Blue-Collar Boys - Repairs & Maintenance (Book 2: Steamy Erotic Romance Stories) (2 page)

By the third week, they had adopted a tentative routine of communication.  Audrey would wait on her front stoop for Camper to arrive—eight o’clock sharp.  Audrey could have easily left the door unlocked, but it seemed more polite to personally greet him.  Besides, she liked watching his maroon pickup truck roll up her long, pebble driveway and park behind her silver city sedan, as if he belonged there.  He would slip out of the truck, construction boots first, then twist his slender frame out from behind the driver’s side door and strap on his utility belt over his denim overalls.  He would never acknowledge her first.  Instead, it was Audrey who would rise from the porch steps, and wave “hello.”  After the first few mornings of personally greeting him, she learned that she would have to wait a minute or two before Camper could find the courage to look up at her with a humble nod, as if he was terrified that she might try to start a conversation and force him to betray the fact that he couldn’t speak or read lips. 

But Audrey never tried to make conversation.  She liked not having to make small-town small-talk with Camper, but rather, she enjoyed the simplicity of their interactions.  She would simply point to the basket, overflowing with more green apples from her orchard than she knew what to do with, and hand over a glass of homemade apple cider that she had brewed the night before.  Audrey had no idea if Camper liked apple cider, but he always accepted the glass with a timid smile and a boyish curiosity that spoke to her through his silence; it asked her why she lived alone and why no one else was around to take care of her.  Audrey never had an answer.  Instead, she would drop her eyes when she felt her cheeks flush pink, and accept Camper’s emptied glass back into her trembling hands.  And although it was always Audrey initiating these moments of contact, it was never Camper who looked away first.

After a steady month of Camper’s visits, Audrey began to see the progress.  And by the time autumn rolled around, he had almost completely finished rewiring the entire interior of Audrey’s farmhouse while everything else remained unfinished.  There were still no painted walls.  No plumbing.  And no heat.  The HVAC guys still hadn’t finished the duct work because they couldn’t be in the same space at the same time as the plumber who had a bad habit of rescheduling.  Winter was coming and the majority of Audrey’s house was still a barren cave.  But at least, she had Camper, who seemed determined to make sure Audrey’s house had electricity before the end of autumn.  And although Camper’s electrical switches still dangled from the exposed wooden frames in each bedroom, Audrey felt hopeful that everything would turn out okay, as if the young handsome electrician was bringing her future slowly out of the darkness and into the light. 

When the weather cooled and the leaves began to change, Camper moved outside to install the exterior gang boxes and outdoor outlets before the ground hardened with the first frost.  Audrey liked watching Camper work from her bedroom window, his strong denim body moving between the bursts of orange and red leaves of her sugar maple tree, just outside her window sill.  During the day, she would leave for a few hours and shop at the flea market for interior decorations—landscape paintings by local artists, wall mirrors with decorative cast iron frames, polished nickel curtain rods with crystal finials.  Audrey was waiting for the drywall guys to finish out each room and for the painters to prime the ceilings so that Camper could install the brass antique candelabras that she had just bought from an estate sale.  But that afternoon, she had found a coil of used Christmas lights, fifty feet or more of clear bulbs shaped like crystal rain drops.  Audrey quickly snatched up the coil, paid the three dollars, and returned to the farmhouse with a sense of joy in her heart.  She may not have walls to paint or floors to carpet, but with Camper diligently running electricity to the outside of her house, she suddenly felt determined to help bring a sparkle to the dreary prospect of each night.

Unfortunately, for Audrey, after five years of living in a city apartment without the proper room for a Christmas tree, she had forgotten what a bitch Christmas lights could be— much less an uncoiled, fifty foot strand.  Perched high on a ladder, tangled up in loops of the evergreen cord and glass bulbs, Audrey struggled for three hours to string lights over the sugar maple tree’s long branches, fighting kinks in every foot of cable along the way.  And what was worse—she knew Camper was watching her.  Ever since she exited the house, threw open the barn door, and proceeded to drag out the fifteen-foot ladder—by herself—Camper had been watching.  While rewiring the porch lights, he began to track her movements with his silent gaze.  And it was his pensive, inquisitive glance that made Audrey’s heart beat faster and made her more determined to prove that she wasn’t just some dull, middle-aged city woman who couldn’t do anything except make sour apple cider.

