Page 62 of Nailed

Behind him, in the near distance, I saw Brock look up briefly from the saw-station. He wasn’t glaring or trying to interrupt, just quietly observing. Rafe gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and walked away, leaving me standing there with more questions than answers and my bullshit-reader going crazy.

I didn’t believe that he had everything handled for even just a second.

But I let it go, doing my rounds every once in a while and the hours passed in a haze of sawdust, chalk, mechanical whining and hammer thuds. The guys worked harder than I’d ever seen them, determined to beat the deadline of nightfall and when the time came, they succeeded.

The darkroom was finished.

I’d snuck out earlier in the day to get their favorite drinks to celebrate—an Old Fashioned for Callum, a Mexican Lager for Rafe and some fresh limes to go with the tequila I still had left over from when Brock and I had last drank together.

Callum called me down to see the darkroom, evidently not aware that I already knew they’d finished it, and when the three dirt and sweat-covered men turned around to see me, their eyes went wide at the tray of drinks I had in my hands.

“You guys did such an amazing job that I thought we should celebrate,” I announced.

“Miss Lauren, how’d you know this was my favorite?” laughed Callum, taking the cocktail with such a look of genuine happiness that it instantly warmed me up inside.

“You mentioned it,” I said.

“Yeah. Once.” His eyes were practically sparkling. It was contagious, that sincerity of his, and it went down just like whiskey.

Brock regarded the Tequila Mule with suspicion. “These again,” he murmured.

I raised an eyebrow. “I’ll drink it if you don’t want to.”

“Never said I didn’t,” he replied, but he paused before taking his glass. Instead, he wrapped a hand around the back of my neck and kissed me, right on the lips. It wasn’t the intense, deep makeout type kiss we had when we made love, but it was intentional enough to leave me breathless and heated, a surprised gasp popping off my mouth when he pulled away.

Callum gave a low, long whistle.

A shadow of a smile danced across Brock’s face and he finally took his drink. I didn’t know what to say or how to react. This would’ve been the part when Rafe might’ve made some kind of smartass quip, but when I looked at him to see his reaction, his phone rang before I could read it.

He picked it up immediately. The call was brief and cold and didn’t last long enough for the rest of us to say or do anything before Rafe mumbled an excuse under his breath and grabbed his jacket and toolkit.

And then he was gone without so much as a proper goodbye, the slam of the door behind him echoing around the firehouse like a gong. The sound reverberated in the hollow pit of my stomach. Rafe may as well have dug that hole out himself.

I felt a comforting hand on my shoulder and I wasn’t sure who it belonged to.

23

Lauren

Clara and I stumbled out of the last store, each pushing a full cart of supplies that took a bit more arm and core strength to maneuver than I’d anticipated.

“You know, Lauren,” Clara said with a grunt as she tried to ease her cart off the curb and into the parking lot. We both had already forgotten where she’d parked, and instead of wandering around, Clara began pressing her key on and off until her Lexus’s lights faithfully guided us to the correct lot. “If we make one more trip, we might be able to give the boys a run for their money. This is more upper body work than I’ve done in a year.”

I laughed but it was true.

She and I had spent the better part of the weekend driving around and getting all sorts of supplies for the exhibition. I hadn’t originally intended to ask her given how busy she was, but she’d insisted.

It was still an odd feeling, to have someone I could reliably depend on outside of the people I was sleeping with. They’d been a surprise too but it was Clara’s friendship that truly surprised me in the best way possible. And there was a plan I’d concocted to thank her, but one that would have to wait until the very last second before the exhibition actually started.

“At least we’re done,” I said as we began unloading all the contents from the carts to the car. Specialist paper and mounts, display hardware and signage, a box of industrial screws and heavy-duty command hooks, large portfolios and more. I mentally ticked off each item, pride and satisfaction growing with every confirmation that we were one more step closer to pulling this off.

“This is a lot of stuff,” Clara commented as we finally took our seats in the front. She turned on the radio, cringed at what was playing, and then promptly turned it off. “Just how many photos have you taken?”

“I haven’t stopped since I got here,” I said and she gawked at me for a second before starting the car. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just…well, honestly? When you first brought up the idea of the exhibition, I thought that the only reason you were doing it was to placate the locals,” she admitted sheepishly. “But if you’ve been taking pics since you got here, it must mean that you really felt inspired by the city.”

“I did,” I admit. “I know what it looks like from the outside. Random photographer moves into a legitimate living time capsule, only to start renovating it before the ink’s even dry on the contract.”