Chapter 11
Tessa
“Lunch!” I call out, making sure my voice is loud enough to carry over the hammering.
There’s a pause, then the ladder creaks under the weight of several bodies making their way down.
Jasper is wearing the first set of boots that hit the ground.
He’s got a streak of dirt across his cheek, his shirt clinging to him from the heat, and sawdust in his hair.
He looks exhausted, but he’s all eager smiles, clearly remembering that chicken pot pie I made for them.
Amused, I point to the side of the house, telling him, “The water hose is to the left. I keep a bottle of hand soap on the top. You and your crew might want to dust yourselves off and wash up, because we’re having sandwiches.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he tells me with a grin. “That’s mighty generous of you.”
One of the younger guys grins like he’s just been handed a winning lotto ticket when he sees the food. “Holy shit!” he mutters. “Are those homemade?”
“Yes,” I tell him proudly. “I even baked the bread myself,” I say, pulling the clear wrap off the platters. “I hope you like them.”
“I can virtually guarantee we will be brawling over who gets the last sandwich. I’ve never had one made with fresh bread before.”
I chuckle. “Best get washed up then. They’ll taste a lot better without a light dusting of sawdust from those hard-working hands of yours.”
He gives me a quick nod before following Jasper to the water hose. Within seconds, they’re crowding around, reaching for sandwiches like they haven’t eaten in days. I pour iced tea into tall glasses and pass them around.
“Ma’am,” one of them says, mouth full of turkey and Swiss, “you make us lunch every time we do a job, I’ll come reroof this house every damn week.”
“If I had time, I probably would,” I tell him. “I’m a pushover that way.”
They laugh, easy and relaxed, and for the first time, I see the boyish charm and a certain kind of innocence in them.
These aren’t badass bikers right now—they’re just young men doing hard work in the sun and grateful to be fed.
As we eat, they say ‘thank you’ and ‘yes, ma’am’ with a kind of casual respect I hadn’t expected.
It’s not until they’ve cleaned through half the food that someone jerks his chin towards the cookie box. “What’s that?”
I reach over and pull the lid off the box, tucking it underneath. The smell of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies comes pouring out. It’s so strong that even the ones not paying attention perk up.
“No way,” the blond one says. “Cookies?”
“I made a double batch so you could all eat your fill and stuff your pockets full for later,” I joke, smiling at their enthusiasm. “I bake when I’m stressed.”
Jasper grabs a cookie and looks me dead in the eye before cramming it into his shirt pocket. He’s sending a message, but for the life of me, I can’t work out what it is. Maybe that he likes a little body sweat with his sweets.
I reach over and grab the piece of plastic wrap off the second platter of sandwiches and use it to wrap up a small handful of cookies for him.
His eyes never leave mine as he reaches out, and the small bundle tumbles from my hand to his.
That’s when it hits me that good food means something special to him.
Hell, if I know what it is, the feeling is so deep and strong that it must be true.
After they’ve eaten every last sandwich except one, and cleaned my cookie box out except for one lone cookie, I realize they consider it rude to take the last of the food. So, I coax, “Anyone have room for one more?”
Most of them look like they might want to but have no room left. They all rub their stomachs and shake their heads. The little one who was wowed by the sandwiches being made with fresh bread doesn’t say no, so I hold it out for him. “C’mon, live a little.”
That’s all it takes for him to grab the last sandwich and murmur his thanks before running along behind the other prospects as they get back to work. I see him climbing back up to finish the job with part of the sandwich hanging out of his mouth. Their voices fade into background noise once again.
Jasper doesn’t follow. Instead, he remains seated at the table across from me and picks up his glass of tea. He drinks the last half of it in one go, then sets it down with a quiet sigh.
“I wanted to take a minute to thank you for making lunch for us. I was about to order pizza for them, but the food you make is worlds better than fuckin’ pizza. If it’s okay, I’d like to pay you for the time and trouble.”
“No, thank you. It’s no trouble. I appreciate them keeping Whitmore away. And putting on a roof has to be a hot, dirty, thankless task. They deserve a decent meal, and I was happy to make it for them.”
“You treatin’ my men with respect means more to me than you know.
” He leans forward, looking me in the eye again.
“They’re young and have very few good female role models in their lives.
I’m proud that the mother of my child is a good, decent woman with empathy and respect. That’s a rarity in our world.”
I just nod, not saying anything because I want to see where this is going. I hope that I’m reading this wrong, because he’s sounding more and more like a guy with a virgin-whore complex.
He takes a deep breath and continues, “You’re putting your best foot forward. So, I’m gonna do the same by apologizing for deciding to do repairs on your place without asking. When you spoke up this morning, I had a lot to think about and realized you were right. I should’ve spoken to you first.”
Shifting in his seat, he finishes with, “I came because your roof’s falling apart, and you’ve got my baby growing inside you. And I give a shit about your quality of life.”
“That’s the part I’m still trying to figure out,” I say. “Why you care so much. This whole situation was the result of a lab error, remember? We don’t actually know each other.”
