15. ~ Char ~
CHAPTER 15
~ Char ~
“A nother dud grant,” Samantha muttered a half an hour later.
“Add it to the spreadsheet I shared,” Josie replied, her fingers flying over her own keyboard.
“Already did.” Samantha looked at the park plans over Tamara’s shoulder, asking, “Did you add a checkerboard table like you see in the movies? So old men can come and play checkers or chess in the park?”
Tamara slid the drawing Samantha’s way. She tapped a spot. “Right there. In the shade of the tree by the playground and not too close to the basketball nets or dog zone.”
“Sweet.”
Without any luck, we’d been digging around the internet, reading up on grants, trying to find the right one. My doubts were growing along with the tiny hole in the sleeve of my v-necked red blouse. A few stitches between the sleeve and cuff had come out, and without thinking, I’d been worrying the hole bigger over the past thirty minutes.
A knock on our door had us all looking up from our tablets and laptops, on the lookout for our little friend Felipe. He was sitting on the arm of the couch, having climbed up a nearby stack of books. He popped up onto his haunches, studying us with his beady black eyes as our attention turned to him.
“It’s probably James,” I said, getting up way too fast to pass for cool or casual. “He said he’d come by and help after his shift at the museum.”
“Oooo,” Samantha sing-songed. “Ja-ames.”
“Sadly, I’m not his type,” I said to shut her up, even though I questioned the validity of my statement. I figured I was about half his type.
I hustled down the steps to let James in, chagrined to note that Randy had caught him and was grilling him about fishing, of all things.
“Not really much of a fisherman,” James stated, squeezing his large frame deliciously past mine.
“Thanks, Randy!” I chirped, quickly shutting the door before he could list his preferred lures. I knew from experience it was the five-of-diamonds lure, and how he’d gone to see the monument for it in Lacombe, as that was where it had been invented or whatever. The province’s smallest city was about two hours north of Calgary, and I feared that if I didn’t extract James he’d find himself on a fishing trip to the stocked dugout by the monument.
“Sorry,” I whispered to James. He gestured for me to lead the way, and as I climbed the steps, I became very aware that he had an excellent view of my swaying rear end.
“No problem,” he said. “Glad to know someone would notice if any of you went missing.”
I snorted. “Not exactly a comforting thought.”
“Hey, James!” Tamara called, scooping up Felipe as he zipped between legs, eager to greet our guest.
“How’s the project going?” James asked, taking in our digital battle station. It sorta looked similar to a teenager’s bedroom, thanks to our collection of dirty plates and empty chip bags littering the room. We’d done a lot of damage in the past half an hour, and now Gabby was furiously trying to make the place presentable.
He shifted his weight, his shoulder brushing mine.
“Finding grants so we can buy the land has been tricky,” I said.
He handed me a large plastic container. “Cookies from my mom.”
“Really?”
“She likes to bake. She sent that whole thing home with me the other night.”
He seriously had the best mom. I don’t think my mom ever baked cookies. In fact, the first time I’d ever made some was with Tamara and her mom.
“Sweet.” Gabby stole the container, opening it and diving in. “Ginger cookies! My fav.” She sat down, container cradled in her arms, glaring and shifting the stash out of reach whenever anyone tried to help themselves, her cleanup tasks forgotten. She really was taking the whole Lamonte-has-a-girlfriend-thing pretty hard.
“We discovered the lot is coming up in a tax sale next week, so we need to move fast,” Josie said, nose buried in her work. “Do you know of any grants that could help us out?”
“Yeah, maybe.” James unzipped his coat and took my abandoned spot on the couch. I stood awkwardly outside our ring of furniture, unsure where to sit. Everywhere was taken other than a tight spot beside James.
He scanned my laptop where, earlier, I’d brought up info on local grants. Then he took out his phone and sent someone a text. Moments later, he got a ding and began typing on my laptop.
