give him the space he needed before he turned and looked at me. His dark eyes were almost black, stormy even. Like the anger flowing through his veins was about to come pouring out in the fury of the tornado I’d just seen in one of my therapy patient’s paintings.
Then he headed toward me. Step by step, his body began to loom over me, his stature growing taller and taller. As he got closer, I realized he wasn’t angry but merely nervous. His eyes were darting around, and his hands were shoved into his pockets, and I wanted to wrap him in my arms to help him breathe and help him calm and center himself.
He couldn’t be this worked up about something and still operate the type of machinery necessary to continue working.
“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he said.
“What happened?” I asked.