by Fields, MJ
She hits me on the arm. “You’re so fresh.” Turning to Adam, she uses her arm to motion him inside. “Come in. Bob made cinnamon rolls.”
I try to intervene. “No, Adam has to—”
“I’d love some,” he says, entering our house and walking straight past me.
I stomp my foot and then follow them to the kitchen.
As soon as we enter, Luke takes one look at Adam and says out loud, “Oh, shit.” Then, he covers his mouth with his hand to hide a smile.
“Hello, Luke. Mr. Paige.” Adam is so formal. Way too formal for this house. His deep voice croons through our yellow wallpapered kitchen.
Dad nearly drops his knife as he looks from Adam to me and then back to Adam, obviously wondering what the hell he’s doing here. “Hello there, Officer. Can I make you a cup of coffee?”
“Yes, please.” Adam takes a seat on a stool by the kitchen island. “Cream, no sugar.”
“Yes, sir,” Dad replies awkwardly. Even he is a little intimidated.
Mom gives me a raised-brow expression that speaks all the thoughts I don’t want her to be thinking. I shake my head, ignoring her. She clearly doesn’t get the hint.
“So, Adam, how have you been? How’s your mother?” she asks.
“She’s good. Keeping busy at the gas company. Landon is going to college in the fall, so she has her hands full with getting him ready.”
I can’t believe Landon is going to college. When I used to visit their house, he was a little kid with a mop of brown hair and those rubber glasses that made kids look like they were wearing swim goggles. He’d play handball in the driveway for hours, making up these silly games. I’ve seen him around town, but I didn’t realize how old he’d gotten. It’s making my twenty-three years feel ancient.
“My mom asks about Leah all the time,” Adam adds.
My stomach oddly flutters.
“I let her know I’m keeping an eye on her.”
My eyes shoot to Adam, who is acting as if what he just said is normal. Luke is incredulously looking at me from his corner of the room.
Dad nods to Adam and points at me with his paring knife. “Glad to have someone keeping an eye on this one. She can get into an awful lot of trouble.”
“It’s not her I’m worried about,” Adam says. “It’s the men who wait for her outside the bar. A pretty girl walking to her car at three in the morning isn’t safe.”
“How do you know what time I get out?” I ask.
“See, Leah?” Dad interrupts. “I’ve told you, the first thing we’re doing is installing a video camera in the parking lot.”
Mom places her hand back on her chest. “I never thought of that. Do you really think she’s unsafe? Bob, we need to look into this.”
“Guys, I’m fine. I’m—”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Paige,” Adam says, looking her straight in the eye. “She’s safe.” The way he delivers his words, it’s as if he can assure her of my safety for the rest of my life.
“Well,” Dad says, extending his hand to Adam, “it’s good to know Leah has a good man in her life.”
I slap my hand to my head. Adam is giving them the wrong impression. He’s not in my life at all. He’s just imposing himself for his own sick gratification.
As Adam and my dad shake hands, I swear, my dad looks like he’s going to cry.
I grab Adam’s arm and pull him away. “We’re late,” I say as I walk out of the kitchen.
I’m halfway through the living room when Adam barks at me, “You have to change first.”
I turn around. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“You can’t work in those shoes, and that outfit is too nice for a construction site.”
I look down at my romper. Too nice? What does he expect me to be doing today?
Not in the mood to argue, I turn around and head upstairs. I pick out my shortest pair of comfortable shorts, a tight fitted T-shirt, and Keds.
When I get to the bottom of the stairs, he instantly barks at me again, “Change.”
“What’s wrong with this?”
“You’ll cut up your legs.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
Adam slowly shakes his head and presses his heels into the floor.
I stomp my feet, hard, as I march up the stairs and put on a pair of capri leggings that hug my ass just right. I don’t even wait for his remark. Instead, I walk down, past him, my platinum blonde hair whipping in the air, and out the door.
