Page 63 of Error Handling

“Look at it!” She runs her hand along the porcelain.

I squint at the price tag. “Too expensive.”

Sarah falls back a bit and slouches, but she quickly rebounds. “We’re saving money on the living room flooring, aren’t we?”

“I already told Gary about the savings, so he lowered my budget.”

“Why would you do that?” she quips.

“I’m honest.”

“Well, of course, but...”

“But maybe I should have held off.”

“Maybe.”

I join Sarah and study the sink. “Would you really want a gray sink? In a kitchen?”

“Absolutely,” she says. “It’s perfect.”

I sigh. “I doubt Gary is into fancy details, but I suppose I could run it past him.” What I don’t add is, if Gary says no, I’ll pay for it out of pocket. It will be worth it to see Sarah’s excitement after I install the sink. “You’re going to have the nicest kitchen on the block when we’re done.”

“Countertops. We forgot countertops! We can go with something ‘basic,’” she uses air quotes, “but we have to get rid of that weird pink Formica. It’s hideous.”

“We have to go with Formica.”

“I know, I know, but it needs to match.”

We switch gears again and head for the Formica samples. After agreeing on a light-gray flecked pattern, we recommence our search for the heat guns. When we find them, I grab one and head to the cash register.

“Whew,” Sarah says, once we’re out in the warm sun again. “That was fun.”

I open the passenger side door, and she slides into the truck. I turn the key, waiting for the engine’s reassuring rumble, and pull out of the parking lot.

“I think we make a good pair,” Sarah says.

I take my eyes off the road long enough to glance at her.

“I choose all the finishes and you do all the work,” she adds.

“That’s my job,” I say. “Handyman Chris.”

“Handyman Chris,” she repeats, almost wistfully.

Is she talking about more than home repair and remodeling?

“You know what I would love more than anything?” she says.

My heart skips a beat, and my mind falls into the gutter. I quickly rescue it from the downward stream and force any thoughts of intimacy with Sarah to the corners of my mind. They don’t want to stay there, but I keep pushing.

“What’s that?” I say. I can’t help the way my body responds to Sarah. I’m a man. Hormones, pheromones, and all that. To a large degree, the longing sensations are out of my control. It’s what I do with them that matters. And what matters most to me is remaining a gentleman.

“I would love to buy a rundown Victorian and remodel it,” she says.

I’m taken aback by her statement. How many times have I dreamed of doing that very thing?

“Would you live in it when you were finished,” I ask, “or would you flip it?”