The Happy List (Better With You #1) - Briar Prescott Page 0,19
car on the street and make my way to the workshop. The front room looks just the same as it did last night, but the loud noise from the back makes it clear where the owner resides.
Kai doesn’t notice me at first. Somehow, in the sixty minutes he’s been here alone, he’s managed to acquire a bunch of wooden dining chairs, all of them looking like their best days passed at least three decades ago, and he’s already taken one apart.
I clear my throat and quirk my brow as he whirls toward me.
“Slacker,” I say.
He scratches the back of his head and shrugs one shoulder with a self-deprecating smile on his lips.
“I did start cleaning,” he says. “I took a couple of bags of trash to the back, and then I saw these. Some sucker figured they’d use the free trash container.” He’s practically vibrating with glee. “Joke’s on them. Can you believe somebody wanted to throw these away? I know they look shabby right now, but once I get the paint off and replace a few of those spindles here, those will look awesome. Look at those lancet arches and quatrefoils. It’s exquisite craftsmanship. And somebody just threw them in the trash. It’s fucking madness!”
His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are sparkling with excitement as he points out the elements.
“Sure,” I say. “I know the meaning of the words you just said. Amazing flufferguts, indeed. Top-notch work.”
He laughs as he points to the upper part of the backrest. “See those circles here? That’s quatrefoil. Four overlapping circles. Four leaves. It was all the rage in Gothic architecture, and it’s done really beautifully here. Delicate but sturdy.”
I’m far from artistic, but as usual, when Kai points those things out to me, I see what he means. These chairs represent exactly the thing that Kai appreciates about his job. The chair will be beautiful to look at, and at the same time it’s a functional item that will have a purpose. I’m bound to think that the fact Kai found those chairs and that they will be the first items he’ll work on in his new workshop means good luck.
I tell as much to Kai, and he laughs. “I thought the exact same thing earlier. You don’t believe in that stuff, though, so what gives? Alien abduction? Body swapping? Concussion on the way over?”
“It’s just your general bad influence on me, I think. I pretended I was coming down with something so I could come and help you.”
Kai puts the chair leg he’s been holding down. “Really? I approve. I mean, you didn’t have to, but I approve.”
“I thought you would,” I say with a laugh as I turn around. “Now come on. I’m all yours. Put me to work. I’m ready to do anything you want.”
A sudden clatter from behind me makes me turn back toward Kai. I raise my brows at the sight of Kai on the floor on his hands and knees.
“Stumbled,” he mutters as an explanation before he gets up.
I frown and take a step closer. He avoids my gaze as he wipes the dust off his hands.
“You all right?”
“Fine.” He swallows hard as his gaze flicks toward me, but he looks away just as quickly. “Clumsy is all. Come on. We should get to work. They’ll pick up the dumpster later this evening, so we need to get this place cleaned up or I’ll have to pay for another week.”
He’s acting very strangely, but before I can ask about it, he’s out the door. Kai slowly relaxes back into his usual self as we make numerous trips to the dumpster out back.
Kai is all about reusing and repurposing, but even he can’t make anything from all the crap lying around here. That doesn’t stop him from grumbling the whole time about waste while wondering out loud if he maybe could do something with whatever we’re throwing away at that moment and hasn’t just come up with the perfect idea yet.
The less stuff remains, the more anxious he gets to save at least something. On the next trip inside, he looks longingly at the remaining paint cans.
“I could maybe try and—”
“That paint has practically turned to stone by this point,” I say.
“The ducts would make a goo—”
“Whatever you saw on Pinterest, I can guarantee you, those ducts will not cut it.”
“What about—”
“You hate plasterboard.”
He glares at me. “You just have an answer for everything, don’t you?”