by Fiona West
His gaze lingered on Starla as he backed toward the door, and Ainsley raised an eyebrow at him. Did her cousin have a crush on the hot librarian? If so, she felt honor bound to disapprove . . . as long as Starla was married to Charlie, anyway. As if he read it in her glare, Sawyer broke his stare and turned for the door, then blasted out without looking back.
“Kyle signed up to build on Saturday,” Starla said, and it took Ainsley a moment to register the change in conversation.
“Kyle who?” she asked, picking up the stack of response cards to sort them.
“What do you mean, Kyle who? Kyle Durand.”
“No, he didn’t,” Ainsley laughed. Starla looked at her over her glasses. “He did?”
Starla nodded. “Right here.” She handed her the sign-up sheet that had been passed around at the town meeting. He’d signed up all right, but she couldn’t imagine that he’d meant to. She knew Kyle. Kyle and his pretty hands did not do tools unless they were scalpels and stethoscopes. This did not make sense. Surely he had meant to sign up for the Turkey Trot; she often saw him out running. It was an honest error.
“I’ll call him,” Ainsley said, holding out her hand for the paper. “It must be a mistake.”
Her friend smiled as she handed it over, then went back to looking through the other sign-ups.
“What?”
“Someone said he was joking with you outside the school the other week.”
Ainsley’s shields went up. “I was doing my job. Cooper had been . . . struggling to obey the recess rules.” She wasn’t going to out the kid; she knew how rumors could get out of hand in a small town. She’d had personal experience with that, and it hurt worse than a rusty nail through the shoe at the Habitat construction site and the tetanus shot that followed it. She knew that one from experience, too. “I had to talk to Kyle.”
“You don’t have Claire’s number? Or Philip’s?”
“Of course I do. They came to Back to School night.”
“Your phone’s broken, then? That’s a bummer.”
Ainsley lifted an eyebrow at her friend. “No, my phone’s fine, what are you—oh.”
“Yes. Oh.”
She waved away her friend’s teasing like she was a seagull after her peanut butter sandwich. “He was right there. It was convenient. Also, it was actually him who’d inadvertently contributed to the misbehavior, so . . .” Ainsley trailed off when she saw that Starla wasn’t convinced in the slightest. “Whatever. Think whatever you want. I’m going to go call him now. As part of my organizational responsibilities.”
“Good,” Starla purred. “Then he’ll have your number in case he has construction questions on a Friday night and you have to go with him to a movie that might help clarify the responsibilities. And eat ice cream afterward. And go back to his place.”
She leaned forward. “Look, every other unmarried woman in this town may be clamoring for Kyle Durand’s attention, but I’m not. He’d never be interested in me. And he’s already got my number, so joke’s on you.” Ainsley blew her bangs off her forehead as she left the room and ducked outside into the crisp fall evening.
She was still annoyed with Starla when Kyle answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi. So we got back all the sign-up sheets from the town meeting, and you’d indicated that you were interested in building with us this weekend, so naturally that didn’t seem right, so I thought I’d just call and see which sheet you actually meant to sign up for and then I can direct you to the correct person for information. I’m guessing that it’s the Turkey Trot, but I didn’t want to assume, even though someone said you’d kindly signed up to help us with the first aid booth.” She took a breath. “Oh, and this is Ainsley, by the way.”
“Which Ainsley?” he asked, deadpan.
Why was he always giving her such a hard time, for heaven’s sake?
“There’s only one Ainsley,” she huffed, blowing at her bangs again.
“That’s the truth,” he mumbled, and she noted the rueful timbre of his voice.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I didn’t sign up on the wrong sheet. I’d like to help build. When’s the training?”
It took Ainsley a full five seconds to process this information, and Kyle grunted. “Ainsley? You there?”
“Yes,” she croaked, then forcefully cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m here. Just show up at the build on Saturday, and we’ll give you your orientation.”
“Do I need a . . . hammer or something?”
