Chapter 3 #2
“We both know those words can mean completely different things to us. Is it as soon as possible within the week, or as soon as possible in a month?” She lets out a sigh, but when she finds me smiling, she returns it. There you go. Relax, sis. Life’s not that serious. “I’m just kidding.”
“The faster you clean it, the faster I can give you more things to do for the summer, and maybe I’ll let you pick your group.”
“Oh?”
“You and I both know you have a favorite age, and you’ll get to pick if it’s done quickly and efficiently.”
“Yesss, Mom!” I shout, squeezing her in a hug and kissing her cheek, just how she hates it. Maybe she secretly loves it, who knows. Either way, I do what I want.
“Now if that’s all…” She shakes herself away from me. “I have work to do, and you have a shed to organize.”
Did I get anything done in the shed? No.
Did I get lost in opening boxes and finding memorabilia? Yes.
Did I find a collection of opened paints that needed to be used or thrown away? Also, yes, which is perfect, because now I’m wired, and there’s no way I’ll be able to go to sleep. Painting sounds just about right.
The beautiful, vast night sky is the only indicator of the hours I spent in there, getting lost in the bazillion knick-knacks I found, in the possibilities, daydreaming and dancing, just like I did every time I tried to clean or do anything requiring focus.
My report card growing up was filled with ‘Brilliant but distracted easily. Smart but talks too much. Could excel if she could focus’, and that hasn’t changed.
I continue to trek to my cabin, arms full of paints and supplies I found in the shed, ready to make a home in what will be my art room.
The top floor of my cabin is more like a loft.
It stays empty with only the ghosts of memories there floating around.
Until today. Today, I’m ready to uncover the space and make it my own, claim my own ghosts and dance with them instead. Or paint.
I should probably figu— “Ah!” I shout, bumping into a wall. Or a tree. Or something. And straight into the ground. Goddamn it.
“Are you okay?” a deep voice says, snapping me back to the moment. So not a tree. Just tall, strong muscles from— holy shit?
It’s the guy who saved me yesterday.
“Yup! Peeeeachy!”
What are the chances? Why is he here?
He offers me his hand, a hand with more cuts and calluses than I’ve seen in a while, and that’s saying something. I take it either way, and, in one quick pull, I’m vertical again.
“Thanks.” We both try to pick up the paints I dropped, bumping into each other instead.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
“Sorry,” I echo. We take our turns picking things up from different spots until everything is back in the oversize tote I was attempting to carry. The tote he now has in his arms. Where the tote covered me completely, it barely covers him at all.
“I can take that for now. Thank you.” I try to pull my tote from his arms, but he won’t let go. “You already saved me once. I can take it from here.” He won’t budge, but also, what in the world is he doing here? “What are you doing here?”
He clears his throat, not letting go of the box. “I work here.”
“What? Where?”
He looks around. “Here. At the ranch.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do. I could ask you the same. Were you stealing supplies from the shed?”
I look at the box and then at the shed, then back to the box he won’t give me. Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“You think I stole those?”
“I’ve never seen anyone go into that shed, and, well, you either, other than yesterday.”
“So you do remember that.”
“How could I not?” he replies, and although there shouldn’t be any reaction, his choice of words sends shivers running down my spine. It makes me feel unforgettable, even if for a split second.
“Let’s try this again. Hi, I’m Riley.” I extend my hand, which he eyes suspiciously, but he takes it, nonetheless.
“Dom,” he replies after considering it.
“What is it short of?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Just Dom.”
“Not even your mama would believe that, but okay. Last name?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Why do you need to know my last name?”
I shrug. “For next time I run into you. Then, I can call you by your full name, since you won’t tell me what Dom stands for.”
I keep my chin up as his eyes darken. “Diaz. Dom Diaz.”
Everything works my way, I silently say in my brain, working on my daily mantra and manifestations. “So you work here, Dom Diaz?”
“I do. What about you? What are you doing here?”
“What do you do here?” I ask, looking around, maybe looking for hidden cameras.
“I could ask you the same.”
Oh my heavens. Okay. I’ll be the bigger person. “Okay, Dom.” I twirl, opening my eyes to the sky. “I happen to live here, but I was away for a while. My family owns the ranch.”
His eyes open as wide as the open range, recognition hitting him right away. My sisters might be older than me, but we all look alike. My cheeks are fuller, and I somehow have a bigger ass, but other than that, we’re very similar. “Are you the middle or the little Banks?”
I giggle. “The youngest. Nothing little about me.” I cross my arms over my chest, because that was a lie. These are definitely small. “Now it’s your turn. What do you do here? Since when? And if you do work here, why are you on this side of the ranch?”
He nods. “I’m a ranch hand over with Mr. Arnold, but I live,” he points to the cabin next to mine, “right over there.”
A laugh escapes me, because what else could make this whole thing more comical than him being my, what? Neighbor?
“Really? Well, that one next to it is mine. Looks like we’re neighbors, huh?” I smile, and he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
He’s so weird.
Hot but weird.
“So now that you know, can I have my tote back?”
“I can just take it. I was going that way.”
I shrug. I’m not going to refuse help. A lot of girls would in the name of independence, but not me. Nope, he can carry it.
We head over to my cabin in silence.
So quiet.
It’s unnerving.
“So, what brought you here?” I ask, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.
“A job.”
“I mean, clearly. But like why this? Why here?”
“It was available,” is all he says.
Tough crowd tonight.
I stay quiet. It appears the mere sound of my voice is bothering him, or he’s tired, one of the two. It’s not even that late, but I know most people start their work day early here. Arnie likes to start before the birds even sing. I’m sure it’s the same for him.