by Tara Lain
“Hell, if it weren’t for me, you could have hot hookups every night and find a boyfriend.”
He snorted. “A, consider the source.” He waved a hand over his opposite of hotness. “B, I don’t want hookups every night.” Though he wouldn’t mind one occasionally.
She plopped a hand on her hip like someone’s mother. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d focus on your furniture business instead of handing out screws at ImproveMart.”
“I like ImproveMart, the world isn’t ready for handmade furniture, and I’m focused on more important things.” He leaned forward and stared across the table at her.
“Okay, what? What’s so important?”
“The identity of the concert you’ve chosen for your birthday.”
She made a face. “Slick way to change the topic there, Dad. But yeah, I did pick one.” She gave him that sideways look again. “I’ll have to go online the second the tickets go on sale because they’ll sell out instantly, and they’ll probably be kind of pricy.”
“Money’s no object. I’m willing to spend up to twenty dollars for those tickets.” He tried to keep a straight face.
“Dad!” She smacked his arm. “Worst of all, we have to drive to Eugene to see it. Is that okay?”
“Not a problem. I told you to pick. Maybe we’ll stay overnight, but it’s only a two-and-a-half-hour drive, so we’ll play it by ear.”
“Actually, this guy is a big star, but he’s doing this special concert at the university since he went there or his father did or something. Anyway, it’s a huge deal. He usually only performs in places like New York or Vegas.”
“Okay, I’ll be properly impressed. Got any friends you want to take?”
“I thought about asking MaryAnn. But really, I’d just as soon go with you.”
“You sure? I’m not going to squeal with you and do posts on Instagram.”
“That’s okay. I’ll do enough for both of us.” She flashed her dimples.
He laughed as he walked to the sink to wash the dishes.
Ellie said, “I’m starting my homework. Are you going to work on the coffee table tonight?” She pointed toward his workshop in the garage.
He tried not to look too discouraged. “Maybe. I don’t think Mrs. McRae’s going to buy it, honey. So no rush.”
“But it’s so beautiful.”
“Yeah, but like I told you, it’s hard to charge enough for all the work that goes into handmade furniture. If I sell it at a loss, she may buy it.”
“Nuts to that. Keep it for a customer who appreciates your genius.”
“I’ll tell them you said so.” He started scraping and rinsing. Ellie really wanted his business to succeed, but the fact was he needed to be someplace like southern California or New York to sell his kind of furniture, and he needed to stay in Oregon. Partly because his ex, Tiffany, had joint custody, and partly because it was a great place to raise a kid. But from Oregon, it was hard to find buyers, and shipping cost a lot.
Most daughters would have accepted Gabe’s building his life around them as their due. Ellie seemed to feel guilty.
From behind him, he heard the music from the old upright piano they’d managed to squeeze into the small living room so Ellie could practice. She loved music in all its forms. She played in the high school orchestra and seemed to be pointing toward music as a possible major.
Gabe rinsed plates in time to the practice piece she was sifting through.
“Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“Just keep an open mind on finding the right guy, okay?”
He chuckled and nodded.
At least he didn’t lie out loud.
Chapter Two
GABE SHOVED his empty food containers back into the thermal bag, gathered his trash, and carried it to the can. He waved at Mary, Hattie, and the other people he’d been eating with as they also gathered their stuff. “Back to work.”
As he strode into the department, Harry came rushing toward him, wide-eyed.
Gabe cocked his head. “What’s up?”
“He’s back.”
“What?”
“The weirdo who was here yesterday.”
Well hell.
Harry grinned. “And he’s asking for you, my man. By name.”
“You’re not serious?”
“As a heart attack. ‘Gabe, please,’ he says, never looking me in the eye. That’s what you get for being so charming and customer-service oriented.” He slapped his own leg.
If Gabe’s heart slammed hard against his ribs, it didn’t have to be clear why, right? Gabe sighed loudly. “Okay, where is he?”
“Aisle eleven.”
“But that’s lighting.”
