The Co-op

Chapter Forty-Two

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

L A RYNN

Everything feels like fall. The weather turns cool early in September. Morning walks require one of Deacon’s hoodies or flannels—largely because the way he looks at me in them warms me up enough to stave off the cold.

The beach isn’t exactly known for its fall foliage or anything, but it feels like the colors are changing, turning over and brightening.

If summer had been a song on our soundtrack, it was something with a chaotic rhythm—some galloping chorus, full of longing . “A Little Less Conversation” and a lot of “Suspicious Minds.” But autumn… autumn starts to feel like whatever Etta meant by “A Sunday Kind of Love.” An “Unchained Melody” full of fucking and fun, with as many languishing rests as we can fit in between short bursts of productivity.

Elyse and I agree for me to go down to two shifts a week for the time being, and Macy and Deacon agree to call a local handyman for anything that comes up over at the campground. Which should substantially free us up to finish things at the house.

It still takes us about two weeks to settle into a system that actually works, though.

I am promptly kicked off the floor installation crew, but he and Jensen end up knocking it out together in under a week.

I stick to painting during that period, which isn’t so bad. I must’ve successfully intimidated Howie from the paint store enough because he ends up giving me a nicely discounted rate on all ten gallons of Seashell.

And we do really well, most of the time. The first night Jensen was there helping us we were a bit intense. But he also took a little while to get the hint—was trying to hang out and chat while we shifted restlessly on our feet, our palms clenching at our sides, until Deacon eventually lost patience and blurted out, “Jay, I’m sorry man, but I’m gonna need you to leave now. I’m trying to get inside my wife’s overalls, if you catch my drift.”

“Deacon, there was no drift in that. That was fairly unsubtle!” I shouted, but Jensen laughed and immediately left, backing out of the doorway with his hands in the air. “I’m sorry!” I called out behind him before Deacon lunged for me in two great strides. I flung the paintbrush and splattered him by accident, then screamed in delight when he chased me down and proceeded to smear me back, before he stripped me bare and fucked me into the wall, handprints painted under my thighs.

That was also the same night Deacon and I received a group text from Sally that stated:

I love you both dearly, and I’m happy to hear that things are going well. But I’d like to HEAR slightly less. Please put a new door higher up on your priority list.

Thereafter, we start to set small daily goals before we indulge ourselves in rewards.

He frames in the new doorway at the top of the landing and installs the door, so we treat ourselves to pizza before I ride him into oblivion on top of the chaise.

We finish installing cabinets, so he makes good on his promise and makes me come on his lap with all of my clothes still on. I follow him into the shower after and take him in my mouth, until he’s messy and raw and fucking untethered, guiding me roughly by my wet hair, his thighs quaking under my hands. When he comes apart in my mouth some feral part of me tips back, jaw open wide so he can see everything he gave me, before I swallow him down. His eyes go black and he makes a sound that I’ll never forget and am determined to steal from him again.

The bathrooms are a bit like musical chairs. We need at least one functional shower (for more than recreational activities), so we have to time our hot-mopping and tiling perfectly so there’s not a huge overlap in days. When we succeed, we wash each other’s hair before he takes me against the tile, our skin slick and soapy.

We finish the install on the kitchen backsplash before we spend that afternoon making deliciously slow, lazy love in bed. Tucked together on our sides like spoons, legs and arms tangled in four-way braids. We fall asleep in the same position immediately after, and don’t wake up until the following morning.

Most days we’re sore and exhausted down to our bones, but we find ways to lean on one another and keep going.

Sometimes he stops by the shop while I’m working just to quickly tug me into a kiss before he returns to his own tasks. He’ll sit at the breakfast bar for a bit, grinning at everything I do like it’s something wildly cooler than it is. He acts like my latte art belongs in a museum. Other times I massage his palms until he falls asleep.

The only problem with all this happiness is the worry that lurks in the background over losing it. Like how fall feels bright and colorful, but you know that winter is going to eventually show up.

As such, my anxiety builds the closer we get to my mother coming into town.

The night before I’m scheduled to meet her for lunch, Sally invites us over for dinner and cards, and I’m grateful for the distraction.

We eat outside until the cold seeps in, but Sally and I lose Deacon to her patio in the transition. The door is mildly squeaky, and the drip system on her plants isn’t working, so of course he’s incapable of leaving it alone. Inevitably it’ll lead to him fixing three more problems that no one else realizes even exist. We watch him through the glass as he starts wiggling a fence board.

Sally laughs through a sigh. “Should we remind him that this will all be someone else’s issue soon?”

The words zap through my chest, and I feel my expression fall. “No,” I say hoarsely. “No, I don’t think we should remind him.”

I feel her turn to me before I look back at her. “Did I say something, sweetheart?” she asks.

“No, no. Nothing that isn’t true,” I mutter, patting her arm. “It’s just a house. It’s just a— thing. A possession. I just… I’ve had to let go of things before, and in those other cases I didn’t get to take something with me, like I’m getting to with him. With the café.” I smile when I see him pop back through her gate with his tools and a new light bulb. “But this one feels a bit like letting go of a whole little world, I guess. Does that make sense?”

Her wrinkled brows gather tighter. “I would’ve thought you’d be thrilled to be rid of it after all this. You’ll have all that money to start something, add to the shop with Elyse. Build or buy something new? No one wants to live in the tourist trap part of town forever.”

“I am. Really, I am, Sal. I promise. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or dramatic,” I assure her. “It’ll be nice to be somewhere quieter for a while, too.” I shrug. We’ve agreed to live in the campground at Deacon’s for the time being. “For us, and especially for you. You won’t have to listen to us stomping around or the constant shot of the nail gun going off above your head. The never-ending sound of that damned table saw.” I laugh.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums in agreement, just as Deacon peeks back in from the patio.

“I’ll be right back. I have to hit the hardware store for some new tubing for this,” he tells us.

“Deacon, it really doesn’t need to get done tonight,” Sally urges.

“I’ve got the time. I’ll be right back.” He shuts the door and disappears, Sal and I shaking our heads good-humoredly.

And then her front door flings open behind us and we jump in our seats as Deacon crosses the room, tips me back in my chair, and plants a chaste kiss on my lips.

“Sorry, almost forgot that,” he says with a grin. Before he disappears once more, leaving Sally and me laughing in his wake.