“Try this one.” He looked up at me and I came around so I could read the grant’s details over his shoulder. He shifted slightly, patting the small wedge of cushion beside him. I shoehorned myself into the space, embarrassed at the width of my hips. James didn’t seem to notice, even though his leg was resting against mine—no pressing . It was incredibly distracting. So was his voice. He was speaking quietly to me, saying how cool it was that I was going to make a park for the kids. His admiration was like a microwave set to high on my melting heart. He probably thought I was an unselfish saint, and I hoped that having a primary motivation of getting out of debt—even though I really did want to clean up the lot for the neighbourhood kids—didn’t reduce my much-needed big wave of cosmic energy, or whatever Estelle had called it.
“How’s it look?” James asked, referring to the grant.
I startled, realizing I’d been basking in his words and daydreaming about the warmth of his thigh against mine, noting that he had a small mole on the underside of his chin that I’d never noticed before. We were so close my breath caught in my lungs. I could easily shift my weight and fall into his lap, my lips upon his. I looked down, clearing my throat.
“The deadline, um.” I checked our spreadsheet. We’d already axed that one due to a few other requirements. “Is a bit late.”
Josie, still not looking up from her own work, held out a hand. “Gabby, give me a cookie or die.”
Gabby quickly handed the container to Josie. I scored one as it went by and took a big bite. So good. The cookie was soft, sweet, but still gingery. Just right.
“Hey, you have a hole in your shirt,” James said in a low voice like it was just the two of us on this couch cushion, an island lost in a calm sea, nothing else for miles. He gently touched the inch of skin showing through the blouse’s gaping hole.
“I know,” I said with a sigh, trying not to think too hard about how nice his touch had felt. How electric. It was like every cell was on high alert now, ready and waiting for more James.
But I’d destroyed my shirt. I should think about that, not how yummy he was. When I wore this one, I felt gorgeous. It hung in the right way to emphasize the drop from my generous chest to my waist, giving the illusion of super sexy curves, and the jewel tone made me look healthy and vibrant even when I was tired.
There. No longer thinking about James. Instead, I was thinking about the fact that I didn’t have a sewing kit to fix my beloved shirt.
His focus had gone back to his texts, and he angled his phone so I could see. “Try this one.” I typed the grant name into a search engine.
“Got it,” Tamara said, beating me to it. A moment later, she turned her tablet to face us so we could read about the local community greening grant.
I snatched her tablet, scanning the info. “This is amazing!”
“They meet once a month,” Tamara said, and I let out a gasp of excitement.
“James, you’re a godsend,” Josie exclaimed, leaning out of her seat to give him a high five.
I murmured my agreement.
“I think Clarisa used to be on the board for that one,” Samantha said, coming around the couch to peer over my shoulder. “Yeah, she quit because gardening was too hard on her manicures. I think she’s still a member, though. I’ll ask.”
“I wish she was still on the board, and could give us the grant,” I said wistfully. Tamara gave me a dark look. “What?”
“No wishing,” she said firmly.
I clapped a hand over my mouth. I hadn’t even noticed my absent wishing. It was such a part of my habits.
“Harsh,” James said, coming to my defence.
“I didn’t mean that wish.” I looked at the ceiling as though that might help cancel out what I’d said.
“You can wish all you like, Char,” James said. His leg was still against mine, an insistent pressing.
No, I really couldn’t. Not any longer. I sighed, surprised at my deep, echoing sense of loss. No more semi-charmed life due to buying my way out of sticky jams, thanks to my fairy godmother. I felt so…average and blah.
“Nope. Quit wishing and take action,” Tamara told James. “That’s the motto.”
“Only way to change the world,” Josie said feebly.
“You’re all weird,” Gabby stated, taking another handful of cookies.
“Apply for that one,” Samantha said, handing the tablet back to Tamara. She checked her smart watch for the time. “I have a date with an Irish hottie. Gotta run.” She disappeared into her room to get ready.