“Yep.”
“Did you tell him I don’t do lighting?”
“Nope, didn’t mention that. After all, didn’t you teach us that the customer is always right?” Oh yes, Harry was having a good old time.
“I said almost. Almost always right. Lanaya can help him better in lighting than I can.”
“Don’t think he cares, buddy.”
He had to force his lips not to turn up, which was plain stupid, but all he could think about was the mismatched eyes and that smell. Orange and cinnamon. He’d wakened in the middle of the night because his head was full of those scents. He heaved his shoulders. “Okay, I’ll go see him. Thanks, Harry. For nothing.” He gave Harry a mock glower and took off at a jog toward the unfamiliar turf of the lighting department.
When he turned the corner and looked down aisle eleven, he saw the tall, lean figure who’d invaded his dreams. New beanie. Same sunglasses. As Gabe drew closer, he could see that the guy’s clothes, a sweatshirt from Disneyland and black jeans, fit a little better, which for Gabe was a little worse.
He plastered on his most professional customer-service face. “Hello again. How can I help you?”
The guy swung toward him, though he didn’t raise his sunglass-covered eyes to Gabe. “I need lights.”
“Okay. Uh, for indoors, outdoors, walls, ceilings—”
“Yes.” The guy’s lips turned up, and something in Gabe’s chest got warm.
“You need a lot of lights?” He had to smile back.
“Yes.”
Gabe leaned against the shelves beside him and crossed his arms but tried to look casual rather than closed off. “It sounds like you might need a lighting plan.”
The guy looked up, and Gabe so wanted to pull off the sunglasses and stare at those unusual eyes again. The guy said, “I do?”
“Uh, yes. I’ll be honest, I’m not a lighting expert, but Lanaya, who runs this department, is and—”
The guy’s eyebrows rose above the top of the glasses, and he took a step back.
Before the customer turned and ran and Lanaya lost what might be a big sale, Gabe said, “Tell you what. How about we sit down for a minute and you tell me what you need. The big picture. Then I might be more help.” He pointed toward a small table and chairs at the end of the aisle. “Does that work?”
The guy glanced around but nodded.
Gabe walked to the table, and when he turned, the man was pulling out one of the chairs. Funny, Gabe thought of him as a man, but he was young. Probably in his twenties. Definitely a few years younger than Gabe’s thirty-three. Of course, on me thirty-three is the new fifty.
Gabe sat and stuck out his hand. “I’m Gabe, by the way. I guess you know that.”
The guy nodded and stared at Gabe’s hand for a long second, then took it. “Je-uh, Jerry Castor.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jerry.” Oh man, that slim hand was warm and amazingly soft, but also strong. Gabe forced himself to let go. “So what kind of building are you lighting?”
“Kind?”
“House? Office?”
“House.”
“Okay. So what rooms? Or is this outdoors?”
He chewed his lip.
“Jerry?”
“All of it.”
“Oh.” He leaned forw
ard. “Are there already fixtures in place and you just want to replace bulbs, or do you want new fixtures, or—”
Jerry started to look panicked, but what the hell could he do?
“Are you wanting to add outlets?”
Jerry nodded.
“It sounds like maybe you need an electrician and a lighting designer.”
Full-on panic. Jerry said, “Would—would you?”
“Would I? Oh, I’m not an electrician. I work with wood and not—”
Jerry nodded and pushed back his chair.
“Wait.” Okay, why did I say that? He inhaled. “I could look at your plans and work out something with Lanaya.”
“No plans.” His brows—they were light brown—pulled together in distress.
Gabe released a sigh very quietly. “Jerry, how can I help you?”
He didn’t expect an answer. He figured Jerry would get up and leave. Instead, he smiled tentatively. “Come to my house?”
Gabe opened his mouth—and closed it.
Jerry’s smile faded.
“Yes.” What the hell am I saying? “Uh, maybe I should ask where you live?” He grinned to try and make Jerry’s smile come back.
“Ashland.”
