I slipped the business cards of the day out of my pocket and fingered through them searching for the first point of contact I was to meet that day. He was the Owner/Operator of the moving company I'd called for an estimate. I had just moved into a foreclosure just outside of Savannah and needed to get a significant amount of work done, and today was the day to move everything out - all of my belongings from home and the remaining items from the sale. The house was a gorgeous victorian with a few pieces of Queen Anne furniture still gathering dust and goodness knows what else in the dining and living rooms. I was standing in a doorway off the hall, tapping the frame and venting to a friend on the phone about my harrowing trip from Houston to the east coast when the doorbell rang.
"Good morning. Daniel Trimble," shot out at me along with a right hand. His left was holding his tool kit. His eyes brightened immediately when he glanced at my face before resuming what seemed to be his preliminary scan of the house.
"Good morning," I said with a smile. I shoved a box out of the path of the door with my foot and tossed my head to clear my vision of my dark, curly hair. "Thanks for coming on time. Alyssa Sutton." I gave his large hand a shake.
"Of course. No problem. Quite a grip..." He'd stopped looking at the house and stood still as I turned to answer his implied query.
"Uh, my father was a retired marine. My brother and I were treated pretty equally with regard to gruffness." I looked up at him with a dimpled smirk and was struck by his impressive frame. He was tall - maybe 6'2 or 3, with broad shoulders and gently muscled arms. His skin was an effortless brown, stretching from his collar, sleeves and shorts, and his eyes, a shade or two lighter than his skin, were boring into my own set of gray irises. It was a little intimidating having someone look at me so intently, and I silently thanked God for my phone ringing and saving me from his stare a moment later.
"The movers should be there soon, sweetheart," came my contractor's sing-song southern charm from my earpiece.
"The owner's here. We're waiting on his crew, I guess." I looked around and thought I caught Daniel staring at me. I gave him an inquisitive expression, and he nodded at me. "He said yeah, we're just waiting for them. I'm all set. Will you be here later?" My contractor had a crush on me, and I only slightly indulged his flirtations because I needed someone with a personal interest in this project to oversee it.
"No, not today, babe. I'm sorry. I'll be there later this week. They'll take good care of you. I promise. I've already told them what you want, but I know you'll tear 'em a new asshole if they cross you. I'm a phone call away if you need anything."
"Thank you. I appreciate it," and I was alone with Daniel again.
He had been propped against a door frame while I'd been on the phone, and once I'd hung up, he asked if everything was alright. When I responded in the affirmative, he proceeded with business. "So, during the survey, we discussed everything going into storage. Is this the same 'everything' I saw that day?"
I chuckled. "Yes, there's not more today than there was last week. This is the same 'everything'. I'm hoping to start pulling up these old boards tomorrow so that new flooring can go down."
"Okay. The guys should be here soon with the truck, and we'll get it all out by this afternoon."
I gave him a few words of warning about avoiding damage, and repeated the speech when his crew arrived with the truck. I could've sworn he was staring at my lips as I spoke. Mine are a deep pink and "kiss-shaped", as my mother always said, and I noticed his were shapely and always being worked over with his teeth when he was thinking. They worked quickly, and didn't stop for breaks or chatter. Then came the "Oh, shit!" from the living room. I sped through the hallway from the kitchen and held my cheeks in disbelief when I arrived in the living room to find that one of the movers had broken the leg off of an antique footstool that happened to belong to me instead of the previous owner. It was very fragile, and he kicked, then stepped on it because he wasn't looking, nor had he moved it out of the walkway or packed it. I lost it.
"What in the absolute FUCK were you thinking?! That's an antique! Why didn't you move it before picking up the chair it was sitting in front of? What variety of idiot are you?" I felt like smacking the shit out of him. My fingers had gathered into fists at my sides. My sweat-slick amber arms were tensing in stark contrast to my happy swing blouse, and my stance was probably suggestive of a puma about to pounce. All had fallen still in the room while I screamed over the mover who was arguing that the leg wasn't actually broken while he held splinters in his hands. I didn't really notice that the other movers had halted amidst wrapping and lifting and grown wide-eyed at my temper until I felt Daniel's hand under my arm, pulling me from the room.