“Caleb?” James asked. I’d given him the rundown on Samantha’s unrequited crush on our downstairs neighbour a few weeks ago. I loved that he remembered me mentioning Caleb, and I wondered what other details about my life he recalled. Was there a chance he was hoovering up tidbits about me, like I was with him?
“Not Caleb,” we all echoed back.
He raised his hands, palms up, as if to ask why not.
“She’s scared he’ll say yes if she asks him out,” I said.
“What? That’s not a thing.” James looked at my roomies, as though seeking confirmation. Oh, he was adorable.
“It’s a thing,” Gabby said.
“He won’t live up to the hype,” I said. “The hype in her head.”
“Girls are weird.”
“And guys are impossible,” I replied. They were like trying to piece together a broken urn that had been sitting in some farmer’s field for over a thousand years and you no longer had all the pieces.
“But this new guy,” Josie said, leaning forward, voice lowered, “has made it four weeks, and they’ve had about a dozen dates already.”
“That’s super huge for her,” Gabby added. “She’s practically married!”
“I can hear you!” Samantha called from her room.
“Quit gossiping and help me with this application,” Tamara complained, and we all crowded around her, debating the wording of every sentence like we were writing the next great Canadian novel, and not applying for a grant we likely wouldn’t even get.
We fired it off to the grant agency and sat back in a quiet lull. Now what? We’d pretty much exhausted all the grants we could find that fit our needs. If there were no grants, it meant no land and no park, and no karmic snowball.
I was antsy, practically able to hear the clock ticking down on me. I wanted to keep taking action to shore up my slim odds. There wasn’t time to sit around and wait for the grant agency to meet and debate, and then cut me a cheque at their leisure. Assuming they even gave us the grant.
But what else was there that I could do? Find a private donor? If so, then would they get all of the good karma instead of me?
“Excuse me a sec.” I went to the washroom, wondering if this was the moment to break my earlier promise to Tamara and make a wish. Because the more I thought about it, the more a small wish that could tip the odds in the park’s favour would be worth it. Spend money to make money.
In the bathroom, I closed my eyes and wished for the grant agency to see our application and approve the request. Immediately. Or at least in the next two days. But preferably sooner.
I returned to the living room and Tamara eyed me like she knew what I’d just done. I looked away, and James stood.
“I’ve got my glove in the car. Wanna play catch before we lose the light?”
“Sure.” I turned to my remaining roommates. “Are we finished for tonight?”
“Unless you know of more grants we can apply for,” Gabby said, closing her laptop and sinking back in the chair with a groan. “My stomach hurts.”
“That’s because you ate your weight in cookies,” Tamara scolded, passing the empty cookie container to James. “Thank your mom for us.” She hoisted Gabby to her feet. “Come on, a walk around the block will help.”
A few minutes later, James and I were on the street, ready to play catch, Gabby and Tamara starting off in the opposite direction. This time, before we warmed up, I made sure James and I were extra far from any possible breakable objects.
“I like that you’re doing something big for your community with the park,” James said.
“Trying to,” I corrected as we slowly windmilled our arms, warming up our shoulders.
“It’ll work out.”
“Hopefully.”
We began stretching our arms across our chests. One, then the other, facing each other. He was handsome in any light. But the fading spring sun was especially fond of him, heightening the angles of his cheeks and jaw as well as that sweet look of admiration sparkling in his gaze.
A woman could really take a gaze like that the wrong way.
“I feel like a slacker,” he said, his tone light.
“Why?”
“What have I done with my life? What mark have I made?”
“Well, you don’t have fairy godmother debt to pay off, so…”
He laughed at my unexpected reply. “You always keep me on my toes.”
I sighed. Yeah.
We backed up, facing each other, ready to start tossing the ball, our warmup routine already an unspoken, shared habit.
“Try not to hit any windows today.” His smile was lopsided, teasing and entirely the sexiest thing I’d seen all day.
