Free Husband Under Construction by Karen Templeton Page B

when she turned back around. Covered in dusty denim, but whatever. Replacing the mask, she said, “I’ve never been your average anything.”
    Yeah, he was beginning to see that. And it wasn’t making this attraction thing any easier.
    â€œSo where’s Charley?”
    At that, she grunted. “With his new lady love, I presume.”
    â€œThat gal we met the other day?”
    â€œThe very one.”
    â€œI take it you’re not exactly cool with this development?”
    Her gaze flicked to his before—the sledgehammer propped against the broom closet—she navigated the loose tile floes to get to the coffeemaker and refill a mug the size of the Indian Ocean. In went an untold number of fake sugar packets and a healthy dose of half-and-half; then, stirring, she turned to lean against the counter.
    â€œThey’ve seen each other every day this week. And I know I should be happy for him, that he’s found someone to take his mind off Mae, but…” She took a sip of coffee, then shook her head. “I can’t help feeling it’s too much, too fast.”
    Noah decided to refill his own Thermos bottle, thinking that he’d seen Charley and Roxie together enough to surmise theirs wasn’t the easiest relationship, probably because they were both stubborn as mules. But if her wretched expression was any indication, she was genuinely concerned for the guy. And it got to him in ways he couldn’t even define, that she cared that much. Even so…
    â€œHe is an adult, Rox,” he said, his back to her as he poured.
    â€œAn adult who still hears his dead wife talk to him.”
    Noah turned. “So maybe Mae told him this was okay.”
    A frown preceded, “That doesn’t bother you? That he hears dead people?”
    He chose his words carefully. “Not for me to say. Longas she’s not telling him to break the law, can’t see the harm in it.”
    A brief smile touched Roxie’s mouth before she sighed again. “In any case, Mae’s not here. I am. And something…just doesn’t feel right. I mean, not once has Charley brought Eden here. Or suggested we all have lunch or dinner together or something—” She shook her head, one hand lifting. “Sorry, didn’t mean to drag you into family business. And I’ve only got an hour before I have to go to the clinic, so we better get back to work, right?”
    She may as well have slapped him. Noah stood there like a grade-A idiot, wanting to say…something. Anything. To plead his case…for what? The words jammed at the back of his throat, a jumbled mess he couldn’t sort out to save his life.
    â€œYeah, whatever you say,” he mumbled, thunking his mug onto the counter and grabbing a shovel.
    A few minutes later, he carted the first load of tile out to the Dumpster at the bottom of the steep driveway, taking more pleasure than usual in the deafening crash when he hurled them inside. Wasn’t as if he actually enjoyed listening to women bitch and moan, although he’d gotten better about faking it over the years, figuring it just came with the territory. So why was her dismissal ticking him off so much now?
    When he returned, she was staring at her phone, her expression exactly like it’d been that Saturday outside Lowe’s. Spotting Noah, she shoved it back in her pocket, clearly distressed. Clearly not sharing.
    Flat-out annoyed at this point—whether that made sense or not—Noah jerked the wheelbarrow into place and began to noisily shovel in more broken tiles, even as he said, “Everything okay?”
    Using a dustpan to help, Roxie added to the pile in thewheelbarrow. “Nothing I can’t handle,” she said, not looking at him, and Noah felt as if his gut had caught fire.
    Wasn’t until the third trip down the driveway that it finally hit him that he felt exactly like he had when his father wrote him