Don’t laugh, don’t laugh. “No, we’ll provide the tools.”
The relief in his voice was obvious. “Good.”
“You have the address?”
He muttered something she couldn’t hear, then spoke up. “Can I get it again?”
“Sure,” she said. “548 Parrot Lane, Stayton.”
“Got it.”
“Okay, great. Great. Just come around 7:45 and we’ll get you started.”
“See you then.”
Weirdest. Phone. Call. Ever.
CHAPTER SIX
“MAKEUP.”
Ainsley passed her father his Daily Buzz coffee. She preferred Cuppa Joe, but Daily Buzz made him happy. “And good morning to you.”
“Why are you wearing makeup to build? Makeup is for your mother’s activities.”
She sipped her half-caff soy latte. “There’s no reason why I can’t wear makeup to this, too.”
Her father grunted, stroking his salt-and-pepper beard thoughtfully. “Something’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on.” Geez, he was nosy. She was, too, but it was only in the other person’s best interest. She was like one of those diabetes support dogs she wanted her dad to get. She sniffed at people’s problems because she cared. Whereas he just . . . sniffed.
“Uh-huh.” He did not seem convinced. Not in the slightest.
It was only seven thirty, but there were a few volunteers already around. Ainsley wandered toward the trailer, yawning, casually avoiding the additional questions she could feel circling her like sharks. She unlocked the trailer and rummaged around until she found the sign-in clipboard and attached this week’s roster, which she’d tucked under her arm. She yawned again. She’d gotten up at five to shower and wear real clothes and fix her face . . . she usually slept until six, then left at 6:10. But Kyle was coming today . . . She shook her head, chuckling at herself. I’m an idiot. He’s not here to see me.
“Something funny?”
Speak of the devil.
She turned to see him, arms crossed, in the open door. He was wearing stone-washed jeans and a black fleece jacket with some kind of green thermal top under it that somehow made his eyes look browner, warmer. “Nope.” She pushed the clipboard at him. “Here’s the sign-in. Put it next to the coffee when you’re done.” Put some distance between you, she thought. That’s it.
Ainsley could hear him following her as she descended the stairs, but ignored him.
“Pop.”
“Yo.” Her father was on the other side of the trailer, chatting with some of the other regular builders.
“Got a build virgin for you,” she said, throwing her thumb over her shoulder, and she heard Kyle chuckle.
“Well, if it isn’t Dr. Durand 2.0. How are you, son?”
“Good, thank you, sir.” The two men shook hands, and her father gave her a pointed look. “How are you, Mr. Buchanan?”
“Fine, just fine.”
“How’s retirement?”
“Oh, as long as I stay out of my wife’s hair, it goes just fine.”
“Don’t be like that. Mom loves having you around more,” Ainsley said, sipping her coffee.
They ignored her. “How’s your brother? Heard he had another kid.”
Kyle nodded. “Philip’s good, still doing the physical therapy thing. Daniel’s still in residency, but it seems to be going fine.”
“You’ve got a sister, too, don’t you?”
His
eyes dropped to the muddy ground. “Yup. Maggie’s still in high school.”
She shared a glance with her father that said “Something’s happening there.” His answering look said “I agree.”
“Well, it’s good to have you here,” her father continued. “Help yourself to some coffee, and Ainsley will get you started after she does the orientation spiel.”
“Oh no,” she said quickly, “I really wanted to get the flooring in the kitchen done today, that’ll take me a while. I was hoping you could do his orientation.”
Her father smiled and slung an arm around her neck like she was twelve. “But sweetheart, you know I could never orientate him as well as you can.”
“Pop, for the ten thousandth time, orientate is not a word. You can orient something, you can do orientation, but you cannot ‘orientate’ anything.”
“Oh gosh, I was hopin’ you’d say that,” he said, as he whipped a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her.
She opened it cautiously, then read aloud, “‘Orientate. Intransitive verb. To turn or face to the east.’” Ainsley looked up and popped her lips loudly. “Fine. I promise to point Dr. Durand east before I get started on the kitchen.”
