Page 4 of When We Were More (Aron Falls #1)

I’m pissed and agitated, but I don’t miss that the man standing in front of me, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt with a faded flannel shirt over top, is very attractive.

He has green eyes I could get lost in and thick, dark hair that I imagine women love running their hands through.

Then there’s his beard… I’ve always had a thing for a man with a nice, well-maintained beard.

Stop it, Tillie.

“Hi, ma’am. I’m Hen–”

“Please don’t call me ma’am. I’m sure I’m not older than you. I appreciate that you’re trying to be polite, but you can call me Tillie.”

He peeks down at the clipboard he’s holding, then brings those gorgeous eyes back up to meet my gaze.

“Ms. Evans, I’m Henry from Aron Family Builders and Restoration. I’m here to follow up on your concerns.”

“It’s Tillie. Not ma’am, not Ms. Evans.” It strikes me that he’s probably a supervisor or foreman sent out to do these kinds of calls. “You’re Henry… where is Holden? I told the lady on the phone—who was quite rude, by the way—that I wanted to speak with someone in authority. Preferably, Holden.”

A flicker of irritation flashes across his face, but it quickly disappears.

“He’s unable to come right now, and he typically isn’t involved in this part of the business.”

I tilt my head and frown at him.

“Hmm, too bad. I liked him.”

I notice that the hand holding his clipboard is gripping it tightly, his fingers pale from squeezing it. I must be irritating him. Good. That’ll teach him to show up unannounced and interrupt my planned dinner of PB and J.

“May I talk with you about your concerns?” His tone has an edge to it now.

For someone tasked with following up on grievance calls, his fuse is a little short.

“Well, first of all, I would like to be clear that this isn’t a concern. It’s a complaint. “

His jaw clenches, and his eyes narrow. He barely nods, acknowledging my words. I swear it pains him to do it.

“Also, I’m not trying to be abrasive, but do you make it a habit of showing up unannounced and uninvited at women’s houses? In the evening?” Oh, I do sound like a bitch right now, but he’s in the wrong. Plus, I’m hangry.

Henry clears his throat and stares at me for long enough that it becomes uncomfortable and earns a rise out of me. I cross my arms over my chest and hold my ground. I’m not going to be intimidated by this man.

“No, ma’am, I do not. But my receptionist indicated that you were pretty worked up when you called, and she thought it might be best if somebody got back to you tonight.”

Worked up? I wonder if those are her words or his. I don’t say anything to him, but I mimic holding a phone up to my ear as if to say, ‘H ow about a call?’

A sigh escapes him, one I’m sure he didn’t mean for me to hear. I decide I’ve had enough. I’ll show him the bathroom and get it over with.

“Fine, come in and I’ll tell you my first issue.

” I step back into the foyer and make room for him to walk in and immediately launch into my list of complaints.

“When I got home today, there were two soda cans and a paper lunch bag discarded in my driveway, as if it were a garbage can. I would expect your men to clean up after themselves when they’re here working.

” He’s putting on shoe covers, which I appreciate, so he’s not looking at me, and that’s annoying.

“There were also three cigarette butts out there. I don’t smoke.

No one who smokes comes here. If your men are going to smoke on the job, please ask them not to do it too close to the house.

I don’t want anything smelling like smoke.

Also, please make sure they take their cigarette butts with them. ”

He straightens and makes eye contact with me, clears his throat, and almost grimaces before he says, “I apologize for that. I’ll address it.” I nod. “What about their work was unsatisfactory?”

I put a hand on my hip and tilt my head.

“Is that why you think I’m complaining? Work?

That’s the only thing I didn’t have a problem with.

” I notice him searching around the room as I talk, and I swear I see appreciation in his eyes as he directs his vision through the wide doorway that leads to the dining room, and his eyes focus on the built-in china cabinets and window seat.

He glances back at me. “Yeah, Lucy said you had an issue with the work. Is it something else?”

I can’t believe this company. Now they have communication issues?

“I didn’t tell her about the issue. I told her I wanted to speak with a supervisor about how my house was left. Follow me… please.” When I get to the bathroom, I open the door and step in with him following close behind. I watch his face as he looks around, and I notice when he frowns.

“Can you show me what the problem is? I was under the impression the job was in the kitchen…”

He’s surveying the room up and down, and there’s no way he misses it. Is he kidding me?

“I’m sorry, do you think that I urinate and don’t flush? That I put the seat up when I pee? Or that I leave drops of pee not only on the rim of the toilet, but on the floor in front of it? You assume that was me?” My face heats with irritation.

“It wasn’t?” I can’t tell if it’s an earnest question because I see the hint of a smirk on his face. I’m not sure enough of it to give him hell. For that part, anyway.

“Are you serious right now?”

Now I’m angry. Holden was charming and lighthearted, but this guy is… He’s… Well, I’m not sure what he is exactly, but it’s annoying me.

“One of your workers littered in my driveway, then urinated in my bathroom—which is fine, normally—but he leaves this mess and doesn’t even bother to flush.

As a side note, he obviously needs to hydrate based on how dark that pee is.

You should tell him.” Henry grimaces. I haven’t finished.

“Then he pees on my toilet rim, leaves my toilet seat up, and is he done? Nope. He left me the special treat of his piss on my floor. Then you imply maybe I did that? Newsflash, I didn’t.