But three hours later, with her neck and shoulders aching, and less than a third of the Christmas lights roped around the tree in uneven, incongruous spindles, Audrey was starting to hate the fact that she really
was
just a dull, middle-aged city woman who knew absolutely nothing about stringing up Christmas lights.  She cursed aloud on her ladder, her eyes shifting across the front yard, where she caught Camper’s gaze, staring back at her.  He was packing up his truck, preparing to leave for the day.  The sun was setting, threatening to leave Audrey in the dark—in the same place she had been struggling all day with
these damn Christmas lights
.  Audrey and Camper made eye contact.  The first eye contact all day.

Audrey waved her hand and forced an embarrassed smile.  Camper stopped and stood outside his driver’s side door.  He smiled and motioned to Audrey. 

Would she like some help there
?  He gestured and moved forward from his truck towards the house.

Oh, no
.  Audrey waved him away. 
He had better things to do with his time
, but Audrey feared it came out more like an unappreciative dismissal.  Camper shrugged, but he didn’t back away.  His eyes took in the twisted bundle of Christmas lights and the heavy coils of orange extension cord, running in every direction.  Meanwhile, Audrey stood on the ladder, helplessly tangled up in the middle of the mess, like a scarecrow unable to move her arms or legs.  At first, Camper seemed to be taking in the scene and processing its solution.  Then, his eyes focused on Audrey—her ponytail was sagging, frays of wild hair were falling into her face, and leaves from the gutter were stuck to her bulky sweater.  She had been working for three, maybe four hours, without anything to show for it.  And now, as Audrey felt his eyes on her, she feared looking foolish, so she turned back to the tree, more determined than ever to prove that she could do it—by herself.

After a moment of watching her, Camper simply shrugged and returned to his truck.  When Audrey heard the engine start of his pickup truck and the crackling of her driveway gravel as he rolled away, she felt her shoulders drop with disappointment. 

Yes, she had acted like she didn’t want his help, but deep down, she half-
expected
him to come closer and offer again.  Audrey looked out past the edge of her property line and followed his maroon truck down the desolate country road until it faded into nothing.  Audrey swallowed hard, feeling the bitter lump in her throat.  Maybe Audrey was wrong.  Maybe Camper was less perceptive than she had thought.  Perhaps she had assigned more meaning to his deaf detachment than she should have.  It wouldn’t be the first time that Audrey had projected her own feelings onto other people—especially men—only to find out later that those men never had any of those feelings for her in return. 

Audrey climbed down the ladder, fighting a sudden wave of nausea and vertigo.  Camper had left her alone, despite the fact that he had known that she was alone in that farmhouse—every day and every night.  The Christmas lights suddenly fell into the grass with resignation. Audrey turned and looked up at the barren maple tree.  It wasn’t the first time that she had tried to accomplish something that she had wanted so badly, and still failed.  Audrey stood outside her porch, looking up at her gutted farmhouse, and suddenly realized that she would have to face every challenge in her life—just as she had always done in the past—completely alone.  It was a familiar, empty realization, and one that made her want to skip dinner, crawl into bed early, and watch a sad movie on TV until she cried herself to sleep.

* * * *

There was a full moon that night.  The stark light cut through the lace curtains.  Audrey awoke to the sound of a soft knock against the pane, as if a sparrow had flown into the seamless void of black glass.  Audrey forced herself to roll over towards the window, knowing there was little chance that the bird hadn’t broken its neck.  It was a depressing thought, and it kept her buried under her blankets as she contemplated the moonless night and the unexpected, eerie illumination, just beyond her sheer lace curtains.  She slowly slipped out of bed and approached the window.  She heard the wind whistle through the gutters and saw the mysterious lights twinkle like fireflies. She slid open her window and shivered with the harvest breeze.  They were not fireflies, Audrey realized.  They were Christmas tree lights, decorating her sugar maple tree—the same Christmas lights that she had tried to string up earlier in the afternoon.  Strings of crystal bulbs entwined its black branches like diamonds.  It was exactly as she hoped it would be when she first set out that morning to accomplish the task herself. 