Gary pointed to the bottom of the page. “Keep reading, pumpkin.”
“‘Transitive verb. Orient.’”
“HA!” her father cried. “HA! Suck it, daughter.”
“First of all? Rude. Second of all, where’s Mr. Trask, I know he’s the one who told you it was really a word, and thirdly, if you’d kept reading, it says ‘chiefly British.’ Is that the kind of American you want to be? One who uses British words? What’s next, tea and crumpets for breakfast?”
“I’m just gettin’ in touch with my roots,” he said, kissing her temple before he walked away, chuckling.
“We’re not using that word! And you’re half-Scottish, half-German!” Ainsley called after him, fuming. Crumpling the paper, she turned to go back to the trailer and startled. Kyle was still standing right behind her; in her word fury, she’d completely forgotten about him. “Sorry,” she muttered, even though she hadn’t run into him.
“For what?”
“I almost ran into you.” And I forgot you were there.
“But you didn’t.”
“No, I . . . guess not.” Ainsley sipped her coffee. She really wished her brain would hurry up and orientate itself to Kyle’s presence.
“I already know which way is east, but I don’t know anything about building houses.” His face didn’t indicate that he was joking, but his dark eyes had a twinkle in them. She would have found him unnervingly good-looking, but he was just Kyle. She wouldn’t worship him like the other women in town, no matter how funny and smart and thoughtful he was. It’s not like he’s perfect. I’m sure he has flaws.
She started toward the trailer again, carefully walking around him this time, and once again, he followed her. I guess it can’t hurt to humor the old man. “Well, maybe you’d like to help me with the flooring.” It was the only logical thing to do with a newbie on-site, she told herself. Left to their own devices, they could really screw things up, and that wouldn’t be fair to the Sadiq family. Life was hard enough as a Somali refugee, from what little she knew of it; they didn’t need poor tile installation in their bathrooms to add to their troubles.
“What does that entail?”
“Are you good at puzzles?”
“Word puzzles or cardboard puzzles?”
She suppressed a small smile. She’d forgotten he was like this. He always wanted more information, was always cautious.
“Cardboard puzzles. You know, five hundred pieces all look the same, and then you get a picture of a field of sunflowers when you’re done?”
“Mine are always famous historical sites, but sure. I guess I’m okay at them.”
“Well, this is a lot like that. We have to piece together the laminate flooring without the seams showing. Do you know how to use a circular saw?”
“I thought saws were long and flat, so apparently not.”
Ainsley laughed as she walked up to the driveway, where the regular coffee she’d brought from home was sitting on a folding table beside a small crowd of volunteers. “All right, listen up, please.” She used her classroom voice, and as they always did, people quieted down to listen to her. “Today, you’re here to help build a house for Abshir and Bilqiis Sadiq and their daughter, Fawzia. In case you don’t know where you are, Habitat for Humanity builds houses for people who can’t afford them, but every homeowner puts sweat equity into the house. We do more than just build; we also advocate for safer housing policies, less discrimination in housing practices, and training to help families improve their situations. If you decide building the houses isn’t for you,” she said, eyeing two high school girls in skinny jeans and tight T-shirts, “you could always volunteer at the ReStore in Salem. They sell salvaged and donated items to benefit the organization.”
One of the girls raised her hand. “Do they have vintage stuff?”
“You could call it that.” Truthfully, most of it was more thrift store than vintage, but she’d gotten a nice end table there last year that fit perfectly in her living room. “If you are doing this for community service hours of any kind, you must sign in and sign out. If you just sign in, we won’t know how long you were here and my dad will not vouch for you, because he’s a grouchy old man.” Light laughter came from the group of ten. “If you don’t know what to do, don’t guess. Ask the mean old man, because he’ll make me fix it if you screw up. His name’s Gary.” She pivoted. “All you, old man.”