“Good. At least it’s not Utah.”
Jerry’s eyebrows beetled down farther over his nose. “I’d never live in Utah.”
“I’m kidding. I just mean Ashland’s close. I’ll have to come after my shift’s over.”
He nodded, looking a little less stressed. Interesting that he wasn’t worried about having some strange guy show up at his house.
Gabe pulled out his phone. “Give me your address, and better include a phone number in case there’s a problem.”
Jerry recited a house number on South Mountain Avenue in Ashland, then peered at Gabe nervously. He cleared his throat and gave his phone number.
Gabe keyed it in. “Don’t worry. I won’t use it unless I have to make a change.” He glanced up. “When shall I come?”
“Today?”
Jerry certainly didn’t waste any time. “Okay. How about three thirty?”
For the first time in their weirdass, two-day acquaintance, Jerry smiled full-on and revealed one tooth slightly crossed over the other in the front.
The whole deal, the smile and that endearing flaw, made Gabe smile back. What am I doing? “I’ll see you at three thirty unless somebody calls somebody.”
Jerry pulled out his phone and looked at Gabe expectantly.
“Oh right, sorry.” Gabe reeled off his phone number as Jerry typed it into his phone with flying thumbs. Then he turned and walked away.
Man, that is one strange dude. But that is one magnificent ass. Both facts were good reasons to not be going to Jerry’s house, but he wasn’t an easy guy to say no to.
Not that I tried very hard.
He reached for his phone to tell Ellie he’d be a little late getting home.
An hour and a half later, after checking his watch more times than he cared to admit, he grabbed his windbreaker from where he’d stashed it in the desk drawer.
Harry came down the aisle also wearing his jacket. “Hey, man, got time for a beer?”
He didn’t really want to turn Harry down too many times. He might stop asking. But he wasn’t totally crazy about admitting what he’d done. He gave Harry his best sheepish look. “I told that customer I’d come look at his lighting problems at his house.”
“The strange guy?”
“Yeah.” Gabe shrugged. “He couldn’t seem to deal with the idea that he might need an electrician and a lighting designer. He asked me to come. I told him I’m no expert in lighting.”
“Hell, man, what you’re not good at is better than most of our specialties.”
“Hey, thanks. But it seems like he might have a big project, and I can pass it on to Lanaya.” He tried not to look embarrassed.
“You should have done it on company time, man. Or at least charge OT for it.”
“I want to be sure there’s something there first. Then maybe I can justify it.”
Harry shook his head. “Jesus, no wonder management thinks you’re so great.”
“Yeah, right.” Gabe glanced at his watch. “Better go. I told him three thirty, and he’s in Ashland.”
“Should have known.”
Gabe chuckled and hurried toward the door. In semiconservative southern Oregon, Ashland stood out as a home to superprogressive liberals. Fruits and nuts, baby. Fruits and nuts. He never told Harry or any of the guys that he’d move there in a second if he could afford enough house for him and Ellie. Their three-bed, two-bath place with the big garage workshop had cost about half what the same property in Ashland would have. He’d rather have money left over for rock concerts and a decent teenager’s wardrobe instead of opting for the more gay-friendly culture of Ashland—but a guy could wish.
Driving south on the 5 Freeway, he smiled as Ashland came into view, its houses built up the side of the mountain with trees bursting into full leaf and flower everywhere. It was a seriously pretty place.
He pulled off at exit nineteen, the main one for Ashland, since Mountain Avenue was about halfway through the town. As soon as he drove under the railroad bridge and caught sight of the sign that said Welcome to Ashland, the magic of the place took hold. He’d once heard the town described as Brigadoon. He’d looked it up and found out that was the name of a musical play about an enchanted village that only became visible to the outside world once every hundred years. He could get behind that idea.
Gabe passed Lithia Creek and the town square and then drove down Siskiyou Boulevard past the beautiful tree-lined campus of Southern Oregon University, a possible college for Ellie. He made a right on Mountain and started watching for street numbers as he climbed the hill. Clearly, he had a ways to go.