She waited and watched the shadows.  The breeze swept across the field.  It murmured like a rural ocean.  Then, she looked down at the familiar maroon pickup truck in her driveway, and she realized the noise against her windowpane wasn’t a sparrow.

“Camper?” she barely whispered, her voice quivering in the silence.  It was a plea of hope that he might actually be there, watching her.

Audrey closed her eyes and listened for his footsteps on the gravel.  But she only heard the breeze.  She shivered again, clasping the neckline of her sheer nightgown.  The Christmas lights—her own private constellation of stars—blinked against a canvas of black velvet.  She didn’t expect a response; she knew Camper couldn’t hear her reaching out to him, and she wondered if he would simply disappear into the darkness, or if he would find his own way to reach out to her, and show her why he had come back.

Audrey opened her mouth to call out his name again, but stopped when another draft shuttered her body.  She suddenly felt foolish and desperate.  She shut the window and returned to her bed, but the blurry glow of the lights persisted through her curtains.  And it was those lights that drew her out of bed again when she heard the second tap against the pane.

She recognized his shadow and paused a moment before peeling back the curtain.  Camper was there now, perched on her roof, protected from the cold midnight chill by his winter coat, gloves, overalls, and workman boots.  Camper’s silent sensitive eyes stared at her.  His jaw bone flinched with restraint.  Camper stared at Audrey, admiring how the twinkling Christmas lights formed a scintillating pattern across her face.  Audrey suddenly felt self-conscious and moved her hand to cover her neckline.  Camper noticed her insecurities and signaled for her to be calm. 

He wanted to come in.  Without words or sounds, he was asking her if he could come inside.  To Audrey, it felt like a dream, a young man of twenty, kneeling outside her bedroom window, yearning for her to grant him permission to come inside.  But it wasn’t a dream.  Their eyes were locked and Audrey controlled herself, her hands braced against the window’s wooded trim.  She was staring at his young face and soulful eyes, her mind churning through the implications of the invitation.  He had come back to tell her that he had been isolated and hurting in his world of silence for so long, just like Audrey had been isolated and hurting in her own world of silent pain.  And they both recognized it in the other.  Camper was responsible for helping Audrey complete her desire.  Now, he had come back to complete his own. 

Yes
, she felt herself nod...

It was enough.  Camper lifted up the pane and pushed himself through the window.  He paused when he saw Audrey involuntarily back away.  Audrey realized that she was only in her transparent nightgown while Camper’s winter coat and boots made him seem overpowering, even threatening.  But his boyish bangs fell over his soft eyes, and they quickly told her that he was there—only if she would have him.

Audrey stared at him staring at her.  The darkness within her bedroom kept them apart until Audrey found the confidence to move towards him through the shadows.  She lifted up his hands and removed his gloves.  He complied, offering no resistance or challenge.  She motioned for his jacket, which she helped slip off his broad back and shoulders before lying it across her rocking chair.  She reached for his tool belt, the same tool belt she had watched Camper strap over his denim overalls, from left to right—the same way, every time.  He was wearing it now, as if it was an inseparable part of his being, and Audrey wanted to free him from it.  Her fingers fumbled in the dark until she heard a clunk—the leather utility belt thumping against the wooden slats of her bedroom floor.  Camper didn’t hear the sound, but he felt the weight drop from his waist.  Audrey surveyed him, wondering what was next… But it was Camper who told her.  He drew her slowly, gently towards his body, and brushed back her hair from her shoulders, admiring her beauty.  Then, he pressed her chin between his fingers and smothered her lips with his own. Audrey closed her eyes, feeling his tongue slip deep inside her mouth.  He was only a man of twenty, but it was she who gave into him. 

Camper’s knuckles gripped the nylon edge of her nightgown, stretching it tight around the back of her thighs.  He couldn’t hear her tiny exhale, but he felt her tailbone shift forward—the signal granting him permission for more. Camper towed her onto the bed.  With passion and determination, he buried his mouth down her neckline and across her collarbone. Audrey tracked their merging shadows on the ceiling.  His kisses were so young, so fresh—as if he was discovering her for the first time—and yet, he felt familiar and intimate, a trusted lover who hadn’t abandoned her after all.