“That’s the third time you’ve called me old today,” he grumbled, then grinned. Gary took off his John Deere hat, and said, “Let’s pray. God, thanks for today, thanks for a good crew. Keep us safe as we work, may this home be a blessing to the Sadiqs. Amen.” Ainsley wasn’t surprised Dad kept his prayers short. It had been a site tradition before they’d taken over to pray at the beginning, and he didn’t want to break it, but he was also not the public-speaking type.
Ainsley felt the women gravitating toward her, so she set them up with a simple caulking project in the upstairs bathroom, then went back down to the trailer to grab her tool belt. Kyle was waiting for her in the kitchen, looking around, poking into the cabinets.
“You looking for a snack or something?”
“Just killing time until my instructor gets here.”
She grinned. “That’s my day job. Today I’m just another lady with a tool belt.”
“How long have you been teaching now?”
“Five years.” She shook her head as she opened the box of premade planks. She handed Kyle the instructions. “Seems like less than that.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I’ve got different kids every year, curriculum’s always changing, the state standards are always shifting. I think I thought it would be easier after I’d been doing it a few years.” Why am I telling Kyle Impressive Durand about my professional misgivings? “That’s not to say that I don’t like it—I do like it. It’s been fun having Cooper in my class this year.”
Kyle snorted. “Fun, huh? Is that code for something else?”
“No.” She smiled. “I love Cooper. He’s a problem-solver.”
“He is that,” Kyle said, but his voice lacked feeling as his eyes scanned the page. “Did you acclimate the planks?”
“Yup, I put them here last weekend, so we’re good. And I already installed the moisture barrier underneath.”
He got to his knees next to her. “Okay. Show me how to put it together.”
“Hold your horses, cowboy. We’ve gotta get the shop vac and clean the floor first.”
“Can I see all the directions before we begin? I like to have a complete picture of the scope of the project.”
Ainsley smiled and handed him the directions. She watched as he read them carefully, his dark eyes scanning the page. It was impossible not to appreciate the way he gave something
his whole focus; she thought she could probably dance a jig right now, and he wouldn’t notice. In her case, it was impossible not to find that adorable.
He nodded after a moment. “Okay, I think I’ve got a handle on it. Where’s the vacuum?” She walked him to the garage, and he got to work while she went upstairs to check on the caulking women, who had abandoned their project in lieu of painting cabinet doors in the garage.
She took the lid off and downed her latte before it got any colder. Kyle was almost done vacuuming when Mrs. Sadiq came in.
“Bilqiis, you made it! I thought you were working today.”
She gave Ainsley a hug, as she always did, and then linked arms with her. “No, I’m off today. Fawzia and I thought we would come down.” The young girl bounded into the house, a blur in leggings, a colorful long-sleeved dress, and a neon-pink head covering, then tore up the stairs. Bilqiis chuckled. “They’re doing something with the machinery in the backyard, and she wanted to watch from her room.” Ainsley smiled, too.
“Hello, I’m Kyle Durand,” he said, sticking out his hand.
Bilqiis looked up at him for a brief moment, then lowered her gaze. “It’s nice to meet you, Kyle; I am Mrs. Sadiq. Thank you for coming to help with my house.” Kyle let his hand fall.
“Most of the women are out in the garage,” Ainsley said, untangling them, and Bilqiis nodded, then disappeared down the hall.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No, she just doesn’t shake hands with men. She doesn’t with Dad, either. But she’s not offended. She really is glad you’re here. She just doesn’t want to appear flirty with you.”
“Right.” He eyed her. “Ready to plank now?”
“I am.” She got to work, laying out planks so that the grain wouldn’t look too manufactured despite the fact that it repeated often. Kyle was a quick study; he worked in front of her, snapping together the pieces she placed. It gave her a nice view of his backside, which she decided pointedly to not appreciate. No point in that.
She took the too-wide, too-long pieces out to cut with the circular saw, but her father’s friend Perry Helsing was already using it.