There’re too many emotions I have to deal with right now. As for sleeping with her? I’d take my chances with Godzilla first.
Half an hour later, I’m poking at the fire when footsteps fall behind me on the gravel. Georgiana appears by my side. My anger and annoyance have peaked and I’m staring blindly at the fire, the will to live somewhat drained out of me at the moment. The coals have a few more minutes to go, and then I’m throwing these ribeyes on the grill and calling it a day. Good thing too, as I’ve only got two beers left and already had two too many.
“Is this what we’ll be building?”
I shoot her a sideways glance. She’s holding the model of my tiny house that usually stands on the coffee table in the small living room. It’s the second version of my competition entry, at a scale of one to fifty, and it took me weeks to build. This one has all the bells and whistles the first attempt didn’t have, though even without all the extra details, the first version still got me a place in the finals.
“Don’t drop that.”
The model is heavy, and I’ve gone as far as mimicking the materials I plan to use with paint, modeling clay, anything else that came to mind, and in some instances, the real thing.
“It’s so cute.”
I stand and take it from her. “Hands off.”
“Okay, boss. Want to explain to me what’s going on in here?”
“Not really.” I’m over it already. I might be screwed with this project and competition, but someone has to come last and for me it won’t be a first-time experience, so I’ll save the other contestants that loser feeling.
The alcohol’s talking now, but this fire and steak with beer by the lake should have been a get-to-know-you session between two like-minded guys. Instead it’s turned into a mental flogging about the numerous reasons this would never work out and how I could even have dared to dream.
I put the model down on the small table between the Adirondack chairs and stalk back into the house to fetch her a glass of wine. Anything to shut us both up at this stage. Talking isn’t my forte and since we got off on the wrong foot—something I totally blame myself for—I just can’t. Not after that summary of me. Fuck first impressions. To stall further, I toss the salad in a bowl and dress it, gather the plates and cutlery and, arms and hands full, eventually return to the fire.
She looks up at me as I get closer, now with the slanted roof of my tiny house in her hands. It lifts off like a lid to reveal the interior that I’ve modeled in detail, from the throw pillows on the couch to the kettle on the gas stove.
“This is incredible. Did you build this? From scratch?”
I shrug as I put the food down on my chair’s armrests. She’s made up her mind about me already. “Yeah.”
“You’ve built the whole thing in miniature. I love this…you’ve even done the wooden floors with individual boards, and then the bathroom tiling. Are those individual little tiles? How did you do—”
“It’s not your dollhouse, princess.” At least after four beers and with the initial shock behind me, I’ve got more control over my tongue. “And no, we won’t be building it.”
If looks could kill, the one she shoots me would be fatal. Except that I have very tough skin. Was it the princess part or the no we won’t part that pissed her off?
“Listen, Raiden, this is a mess, but you know the confusion isn’t my fault. I didn’t try to deceive you. My résumé isn’t fake, I promise you. I know how to draw and build and assemble.”
“Flatpack furniture, maybe.” She had that jab coming. As if I questioned the contents of her résumé, which I read.
“Ugh. Asshole.”
“A compliment. Thank you.” I twist the pinot grigio’s cap off and pour her a full glass. I reach for the roof of my tiny house and for a moment she doesn’t let go, but I widen my eyes at her and raise my eyebrows. She lets go and I push the wineglass into her hand. I take a moment to slot the roof back onto the model, making sure it clicks in so that it won’t loosen when I carry it around.
I turn my back on her to deal with the meat. I have no intention of hanging out longer than necessary now that she’s invaded my outside space too.
If she tries to sweet talk me now, I’ll let her know that I’ve lost interest in anything but my bed for tonight. The beers, the upheaval this afternoon, the last few days busting my ass to get the shop ready for our build, while still wrapping up some work for Cash McGraw before I took two months off, are biting me in the ass. Once I boxed up her comments and put them aside, staring at the fire has been very relaxing.
“I’m not going anywhere, so you might as well tell me about this project and how we are going to tackle this.”
I don’t bother to respond as I test the coals with my palm, and as the temperature is perfect, I slap on the two ribeye steaks. They sizzle as they hit the grill and the delicious smell of well-aged beef swirls up with the smoke. Bar the current company, this is the life.
“Where are the drawings for this?” Georgiana asks.
I throw my head back and burst out laughing. My elementary drawings are in Boston, floating around in bits and pieces in my apartment. She wouldn’t know what to do with them if I gave them to her. They’re a bit hard to…decipher. Hence the model. We were supposed to go over the details at some point, make sure the plans are drawn up as per the competition’s rules…all those details she was supposed to handle for me. I tap with the tongs on the steaks, letting her question hang.
“Why are you laughing? Do you have them here? We can go over them.”
I lean sideways in her direction and tap with my forefinger on the side of my head as I smirk at her. “In here. All of them.”