He nods, but answers without hesitation.
“Yeah. It started that way. But when you asked what came next and talked about you staying in our baby’s life, it put a new spin on things.
Whatever we decide when the baby’s born, our lives are gonna linked together for years.
Since your behavior is a good reflection on me, I want to step up and make sure that works both ways. ”
I look away, out at the patchy yard I’ve been meaning to reseed since March, as I try to work out how he drew all those lines in his mind.
I’m not sure that our public-facing behavior reflects on each other simply because we’ll be co-parenting.
However, I can see that his train of thought has some advantages for both of us—but mostly for me.
It will mean he’s cautious, careful, and respectful when it comes to me and this child.
So, I nod slowly. “I never thought of it that way, but maybe you’re right. ”
“By way of explanation, in my world, you don’t wait to be told to take care of someone. You just do it. If you see a problem and you have the tools to fix it, you fix it. That’s not considered controlling. It’s a way of being respectful and showing that you care.”
I meet his eyes again. He’s not lecturing me. He’s just… explaining his point of view.
“I understand you a lot more after this little talk,” I say, and this time it’s almost teasing. “And I want to say thank you for caring. I’m sorry I mistook it for something else.”
He leans back slightly, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re welcome.”
I pick up that last cookie and break it in half. I offer him a piece without thinking too hard about it. He takes it and eats it in two bites, quiet again. There is no smirk or awkwardness radiating off him. He’s finally opening up and letting me see the man behind the cut.
I look at him with more informed eyes for another second before I stand and start collecting the empty glasses. He helps without asking, bringing everything to the counter just inside the door. When he lingers at the door, I know he has something else he wants to say, so I turn to face him.
“You ever think about meeting them?” he asks.
Confused, I ask, “Meeting who?”
“My parents,” he states quietly. “Our baby’s grandparents.”
I straighten, more than a little surprised that he’s bringing this up so early in the pregnancy.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’d love to meet them.”
I don’t hesitate for even a moment because I love my gran with all my heart, and I want that for our baby.
Having active grandparents is such an enriching experience.
Mine took me on summer vacations, came to all my special events, and made themselves available when I needed emotional support.
I was devastated when my grandfather died.
But my grandmother continued to be there for me, even when she was mired in grief.
His expression lights up. “When do you wanna do this?”
“Anytime is good for me, especially in the evenings, since I usually work the day shift at the diner.”
“You got a day off today?” he asks.
“Work’s been slow recently. But I’m sure it’ll pick up again soon.
” I force a breezy smile on my face, not wanting him to see how worried I am about the lack of a steady income—a situation that just got a whole lot worse since my boss told me he’s going to have to let me go at the end of the month. Jasper’s already done so much for me.
“Is tonight too soon? My family is excited because this will be the first grandchild.”
My heart beats a little faster as I nod. “No, it’s not too soon at all. I’d love to meet them.”
I gaze at him as he tells me when to be ready and that he’ll take me with him when the roof is finished.
Truth be told, I also want to know more about the world our child is coming into.
I want to understand him better, to know where he came from, and who shaped him.
Meeting them doesn’t feel like an obligation.
It feels necessary, in order to know what I’m getting myself into.
***
After he leaves, I clean up my kitchen and give myself the rest of the afternoon to get ready.
After showering and fixing my hair, I rummage through my closet, settling on black dress pants and a black sweater twinset I haven’t worn in a while.
I smooth my hair down, slip on a pair of gold hoop earrings, and choose my black kitten heels.
It’s a quiet, polished look. I’m not sure what his parents are like, but I want to make a good impression.
By the time the sun’s gone down, the noise from the roof crew has faded. I hear them talking outside, laughing with joking tones. Although I can’t make out what they’re saying, I imagine they’re congratulating each other on a job well done or making plans to get together for a cold beer.
The house is quiet again. Then there is a knock at my door. I open the door to find him standing there, still damp from cleaning up with my water hose for a second time today. I look past him to see his bike has two helmets, one hanging off each handlebar.
He pauses, just staring at me for a second. His gaze sweeps over me, and something changes in the way he’s standing. His tongue comes out to slide against his bottom lip as his eyes trail back up my body.
“Is everything alright?” I ask.
“Yeah, of course it is. You ready to head out?” he asks.
I nod, fighting back a smile. “Yeah, of course I am.”
He gives me a lopsided grin. “Think you’re funny, don’t ya?”
“I feel like I could be if I properly applied myself,” I reply lightly.
He steps back, and I follow him out to his bike.
He helps me onto the back and shows me how to put the helmet on and snap it down tight.
Then he gets on in front of me. I slide my hands around his waist, trying my best not to overthink having my hands on him.
It’s for safety, I tell myself. His hand drifts back to land on my leg as we settle in.
It seems like a gesture meant to be protective and soothing.
We take off into the sunset. The sun is already down, but there’s still a blaze of color on the horizon.