His black GMC pickup, complete with mud splattered down on the sides, is rough and masculine, rugged and kinda sexy. I look back at Adam. His jeans are clean yet marred with permanent paint stains, and there’s a small tear in the knee. His construction boots look like they’ve seen their days of work.
The sight of him and the dirty truck he drives is a far cry from the prim and proper guy who strolls the streets in a uniform and drives a police cruiser.
I climb into the cab of the truck and buckle up. When he gets in, he checks his mirrors and all blind spots before driving off.
“Where are we going?” I ask as we turn onto the highway.
Insert rude silence from callous man in the driver’s seat.
Fine. I didn’t want to talk to him anyway.
I lean forward and put on the radio. Adam reaches forward and turns it off.
“What the hell?” I shriek.
“I don’t like music on when I’m driving,” he states, eyes on the road.
“Do you get easily distracted? Can’t multitask, Mr. Badass Cop?” I’m teasing him, but from his look, I can see he doesn’t like to be teased. “Whatever. I need to catch up on some shut-eye anyway. Wake me up when we’re there.”
I lean my seat back, prop my feet up on the dashboard, and close my eyes. My face is turned into the sun, the rays beating down on me through the window, when a warm hand brushes my thigh, causing the backs of my legs to tingle from the way the fingers linger on my skin. My eyes pop open. When I look up, Adam is shaking his head.
“Shoes off the dash.” His hand pulls my leg, forcing my foot to drop to the floor.
I lower my other leg and then toe my shoes off my feet. With a smug smile on my face, I return my feet to the dashboard, sans shoes, lean back, and close my eyes.
He doesn’t seem to have anything to say about my socked feet on his dash, and I’m not about to open my eyes to find out if it bothers him.
Four
I could have been sleeping for five minutes or fifty minutes. I wouldn’t know by the way my shoulder is being shaken.
“We’re here,” Adam says and then exits the car.
I rub my eyes, take a wide-mouthed yawn, and look out the window. I have no clue where in the hell we are. All I see is an open field with three homes in various stages of build. One is just a foundation with the framing of a home. The next is a house with siding and windows but no front porch or steps to get in. The last is what appears to be a nearly finished home with a dark wooden deck in front and white columns accenting the front porch.
I slide on my sneakers and check my reflection in the visor mirror. My pale blue eyes are slightly red from lack of sleep, but I look pretty good, considering I got four hours sleep last night. Stepping out of the car, I indulge in a long stretch.
Adam is ahead of me, walking toward the center house with the siding up. I follow him and stop when we reach a worker wearing a Homes for All Souls T-shirt. I take one extra step forward, so I’m technically in front of Adam.
“Hey, man!” The guy gives Adam an excited smile and puts out his hand.
The two exchange one of those very brolike handshakes, including a chest-to-chest encounter and a tap on each other’s backs.
“I see you brought a volunteer,” the guy says when he sees me.
“This is Leah.” Adam nods to me. “She’s been assigned community service. One hundred hours.”
The guy whistles through his teeth. “Damn. What did you do?”
“I d
idn’t do anything.”
“Drunk-driving,” Adam interjects.
I do everything not to lurch for his throat.
“Leah, this is Toby Kefler. He helps run Homes for All Souls.”
I’m still giving Adam the evil glare when Toby reaches forward and says, “Pleasure to meet you, Leah. No matter the reason, we’re happy to have you.”
Despite my annoyance with Adam, I give Toby a polite smile. He’s tall and skinny with shaggy brown hair and a kind face. He reminds me of Rory O’Toole, the guy Suzanne was making out with last night.
I shake my head at the thought of last night. Hanging with the girls feels like it was ten years ago. So much has happened since then.
“Come on,” Adam says out loud, talking at me, not to me. He goes into the house, not bothering to help me climb in since there are no entry steps.