And I’m not cleaning some rando’s urine off my floor. Got it?”

Phew. That was a lot, but it’s good to get it out. I’m impressed I managed it. I’m assertive professionally, but outside of work, I struggle to have difficult or emotional conversations. Not today, though. Apparently, this man brings out an ugly side of me.

A deep flush fills his cheeks, and I hope it’s because he at least has enough professionalism to be embarrassed about the situation.

He looks around the room again, then asks, “Can you give me a minute or two so I can take some pictures to use when we address this with the worker?” I glare at him and walk out of the bathroom without saying anything.

When I get back to the living room, I sit on the arm of the couch while I wait.

A twinge of guilt rushes over me because I’m aware I’m being harsh, but I’ve also had a day that left me with minimal fucks to give.

Plus, he did show up at my house unannounced at six in the evening and ruined my dinner plans.

Yes, it was only a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but he still messed it up.

The sound of a toilet flushing gets my attention.

Why was Henry gone so long? I swear I’ve been sitting here for five minutes.

How long does it take to snap a couple of photos?

I walk back to the bathroom and find him aggressively scrubbing his hands in the sink, a scowl on his face.

I peer past him and notice he has cleaned up the mess.

I can’t bring myself to thank him because he’s been a bit sassy with me, too, but I still feel a little bad for him.

“It sucks that you had to clean up your coworkers’ mess.

You should talk to your boss and see about getting that guy remediated on how to behave.

” I lean against the door frame and watch him.

As he dries his hands, a chuckle escapes him.

Odd to be laughing after wiping up your colleague’s urine, but okay.

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll take it under advisement.”

“What’s funny about that? You should report him for making that mess. If you’re not comfortable, I’ll call Holden and report it myself. He gave me his personal number when he was here.”

Henry’s smile disappears. “I’ll take care of the reporting. Can you show me the work area?”

“That area is fine. You don’t need to check it. Let me show you out.”

“I do need to see it, ma’am. I need to see the whole area since it’s a complaint . Not a concern. Boss’s rules.”

I brush off the ‘ma’am’ this time. It’s not worth arguing since he’ll be gone momentarily.

“Sounds to me like perhaps your boss is a bit controlling. But whatever.”

He chuckles again, and I like the sound.

A lot. It makes me dislike him more because I don’t want to like anything about him.

I steer clear of men like him. Men with that slight edge.

They could go either way. Henry could end up being super-hot and an amazing guy, or he could turn into a controlling asshole that constantly criticizes you and makes you feel small.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. I haven’t gone on even a single date since leaving Joe.

After the fiasco with him, I’m not eager to dip my toe back in that pool.

“Yeah, something like that. Will you please show me the work area?”

I might as well get this over with, so I turn and make my way to the kitchen. When I’m halfway there, I glance back and notice he’s not moving.

“Well, are you gonna follow me or what?” I don’t know what it is about this guy. I’m usually easygoing and polite. But apparently not with him.

He mumbles something under his breath that I can’t quite catch, then follows me.

When we get to the kitchen, the entire area is gutted, except a few things that were must-leave-ins for me.

I’m definitely keeping the original cabinets and the wide plank wood floors I love.

The trim is also staying, though it has been removed for now and stacked off to the side.

My great- grandfather did all this work himself.

The trim work, though it’s not fancy, is original and precise.

The math nerd in me loves all the angles and how they fit perfectly together.

Henry considers the space, and he walks over to run his hand along the old farmhouse cabinets. There’s a slight smile on his handsome face. Next, he ambles to the window where the sink was and peers through it.

“The view from here is fabulous, with the rolling hills and woods. Probably made washing dishes here not too bad, huh?” He never takes his eyes off the window.

I don’t say anything to him. Instead, I get lost reminiscing about my summers as a child, when it was my turn to do dishes. I would stand here and stare outside, eager to get back out there again to play. It is a gorgeous view.

Once I get back out of my head, I find he’s kneeling on the floor, running his hand over the hickory plank in the corner, and then inspecting the trim work that’s lying off to the side.

“Did they not clean this up, or is what’s left the stuff you plan to keep?” He’s glancing down at the pile of trim pieces.

“I’m keeping them. Not only for the aesthetic, either. They mean something to me.”

He gives me a genuine smile. “Yeah? Family home?” Hmm. He can act civilized. Go figure.

He stands, and I can’t help but notice how nicely he fills out his jeans. He’s something to look at. I’m suddenly aware that I dressed like a scrub in my sweatpants and sweatshirt that’s well past its prime when I got home. But I don’t like him, so who cares, right?

“Yep. My great-grandparents built it. I love it here.” Emotions well up inside me, and I’m not letting him see that. It’s time for him to leave.

I walk him to the door and hold it open. He steps onto the porch and out of my house.

“Will the same men be coming back?”

“Absolutely not. I’m going to personally assign who comes out for the next few days and make sure you get a gorgeous kitchen.”

I stare at him for a few seconds. Promises, promises. I shrug. “I guess we’ll see.”

He chuckles, and it’s warm, amused. “I guess we will.” He doesn’t wait for a response and walks to his truck. I don’t give him time to get there before closing my door. It’s my version of getting the last word.