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“Don’t discount small towns.” We passed a farmhouse with a fresh coat of apple-green paint and a little yard side for Measure Twice Remodeling. “You got construction experience? Knox is in the middle of a couple of big remodeling jobs. Let him put you to work until his usual summer crew of college kids arrives for the break. After your neck heals a bit, of course.”
“My neck is fine.” Cal’s stoicism was almost comical at this point, given how he winced with even small movements or bumps in the road.
“You look like an extra in a zombie flick.” The pain had given his skin a pasty quality I knew only too well. “You’re a scene away from demanding brains for lunch.”
“Ha.” He laughed, and luckily, I managed a glance over at him at precisely the right moment to catch the crinkling of his eyes and the hint of dimples lurking near his unshaven jaw. Even in his ordinary grumpy mode, Cal was easy on the eyes with his rugged looks and wiry build, but laughter transformed him into darn near the hottest person I’d seen in a long time.
“At least come for the night. I’d hate to see you toss what little funds you have at a crappy motel room.”
“Suppose that’s not the worst idea. And maybe I could trouble you to collect more of my stuff from the RV later? Gonna need a place to store my gear if nothing else.” His tone shifted from pragmatic to mournful with a low groan. “Fuck. I’m gonna miss that RV.”
“I know. You’ll get another. And in the meantime, I’ve got plenty of garage space for your gear.” We were coming up on the west edge of Safe Harbor, farms giving way to newer housing developments and an elementary school.
“You’re more confident than me on getting another RV. My credit’s shit. And no idea why I’m telling you my money woes.”
“Because despite my chatty rep, I’m a good listener,” I said lightly, but my insides buzzed with the thrill of him trusting me with at least some of his troubles. “I’m taking you back to my place now. And later, after we collect your gear, you’re going to let me brainstorm some fundraising options for you. Replacing the RV shouldn’t be entirely on your personal funds when it’s integral to the foundation’s work.”
“For a guy who was all skeptical that I didn’t have a crew, you sure make me sound legit.” Cal gave me a smile, another brief flash of those surprisingly deep dimples. “But I guess you have a point. Can’t really do the work without a way to haul ass around the country.”
“How’d you get the initial RV?” I asked as I stopped for the right turn back into the main part of town.
“Discharge pay. All my accrued sick and vacation leave plus what savings I had in the bank. A buddy on my team had grandparents in failing health who couldn’t use that one any longer, and he was happy to take my cash offer. I’m not bad with money.” A flush crept up his neck. “It’s more that every dive drains my funds a little more than expected, and it all adds up, especially when I’m shit at asking for donations.”
“What you’re crap at is accepting help, period. And trust me, I get it. I’ve been there. I fell on my ass a week ago when Tyler, my high school helper, couldn’t come do the trash. Foolish thing because a simple call to a friend could have prevented me from being out there at midnight wrestling the damn can.”
Cal made a sympathetic noise. “Pride. Fucks all of us.”
“Yep.” I was damn grateful he didn’t try to give me advice about not attempting certain tasks on my own. His commiseration meant more than he could know. I turned onto my street, a wide, sunny side street of seventies and eighties single-level ranches, most updated and in good condition. It was the sort of neighborhood where people put down roots and stayed for a while. After a string of rentals, I’d been drawn to the stability and cozy feel of the street. I pulled into my driveway, flicking the remote to raise one of the double garage doors. “We’re here. You going to let me show you to your room?”
I expected him to make a smart remark about how he was only staying the night, but instead, he gave a solemn nod. “Thank you. I’ll earn my keep.”
Smiling, I reached over to lightly duff his uninjured shoulder. That was probably as close as Cal would come to outright accepting my offer, so I’d take the victory.
“Welcome home, roomie.”
Chapter Eight
Cal
“Nice house.” I kept my tone polite but bland as Holden pulled into his garage. His house was a well-kept ranch with clear late-seventies roots and a distinct Northwest vibe with the dark-blue paint choice and hardy front-lawn landscaping. Most houses tended to look similar to me. All the base housing I’d grown up in blended together. My grandparents’ suburban Atlanta home had been nearly identical to its neighbors and equally lackluster in character. Ev’s family’s stately historic Abingdon home in Virginia had been a rare exception, seared in my memories with the scent of sweet rolls and lilacs and the sound of boots on wraparound porches.
