The Understory by Elizabeth Leiknes Read Free Book Online Page B

make it as a real writer!
    But then she noticed something interesting and less clichéd. As he adjusted his tool belt, Story noticed what set this man apart—his hands. They were beat up, scraped, and chafed from his labors, but it was more than that—they seemed broken, like flawed companions for his eyes, which were bright but, now that she thought about it, vaguely wounded.
    “Didn’t mean to freak you out,” he said. “I’m fixing a door downstairs . . . I heard something up here.” He took a closer look at her as he rubbed one of his hands. “The homeowner said nobody would be home—”
    “Right.” Story let out a nervous chuckle. “Right! I forgot to tell her I was coming.”
    “Claire?”
    “Yeah,” Story said, swallowing. “She’s my sister.” Violating her personal rule of never reciting the oft-quoted Salinger because it was cliché, she thought, until the man spoke again, If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap—
    “Always travel in your pajamas?” He smiled again, but this time the smirk ended on a skeptical note.
    She raised her eyebrows and took a step toward him. “Always entrap people with your big hammer?” she said, looking into his eyes. When he didn’t laugh, she took a small step back. “Came late last night. Let myself in.”
    “People really should lock their doors,” he said, nodding. “You could be a serial killer.”
    “I know! I totally could be!” Story said.
    “If you’re not a serial killer, what are you, then?” he asked, securing his hammers.
    Story had already lied, so she continued her prevarication by pretending to be someone her mother would be proud of. “I’m a doctor,” she said.
    Impressed, he said, “Really? I’ve got this pain in my . . .”
    “I’m a proctologist,” she blurted.
    “. . . neck.”
    Story mumbled while the man, in a calm and thorough manner, described the aches and pains aggravated by his line of work. And then he glanced in Cooper’s bedroom.
    “That’s my nephew’s room—Cooper,” Story said, lost in a dreamy stare, and when she said his name out loud, she felt more confident than ever about her decision. “He’s turning nine on Friday. I’m here to give him a big surprise.”
    “If it’s a free prostate exam, I’ll be forced to call social services.”
    Story let out an awkward laugh, then said, “Nope, something else.” She winked, shrouding herself in her noble endeavor, and whispered the words she wanted to believe, but didn’t. “It’s magic.”
    He perked up when he heard magic . “Good luck with that,” he said, his smile returning. His eyes darted around a bit, looking first at her emerald eyes and her long, wavy auburn hair, and then his gaze fixed on her cupid’s bow lips. “I’m Hans.”
    “Story,” she said.
    “Too bad,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Not a big fan of stories.”
    Oh, my God, I’m such an idiot. I can’t believe I used my real name. Trying to look calm, she said, “Let me guess, you’re a realist,” followed by a pause. “Do you buy greeting cards, by chance?” she asked, but when he gave her a puzzled look, she said, “Never mind. Look, I gotta go. Don’t mention my being here to my sister, okay? I’m coming back at dinner to give him the—”
    “Surprise, right.” Hans covered his eyes. “Never saw you.” But when he unveiled his eyes, Story saw a slight sparkle, a shimmering hint of almost-enthusiasm—which, like his voice, was just on the verge of giving a shit. “May you live happily ever after, Story.”
    And when the words came out, Hans looked a little shocked, as if he’d surprised even himself. Story wondered if he was teasing her, maybe to get her to flirt some more, but right when her mind wandered away from the dreamy man in front of