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If Seven wanted to settle down, he has plenty of available women at his disposal willing to be Mrs. Wrenley.
“I know. I miss you.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he says quickly and then hands up.
I try not to read too much into it.
He's obviously on a time crunch and has people knocking on his door.
I stand up, needing a second to decompress from that conversation and to get my mind back into writing.
I head into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea when I hear the sound of a drill coming from the living room.
All of a sudden, the room gets a lot brighter.
I see Seven on a ladder, pulling down a large piece of plywood from the window it was covering up.
I can now see the palm trees still whipping in the wind, but nothing like the night I arrived. Seven's eyes make contact with mine, and water is dripping off the bill of his hat.
It's still raining pretty steadily, but Seven doesn’t look the least bit concerned. He’s just out doing what needs to be done.
There’s something attractive about a man who seems capable of taking care of a lot of different things. Not that Daniel is any less of a man just because he's never owned a pair of work pants and has to call the superintendent of our building for a clogged toilet.
Daniel works long hours, so why not call? That's what they're there for.
I bet Seven wouldn't call for anything. He'd just fix it himself.
They're the polar opposite, that's all.
He looks away as he climbs down the ladder with the first sheet of wood, and then he moves his ladder down to the next window.
I wait in the kitchen for him, thinking that he’ll come in for lunch at any moment, but once he takes down all of the living room and kitchen plywood, he vanishes again.
After waiting an hour, I head back to my room to write.
I can’t stall forever.
I need to work…. That’s the whole reason I came.
And to screw a stranger, if you ask Sheridan.
I shoot off a text to Sheridan as I walk down the hall with my cup of hot tea.
Brynn: I started writing. It’s coming together.
Sheridan: I have a really good feeling about this. Let's shoot for you to send me your word count at the end of the day so that we can celebrate together.
It’s late by the time I hear the front door open.
I sent Sheridan my word count for the day and then made dinner, but when Seven never showed up, I left a plate in the fridge for him and a note in the infamous notebook, and I got ready for bed.
Looking over at my phone, I see that I’ve been asleep for over an hour before Seven finally comes in.
This feels like a confirmation that he tried to avoid me all day because the man ate like a sumo wrestler and didn’t stop for lunch or even a snack.
I lay awake listening to him struggle to take off his boots in the front entry, which are probably water-logged from all the rain today, and then I hear him enter the kitchen.
He stalls for a moment, and I wonder if he's reading my note. Then I hear his footsteps and the sound of him opening the fridge door and taking out his plate.