University buildings lined the road, and then they gave way to houses as he ascended. He turned right at a jog and drove higher. Still hadn’t found the address. He was about ready to ask Siri for help as he reached a dead end and had to turn around. Then he saw the number written on a huge boulder beside the road. Between it and another big rock, a narrow lane climbed the hill to a house he could barely see through the trees. Damn. That’s it.
He maneuvered a hard left into what must be the driveway, squeezed his truck between the rocks, and climbed the hill on a gravel path that made a circle around a huge tree at the top.
He parked on the drive and slid out of the truck. Ahead of him was the wall of a big house that might once have been the entrance to a garage but now had double french doors leading who knew where. It didn’t appear to be the front door. Everything around him was in disrepair, with cracks in the stucco and moss growing on walls and walkways.
From the driveway, a flagstone walk led onto a lawn. He peered around the corner just as Jerry stepped out on one of several large wooden porches and waved. “Here.”
Oddly, the walkway stopped, and there didn’t seem to be a clear path to where Jerry was standing, so Gabe struck out across the grass, found another walkway leading down the side of the hill, and took it to the porch. “Hi. This isn’t an easy place to find.”
Jerry smiled. He’d taken off his glasses, but he still wore the beanie. “I’m glad you found it.” His voice seemed to have dropped half an octave since earlier at the ImproveMart, and it shivered down Gabe’s spine. “Please come in.”
Even on the porch, it wasn’t completely clear where a person was supposed to enter the house. There were doors on two different walls, but Gabe followed Jerry through the entrance on the back wall of the porch and stopped. “Whoa.”
Spread out in front of him was a wide-open house with thick plaster walls, polished-wood ceilings, a huge two-story great room with floor-to-ceiling windows, and a hand-polished wooden staircase leading to a second floor. The whole thing was run-down and in need of repair, but what an amazing house.
Gabe shook his head. “This is fantastic. How did you ever find it?”
Gabe glanced at Jerry. Apparently in the comfort of his own home, the guy could actually put an entire sentence together. While you couldn’t describe him as relaxed, he didn’t appear to be ready to run. In fact he grinned. “Want to see the rest?”
“Sure.” He could hardly wait, actually. The place was some marvelous mix of midcentury and craftsman styles with all the wood details Gabe loved.
Jerry walked to the great room first—and great it was. A huge fan in the shape of giant palm fronds was suspended from the center of the soaring ceiling. Gabe pointed. “Does it work?”
Jerry shook his head. “No. It needs fixing.”
In the center of the room, in front of a giant fireplace that Gabe would bet also didn’t work, sat two plastic camp chairs—all the furniture in the entire room.
Off the great room was a smaller paneled library. After Gabe looked into it, Jerry led him back across the big room and up the beautiful staircase to the second floor. A long hall illuminated by skylights stretched in front of them.
Jerry laughed, and it was a light, airy sound that bounced through Gabe’s belly like a swig of champagne. “I think I must get a cat. Can’t you see a cat chasing a toy down this hall?”
“How many bedrooms and baths?”
“Five of each. One bath downstairs. I’ll show you when we go back down.”
Each bedroom had some kind of damage—peeling drywall, water-soaked woodwork, and stained carpet. The bathrooms were a particular mess with old, rust-stained fixtures.
Finally, they got to the end of the hall and stepped into what had to be the master—a huge room with floor-to-ceiling windows on two walls. Gabe drew a breath. “This is gorgeous. The light’s magical.”
“Yes. It’s one of my favorite rooms.”
Gabe glanced at the mattress lying on the floor covered in mussed sheets directly under a skylight. Must be quite a view. He swallowed hard.
The tour went back downstairs, and Gabe saw the wreck of a kitchen. “Does the cooktop even work?”
“No.”
Several pizza boxes lay on the large central island.
Finally, they walked out the dining room french doors to a huge backyard. “How big is the property?”