Chapter Text
It takes Carol a full ten minutes after she’s put the first load in the washing machine before she ventures out to see Daryl again. She debates changing her shirt - even digs one out from the bottom of the laundry basket - before throwing it back in and settling for smoothing down her hair, fishing a loose piece of gum from her purse, and putting on some lipgloss with cartoon characters on the label that she finds in Sophia’s jean jacket pocket.
She’s nervous and jittery, but that’s nothing compared to the decadent thought of having an afternoon alone with Daryl. The next few hours of the future are clear, even if the rest is a haze.
Thanks to the noise of a circular saw, Daryl doesn’t look up when she makes her way back to the front of the shop. He just carries on cutting lengths of plywood on a couple of sawhorses with a pencil between his teeth. Something about the sturdy thickness of his wrists and the way his forearms tense while he’s working makes it hard for her to speak when it quiets again.
“Need a hand?”
It’s clear as day that he’s got it all under control, so she’s delighted when he puts the saw down and nods, cut pieces of wood clattering to the floor.
“Gonna lay out the frame first,” he says, clearing a space on the floor and pulling a tape measure from his hip. He straightens up and hands her the end. “Hold this.”
She holds on while he walks backwards away from her, and for once she can literally measure the space between them. His hip grazes the side of a cart he’s commandeered to hold an electric drill and a large container of screws. The drill wobbles in place, but the screws topple off the cart in slow motion, then roll in every direction across the floor while Daryl curses and accidentally drops the tape measure. It retracts, and the butt of it bangs sharply into her thumb.
“Shit!” Daryl drops the three screws he managed to grab. Her thumb smarts, but she can almost ignore the throbbing when she sees the concerned and sheepish look on Daryl’s face. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
He exhales audibly and puts a hand to his forehead. It’s kind of adorable. She doesn’t want him feeling badly so she says the first thing that pops into her head.
“Didn’t know you wanted to screw around.”
Carol can’t believe she said it, but it’s worth it to watch Daryl’s entire face goes pink before he registers the pun. His only response is a mixture of sounds, like the beginning of retorts he just can’t express. “P-shh-t”
+++
By two o’clock the frame is screwed together, with Carol nervously giggling and throwing out enough other puns about screws, hammers, and nails that Daryl tells her to stop, even though he’s smirking. Carol’s never done anything like this before; certainly not with somebody who was willing to teach her how to do things herself. Ed once had her hold a flashlight over the motor of the jeep one night while he did… whatever it was that he felt needed doing and didn’t bother explaining to her - barking at her when her arm tired and the light slipped to the wrong spot.
Daryl shows her how to change out a drill bit, and nods approvingly when she successfully drills a straight line of screws through the drywall and into a stud (when she found out that was what it was called, the puns about screwing got even more out of hand). The truth is they make a good pair, passing tools between them without confusion (without anyone yelling), lifting opposite ends of the sheets of drywall in the back of his truck, wordlessly deciding to take a break on the curb so Daryl can have a cigarette and she can have some water.
“Eat your heart out, Bob Vila,” he says, blowing smoke into the air.
She laughs, confidence bubbling over.
By four o’clock the drywall is up, and Daryl shows her how to tape the seams and plaster. He moves his arms with the mud trowel so fluidly, and with such ease, she can’t help but stare. They clean up while the wall dries, and Carol is struck by the thought that their time together is almost over. Again.
She’s getting tired of waiting on him.
Before she knows it the shop is back to rights and Daryl’s out front packing up his truck to leave. He’ll come back in to say goodbye, she knows, but if he says goodbye then he really will leave. Carol doesn’t know what to do with the butterflies in her stomach or the way her body fidgets, so she goes to the back room to see to her laundry. He makes his way back to her, work boots shuffling in the hallway behind her, and her heart starts beating faster.
“Guess that’s it,” he says. When she turns to face him his arms are crossed over his chest and he’s chewing the inside of his lip.
“I guess so.”
He’s so close. The room is so small. It would be so easy just to reach out and -
“Thanks,” he says, jutting out his chin in the direction of the shop, “For uh, puttin’ in a good word - with Lori. Can always use the extra work.”
The confusion she feels must be registering on her face, because his face falls for a millisecond before he’s backing toward the door.
“Never mind.”
“I didn’t talk to Lori about you…” Not about your ability to drywall, “- but I would’ve,” she stumbles over her words, desperate for him to stay. “She didn’t - I didn’t know she-” He takes a step back into the room and she could cry with relief, but instead keeps talking. “I’m glad - I’m glad you were here today. With me, I mean.”
He straightens up.
“I like it. When you’re here,” she tells his boots, “I like you.” And then she holds her breath, because this is as far as she can go. This is as much as she can risk.
Daryl doesn’t say anything for a long time, but he doesn’t leave either. Then his boots edge closer to hers.
