This weekend, I got myself set up with a little garden in the courtyard-style patio of my new apartment. And while I was getting everything repotted and boxed and hung, I learned to my chagrin that it’s quite possible to work up a sweat even in a 4 x 4 space.
So by the time I was even halfway done I was covered with dirt and sweat, I was ready for a shower. Of course, Val picked that exact moment to ring the doorbell.
I met Val through a friend – he’s outwardly one of the most conservative guys I’ve ever met, looks like a banker or something, but after meeting him at a couple of gatherings, I decided he had something special about him. I just wasn’t sure what it was. Still something about him tugged at me.
I kept thinking about him. We went on a couple of dates last month, and talked a lot, and in general, we really got along. This was why I’d invited him over for dinner. And of course, being me, promptly lost track of time.
Well, he came in, and I was a total mess, and damn if he didn’t think it was the greatest thing ever. He was so enthusiastic; in fact, he rolled his shirtsleeves up and offered to lend a hand. To my surprise, he was quite an amateur gardener. Apparently his mom ran a nursery for years. Who knew? So he gave me all kinds of advice, and helped me split up a flat of flowers into a bunch of hanging baskets. We wound up messy, of course.
I rinsed my hands off at the outside tap around the side of the building before going back in, because I didn’t want dirt on the new carpet, and Val followed suit. When I wasn’t looking, he screwed the grounds keeping hose in and doused me with a squirt of cold water!
I was wet, my tee shirt sticking to my stiff nipples, simultaneously more ticked off and amused than I’ve been in weeks. I wrestled the hose from him and sprayed down his expensive shirt. We chased each other back to the patio and I made him take his shirt off before he came in.