The Construction Worker

Her townhome was finally built.

Covid and its impact on the housing market delayed her closing for months. The anticipation was mounting as she walked up to the home for her final walk through. She hardly remembered the colors and design of the home. She enjoyed designing the home several months back to fit within her modernist ideals, i.e., lots of whites and greys. She was the average millennial in that way. But it was her first home, so she wanted it to be perfect.

Her excitement quickly shifted to another feeling altogether. The most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on was standing next to the front door. He was in construction clothes, so he was not out of place, but his face was too beautiful for the surroundings. He made an obvious gesture of interest the minute he saw her. It was a subtle gesture, so fluid, yet so obvious, that one word cannot capture its nature.

She may have displayed the same gesture back or one of similar nature. Because she too was interested. What she did know was that she felt her soul leave her body. She only knew afterwards that she experienced an out of body experience. He was everything. It was like her version of the “perfect looking man” was constructed, but only God would know exactly what she wanted. It is hard for humans to articulate what a perfect human looks like to them.

They both smiled at each other and shook hands. The touch was electric. He kindly introduced himself.

“My name is Ben.”

She did the same but retracted her smile and hopefully not so obvious interest. She remembered this meeting was professional and that she was supposed to eye the home with a fine-tooth comb.

She entered her new home and her original excitement jitters returned. The home was beautiful. It was a white and grey wonderland that was ready to be filled with finely placed furniture and décor. She smiled and let out of a sigh of relief. It was designed beautifully.

Her emotions competed with her throughout that walk through. One minute, she was loving her home but also making sure it was constructed properly with no obvious issues. Those emotions would constantly lose out to the intense desires that enveloped her whenever she saw Ben. He was there the entire time, because he helped construct the home, and she felt his presence. Was that normal? She couldn’t remember necessarily sensing someone else’s presence. No less someone she had just met. She could sense him staring at her. It made her smile internally.

She realized that the size of her kitchen demanded an island. Cooking and baking would be too constricted without it. Who knew that the mention of an island would change her life forever.

“I plan on getting an island built in my kitchen,” she spoke out loud.

He perked up.

“I build islands on the side!”

“What is your number so that we can discuss logistics?”

Perfect. This day was perfect. She handed him her phone and he eagerly punched his number in.

She ended the walk through in glee. The house was finely constructed; probably because a perfect human being had helped build it.

She had crushes in the past, of course, but this felt different. It was an intoxicating, almost debilitating feeling.

From then on, she called him "island boy" to her friends and family, until he became a permanent fixture in her life, at which point, he warranted more than "island boy.'

They spent their first date contructing the island and painting it together. It matched her kitchen beautifully. It was a simple date, one she hadn't experienced before.

Long story short, the island turned into a romance.