Page 35 of Error Handling
“You just struck a nerve when you started talking about art students and jobs. But that’s...” Her voice trails.
And she’d struck a nerve when she’d insinuated fixing plumbing leaks isn’t a real job. But who’s crying now? Sarah needs me, minus any fancy college degrees.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “Let me get this leak fixed for you, okay?”
Sarah
I watch Chris leave to get the necessary parts for my sink. He looks just as fine from behind as he does from the front. He lacks Christopher’s muscle, but his naturally wide shoulders causehis T-shirt to flutter pleasantly against his lower back when he walks. The toolbelt rides low, relaxed like his jeans.
My mind rewinds to the moment on the kitchen floor with Christopher. I’m not sure what happened. He’d been sending me warm vibes all evening, but when he became serious, his eyes searching my face, he became so...yummy.
My crushes on Hollywood stars never felt like this.
And then there’s Chris. Chris Butcher. In my house. Our third chance encounter. I believe in coincidences but repeated “coincidences” amount to something more. It’s almost like God has a plan.
When Chris returns with the plumbing hardware, I’m still standing where he left me. I turn quickly and head toward the back porch, pretending I’m occupied versus standing there pondering the swirling emotions in my gut. Dolly greets me enthusiastically, wiggling her hind end.
“All right, all right. You can come out now.” I release the latch and Dolly pounces, expecting the usual pats, hugs, and kisses. I laugh. There’s nothing like a dog’s greeting, always so full of love and excitement.
“Okay,” I say. “Are you ready to go potty?”
I let Dolly out the back door and follow her into my diminutive side yard. A tall fence separates my yard from my neighbors to the west. Behind me, the second apartment stretches into what was once the backyard. The tenants still have a small slip of grass behind the apartment, and I’ve always considered that part of the yard theirs. I try to keep Dolly from running over there, but dogs have a way of going where they knew they aren’t supposed to. I always come equipped with a pooper scooper and a baggie to clear the area.
Dolly has her usual case of the zoomies after being crated for hours. She runs circles around the side yard with her tonguehanging out, and then I wait patiently while she takes care of her business.
When I return to the kitchen, Chris is under the sink making noises with his tools. Dolly runs up behind him and sniffs.
“Dolly, no!” I pull the dog away.
Chris slides out of the cabinet and stands. He holds his hand out to Dolly and allows her to smell it. When she begins licking his hand, Chris crouches in front of her and scratches her neck.
He removes his baseball cap, giving me a full view of his face. Once again, I’m taken aback by the perfect symmetry and the sadness of his features, which persist even as he smiles at the dog. He’s pulled his hair back in a low ponytail to keep it out of the way, and I enjoy the junction of his jaw and his neck. The spot just beneath his ear looks so...yummy.
What’s happening to me? I’ve gone from not wanting to kiss a guy, any guy, to thinking odd areas of male skin are edible. And all this in a single night.
Chris glances at me. “I had a black pug growing up. I’ve always liked fawns though.”
“One of the pups in Dolly’s litter is albino.”
“Really?” Chris says.
He sounds legitimately impressed, which gives me the confidence to continue. “What was your pug’s name?”
“Juicy. My parents got him before I was born so I can’t be blamed for the name.”
“I’m sure Juicy was a good sibling.”
“He was amazing. He let me carry him everywhere, pull his ears, dress him like Superman.”
As Chris scratches, Dolly becomes increasingly excited and tries to play-bite his hand.
“Dolly, stop that. Come here.”
Chris laughs. “It’s okay.”
“We’re keeping you from your work.” I walk over and tug Dolly’s collar, pull her to a high spot on the floor, which is mostly dry, and squat next to the dog to get a good hold on her body. Chris crawls back into the cabinet and recommences his work.
I scratch Dolly’s head, using it as an excuse to continue contemplating Chris’s form. I appreciate muscles on a guy, but they aren’t a requirement. Slender and toned is just as appealing.