“You threw that ball, I’ll remind you.”
And I was paying dearly for it in an alternate universe filled with ogres and fairies.
James lobbed the baseball my way.
Thunk . I caught it in my glove.
“And you, superstar, failed to catch it,” James retorted, his goofy smile making me want to grin even though he was busting my chops.
I tossed the ball back with a bit more heat than I would normally use in a warmup. “Because you distracted me.”
His glove snapped shut around the ball. He underhanded it back to me, loose and easy. “How so?”
“By being gorgeous.”
He laughed, head back.
I waited for him to react further, but all he did was take me in with a heated gaze.
“So what did your fiancée look like?” I asked, immediately embarrassed. Obviously, I’d been obsessing about her for the past week. I’d even tried a deep dive into his social accounts to see if I could find hints of her, but he wasn’t very active online. No fiancées. Lots of pretty girls, but none of them wearing rings that I thought might have been chosen by him.
“Blond.”
“Naturally. Make sure you keep your Norwegian genes pure.”
He chuckled. “Not Norwegian.”
“Doubtful. You look like a Viking.”
“Well, she was a Viking, too, then. Blue eyes.”
“Slim?”
“Fit.”
Dang. That was even worse.
“What did she do? Like for a living or whatever? Do you still hang out?”
Why was I torturing myself with this info? I didn’t need it. He wasn’t ever going to actually choose me. I wasn’t a Suzy Homemaker like his sweet mom obviously was. But maybe he wasn’t totally the man I assumed he was, either. He had broken up with his ex, after all. He wanted room for serendipity, just like I did. And hanging out with him was so easy. That had to mean something.
Maybe I had to make space for the possibility of James, just like Estelle said I needed to do with my karmic plan. It was all about good energy, and that was one thing James had in spades.
His lips had curved into a small smile, and I wasn’t sure if it was amusement over my obsession with his ex, or in fond remembrance of her fineness.
“She’s living in the Netherlands.”
“Naturally, and riding her bike everywhere with that fit bod.”
“Taking insta pics by windmills and tulip farms.”
“Of course. And she never sweats.”
“She has a healthy, rosy glow to her cheeks.”
“Never an unsightly, blotchy red.” I winced, knowing my pale skin often went blotchy. “She probably uses filters to give her pics that glow.”
I threw the ball hard, and James had to reach as it swung out wide. I’d given up on impressing the world with my looks a long time ago. Around grade twelve, to be specific, when the boys’ fastball captain kept saying I didn’t look at all like my social media pics, with the flattering filters. The way he said it made me feel like a gigantic poser. And mad. He never, while I was around, ever said that to my teammate, who was popular, perky and used more filters than I ever had.
After that I’d pretty much thrown up my hands, the message clear that with my curvier build that I’d never make the cut—so why kill myself trying to reach an unattainable ideal thanks to genetics?
“I think she’s doing something with geothermal,” James continued. “She’s into the sciences.”
Sigh. A world saver. I was jealous and in awe of her already.
And yet, she still hadn’t made the James-cut? He couldn’t see himself with her in five years, or whatever his claim had been?
What hope did I have?
Then again, he seemed to think I was some sort of saint because of this park plan. And he didn’t seem to mind my nuttiness or pottery nerdiness.
“What about you?” I asked. “What are you into? What makes you passionate?” He was a museum security guard, but somehow that didn’t quite fit him. I doubted that was the start or end of his life’s passion.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you go to college?” He’d never mentioned it, even though we’d sorta hung out for over two years now.
“A few times.”
“A few?”
“I have a couple of certificates. Some random classes. I haven’t found what I’m passionate about yet.” He looked wistful and a tiny bit sad, too. “I’m a bit envious of you.”
I scoffed. “Don’t be. I’m a hot mess.”
“I don’t see you that way.” His warm gaze lingered on me, and it felt good. Whatever he saw, that was who I wished to be.