“Aw, hell,” he mutters under his breath, and suddenly his forehead is on her shoulder and his rough hands are grasping awkwardly at her wrists, and then her arms. His hair still smells like grapefruit. Just like in her dream.
Her hands settle on his chest, and his snake around her waist and up over her shoulders. Carol didn’t expect a hug, but now that it’s happening she can’t remember the last time a man hugged her when she wanted him to.
Slowly they get accustomed to the closeness, to the welcome proximity of a body in their personal space. Their touches are tentative, but surer. His hand moves to the nape of her neck, her arms to his back. The trembling in her fingers subsides. All she feels is warm and alive. He pulls far enough away to stare at her mouth.
“I wanna - can I…?”
“Yes,” she says.
He kisses her before the breathless word can leave her lips.
It can’t be real, the way it feels to be kissed by Daryl, the tenderness he imparts with the gentlest pressure of his mouth.
The first kiss leads to a second, and a third, and then Carol loses track entirely, blood singing in her veins. Vaguely she notes that her cardigan is somehow on the floor and the pencil has fallen from Daryl’s ear to join it.
Her mouth is on the pulse at his throat when she hears the bell over the front door and Lori’s voice call out.
“Hello?”
Daryl pulls away from her like he’s been doused with a hose and rubs a hand over his flushed face. His lips are swollen, and Carol touches her own, oddly giddy when she registers that hers look the same.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, first stepping away and then teetering back toward her. “Do you… like food?”
“What?” She half-laughs when she says it. He looks at her urgently, going even redder than she thought possible.
“Dinner,” he blurts out. “Tomorrow?”
Lori’s footsteps are coming closer. She can hear Rick’s voice too, and their muffled conversation about the new wall before Lori calls out again.
“There better be someone in here cause the front door is wide open!”
Frantically Carol tries to clear her head enough to respond, but the whole situation is too much and she can’t stop grinning.
“I can’t tomorrow. Sophia has dance. Tuesday?”
“Okay,” he says, and smiles so wide she can see his teeth, “Okay.”
Daryl darts forward to kiss her quickly on the cheek, his nose bumping hers, and then he’s gone, scrambling out the back door.
“What the hell?” she hears Rick say when the door swings shut heavily behind Daryl. He pops his head in the back room, puzzled. “You okay, Carol?”
And then her grin turns into a fit of giggles that she’s helpless to suppress. Lori joins him at the door, takes one look at Carol, and smiles too.
“Oh, I’d say she’s just fine.”
+++
Carol’s smile doesn’t fade on Monday when she plays it all back in her head over and over, so distracted that she doesn’t notice she’s humming until Jacqui points it out. She can’t set foot in the back room to fold towels without blushing.
She keeps smiling when Daryl calls the shop from a payphone that same day asking for her. Amy passes her the phone with her head tilted and her mouth half open.
“It’s Daryl. He wants to talk to you.”
“Hey. Forgot to get your number,” he mumbles when she picks up. She can practically hear him wincing.
“Yeah, you did.”
Carol smiles her way through the slightly burnt pizza they eat on their first date. She tastes it on him when they eagerly kiss goodnight in the cab of his truck.
She smiles when he takes her bowling with Sophia and gives her a look of feigned disgust (given away by the twitch at the corner of his mouth) when she writes his name as “Pookie” on the score sheet. Sophia is cautious of him at first - it’s hard for her to trust men - but soon she’s telling him all about her teacher and the “stupid” book report she has to write on Bridge to Terabithia. Daryl nods along, jiggling his leg where he sits, clearly in unfamiliar territory.
She smiles (and cries) months later when, over a bowl of Cheerios one morning, Sophia declares, “I like him, mom. He’s really nice to me.”
Soon enough, Carol finds herself smiling every day.
+++
It’s fifteen minutes to closing when the bell over the door to Super Cuts jingles, and Carol looks up from the chunks of hair on the floor she’s sweeping around her chair at the back. It’s Daryl. His hair has grown out some since she stopped cutting it. Lori greets him warmly at the front desk, reaching over to press a hand to his arm.
“Carol, I’m locking up. Cash out is done. See you tomorrow!”
She grabs her purse from the desk drawer and waves once she gets outside. Daryl waves back and locks locks the door behind her.
When he turns to face Carol, the look in his eyes makes her stomach flip. His stride toward her is purposeful.
“You’re early,” she chides.
“So what if I am?” he asks, gaze steady.
A minute later the broom is on the floor and they’re in the back room, making out like a couple of teenagers, laughing and kissing.
They haven’t slept together yet.
She’s not ready, and the way he sighs into her mouth before he pulls away, tremulous and shaking, tells her he isn’t ready either. And it’s okay. That will come.
There is nothing ahead of them but time to savour the sparks.