Once inside, I am immediately hit with the scent of sawdust. The air is filled with tiny particles, and there is the loud sound of a circular saw being used by a guy in the corner. The inside of the walls are exposed to show electrical wires, copper pipes, and white plastic plumbing that must have just been installed.
I turn and see Adam’s orange shirt walking up the stairs. I take the stairs as well, and instead of following him down the hall, I walk into a room lined with wood beams and a large pile of Sheetrock on the floor. Two guys are hammering, and I take a moment to appreciate the fine specimens wielding those hammers. Wouldn’t mind getting hammered myself by the one—
“Ahem.”
A clearing of a throat catches my attention. I turn my head to Adam, who is looking at me with raised brows that are popping up from his sunglasses.
“I think we should start in another room.”
I squint my eyes and pinch my lips at him. Killjoy.
We walk into the adjacent room, a bedroom perhaps. There is no one in here, only some boards of Sheetrock. The windows with their Pella stickers still on them are open, letting in the morning breeze, airing out the smell of construction that is starting to stuff up my nose.
Adam leaves the room for a few minutes and comes back with a toolbox and a black case. Setting the case on the floor, he crouches down, opens it up, and hands me the screw gun. I hit the trigger button, and the thing roars to life.
“Careful with that. I don’t need to bring you to the emergency room.” He takes the drill gun out of my hands.
I reach forward and take it back. “I know how to use a drill.”
He gives me a sideways glance as he opens the box for some screws.
I wish there were music in here or something. His stoic personality is really making me want to talk about nonsense, and talking to Adam about nonsense just to fill the air is not something I should be doing right now.
He hands me a handful of screws and then walks over to the pile of Sheetrock. He lifts a board like it weighs an ounce and holds it up against the wall. “I’ll hold the board while you screw it in. Make sure you—hey, will you wait until I tell you where to drill? Don’t just start screwing wherever you want.”
When my screw is in the drywall, I start on the next one. I know to only screw to the wall studs, spacing the screws twelve inches apart. Ignoring Adam’s comments, I put the screws in until the board is secure.
When I’m done, I stand up straight and look him in the eye. “What are you staring at? Get another board.”
Adam looks back at me for a beat longer than he usually does before getting the next board. When he holds it up, we realize there’s an electrical outlet on the wall, so we’ll have to cut a hole for it in the Sheetrock.
“I don’t have a tape measure in here. I’ll be right back.” Adam props the board against the wall and leaves me alone in the room again.
I take the opportunity to look at my fingernails. The polish is chipping. Maybe I’ll get a fun orange color this time. I should probably do my toes, too.
I drum my fingers on my thigh and wait for Adam to return. He’s not coming back anytime soon, so I walk into the room next door where the cute guys are working.
Giving my sweetest smile, I ask, “Do you boys happen to have a tape measure and a utility knife I can borrow?”
The more attractive one reaches into his tool belt. “You can have mine. Just don’t forget to stop back by and say good-bye before you go.”
He gives me a wink, which I return, and then I walk back to my work area.
Alone, I start measuring the wall and then the drywall, marking where I need to make an incision for the outlet. Using the utility knife, I make a clean rectangle and blow off the dust from the perfect cut.
“What are you doing?” Adam’s voice bellows through the open room.
I look up at him and give him a what-the-hell-do-you-think-I’m-doing expression.
“You couldn’t wait ten minutes?” He’s shaking his head and looking down at me like I’m a little kid who needs to be reprimanded. “These supplies are donated. You can’t waste them because you have zero patience.” He moves me out of the way. Then, he picks up the board that’s four feet high by eight feet wide and throws it on the other side of the room as if it were a piece of paper.
“What did you do that for?” I ask, hands on my hips, my foot tapping in annoyance. “You should at least see what I did before you deem me a complete fuckup.”
He lets out a deep growl and then stalks over to the other side of the room. He picks up the drywall, which is thankfully still intact. He brings it up to the wall, and just as I knew it would, it fits perfectly. Adam blinks a few times, his brows pointed down. It’s as if he can’t believe a little tart like me can actually do something useful.