His tone was quieter than before, but his sternness was apparent. "You broke the leg off. You know you broke the leg off. Apologize for breaking it and upsetting her, and I'll get it taken care of. When we're done today, come see me." I was jarred by the flatness in his voice, and found myself stifled.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to break it. I apologize for upsetting you on your move day," was the obligatory, but not insincere apology. It felt more like shame than regret, but I took it just the same.
Daniel loosened his grip but didn't let go and ushered me into a bedroom. "Are you okay?" His forehead was wrinkled in concern, and his voice was low and velveteen. "I thought you were going to slap my guy. I didn't mean to grab you, but I figured I should step in so you could calm down. Are you okay?" He asked again.
"Yeah," I said with a nod, and I was almost yelling as I moved to the door of the room, tapped out a pattern of anger on the frame and fussed about how fragile that footstool was and that he should have moved it out of the way. Admittedly, I wanted the guy to know I was still upset, and didn't bother monitoring my volume.
"I understand. It was his fault. I'll get it fixed for you. It never should have happened. The truck is nearly full. We're going to take the first load over, and we'll be back for the last few items. Here's my card with my personal cell phone number on the back. I'm going to take the footstool to an antique restoration company that can do the job, and I'll give you a call when it's fixed and ready to be delivered. Sound okay?"
"Fine... That's fine."
"Gracious, you've got a little fire in you, huh? I like that," he said with a smirk. He'd been eyeing my legs while he didn't think I was looking since he arrived, but at the moment, he was giving me the same unblinking gaze he'd given me before. I looked out of one of the old single-paned windows in the room. They'd been painted shut for years, and I'd have given anything for a breath of fresh air. I looked back at him and explained that the trip from Houston hadn't exactly gone smoothly, and just finding a contractor for this job was like pulling teeth. Each time he checked the hallway for traffic and busy noise, indicating his crew was working, I snuck peeks at the beads of sweat on his brow and exposed arms and in the shallow of his collarbone. "Yeah, I can tell. That's more than a temper wrapped in that slender little package."
I rolled my eyes at his reference. It was the first time he'd made mention of my body, even if indirectly. I wouldn't have been surprised at a more direct approach since most men aren't exactly discriminating when it comes to looks. I'm pretty average, I figure, at 5'7 and 135 lbs. They weren't really on display that day, but my breasts are usually the center of attention, given that they're 38D's. Still, even his playful flirtation was enough to garner an incredulous look from me.
"There's nothing wrong with a woman saying what she expects. I think that's great. I just think you might need a break to relax. How about a drink sometime? You just moved into town. Let me give you a well-deserved breather."
"I'll give it some consideration," I breathed after a short pause.
Daniel and his crew finished up the move, and I went back to my temporary home at a local hotel to crash. I showered, brushed my teeth, and washed off the bit of makeup I still had on, being careful to place each of the travel sized containers of cleansers and moisturizers in order of use and size, aligning them such that they'd be in a straight line with the labels front-facing. Once I was satisfied, I leaned on the wall of the bathroom and sighed at my exhaustion, tapping my fingers against the almond paint while thinking about the things I'd have to tackle the next day. I grabbed a jar of lotion from the bedside table, wrapped my long, still-damp hair into a bun and all but flopped on my back across the bed on a towel. I scooped out a dollop of thick cream from the lotion jar and spread it across my palm. There was nothing on tv, so rather than turning my head uncomfortably, I watched the light dance across the newly supple skin on my lifted legs. I love scrubbing my tan complexion after a long day and applying oil or lotion for it to soak up. Toes to thighs, I almost soothe myself to sleep as I take my time spreading the scented stuff over my hips and across my pelvis and stomach.
My ringtone wakes me out from my near sleep trance, and I quickly wipe my fingers to answer my phone. A quiet "Hello?" was my heady greeting, indicative of my relaxed state.
"Why, hello, Ms. Sutton. I hope I haven't disturbed you."
I could tell he was grinning on his end of the line and I answered in instant embarrassment. "Hi, Daniel. I was just... getting ready to lay down, and... um... Well, what's the matter? Is something going on with my things?"