Instead of saying sorry or something positive, he holds up the board and says, “All right, get screwing.”
My mouth is open, slack-jawed, from how rude he is. Instead of getting on my knees and screwing the board like he wants me to, I take my tape measure and utility knife, turn on my heels, and walk toward the door.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“To find someone else to work with.”
“I want to get something straight. I put my ass on the line for you. Harper will happily process you, and I will gladly look the other way.”
“I’m here, aren’t I? I’m doing the work. Didn’t know I had to do it glued to your Neanderthal self!”
“I don’t think you understand how this works. You’re the criminal. I’m the officer.”
His words make me halt, and then I turn around so swiftly that my hair flings me in the cheek.
“No, Adam. You’re the asshole. I’m the idiot.”
I walk out of the room in search of a more appreciative partner.
I spend my morning working with a crew of volunteers who seem more than happy to have my services. We spackle and tape the living room of the third house, and no one talks while we work. The hours slowly pass by, but the job gets done.
I’m standing on a ladder, spreading compound on the wall, when I see the orange hue of Adam’s shirt through my peripheral vision.
“Some worker you have here, Adam. This one knows how to get her hands dirty,” Toby says.
I don’t turn to see Adam’s expression. I just keep working.
“I’m surprised she’s still here. Thought she left.” His baritone makes my pulse pick up.
“Left? She’s been here, busting her ass, all morning. Wouldn’t have gotten this complete without her.” Toby pats Adam on the back and starts to walk out of the room. “Come on, time for lunch. You coming, Leah?”
My stomach is grumbling, but the idea of sitting down in the same area with Adam is rather unappealing. “No. I’m good. You guys go. I’ll be out in a bit.”
“All right. Come on, man, let’s take a break.”
Toby walks out of the room, but that vision of orange is still hovering in my peripheral. He’s just standing there. I can’t bring myself to look back at him.
After what feels like an eternity, Adam finally leaves, and my shoul
ders relax. I clean off my tools, put them away, and then wash my hands. I walk out the back door.
There is a large tree in the field, a perfect spot to get shade from the afternoon sun. I sit down on the grass next to a patch of marigolds, rest my back on the trunk, and close my eyes, remembering a time when Adam and I were close.
“You’re gonna miss that shot.” He walked past the locker room doors that led to the indoor basketball court at our high school, wearing a pair of track pants and a sleeveless tank. His toned arms were on full display as he carried a duffel bag in one hand with a backpack slung over the other arm.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” I said with a goofy grin and an eye roll. I bent my knees and took another shot but missed. “Why are you here so late?”
“Practice ran long. I’m supposed to pick up Nina. She’s gonna be pissed that I’m late,” he said from the side of the court.
I retrieved the basketball and dribbled it. “Oh, that’s right, your girlfriend,” I said in a singsong, teasing voice.
Adam shook his head at my missed shot. He put down the bag and backpack and started walking toward me. “Gimme,” he said with outstretched hands.
I tossed him the ball.
“Your feet need to be shoulder width apart for good balance with your shooting foot slightly ahead of the other.”
Standing next to him, I mimicked his actions. Apparently, I was doing something wrong because he looked at me like I was a toddler walking for the first time.
“Here, let me show you.” Adam moved to stand behind me.
His long, lean eighteen-year-old body was flush against mine. He towered over me, having just hit some incredible growth spurt that had changed him from boy to man overnight. I wasn’t the only one who had noticed. The female population of our school had been going ballistic.
Adam took his hand and placed it on my right leg, extending it out and showing me the proper form. “Bend and flex your legs with each shot. Like this.” His knees were bent behind mine as his hands guided my hips, showing me exactly how I was supposed to move.
He grabbed my arms. “Your forearm and wrist should extend in a straight line when you shoot. Now, look at the target. Never take your eyes off the target. And shoot.”