11. Stan
Chapter eleven
Stan
“I didn’t eat enough fish last night,” Ruth announces in the car the next morning.
“You ate three, along with five s’mores,” I remind her. “It’s a miracle you didn’t destroy your toilet.”
“You underestimate the power of a teenager’s metabolism,” she reminds me. I can see her smirking in the rearview mirror.
She’s right about the metabolism thing. I remember eating a whole ton of random stuff and not getting a stomachache or dashing to the toilet. If I attempted to eat like that now, I would be out of commission for most the day. At least for a few hours.
“I had fun last night,” Ruth tells me.
“Me too.”
“Can we do it again? Cook on the fire?” She looks at me shyly, like she’s not used to asking for what she wants. Or like she thinks I might say no.
Who would say no to her? I would never say no to her.
“Of course,” I say.
“Would you show me how to build the little pyramid thing, with the paper and sticks?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Should I be at all concerned about your sudden interest in lighting fires?”
She scoffs and looks out the window. “It was nice. Cozy. It felt very… I don’t know. And maybe I do like setting th ings on fire.”
I turn into town, heading toward the junior high school. I know exactly what she means. Here, we’re surrounded by wilderness. Water. Stars. You can have a fire in a city, but it just isn’t the same. Too tidy, too sanitized. Doesn’t have that cozy feeling.
“I love that feeling, too,” I say. “Not the setting things on fire part, though. Please do not light fires without my supervision.”
“And here I was thinking you were fun,” she sighs. “Can we try to call my mom again today?”
“Of course,” I say, resolving to call the facility first and make sure we call Catherine at the best time.
Ruth nods, and I nod back. Today, the silence isn’t awkward. In fact, I feel like I made some headway last night. We forged a connection in what is otherwise a fucking weird arrangement.
“How late did you and Sammie stay up last night?” Ruth asks the question casually enough, but I see her fingers fiddling with the straps of her backpack as she stares out the window.
As my thoughts turn to Sam, I sigh. Try as I might, I can’t stop thinking about whatever that moment was last night. The tortured expression on her face as she watched my lips while telling me I shouldn’t be looking at her like that.
Something almost happened last night. A part of me wished it had. Then I wouldn’t constantly be having these fantasies about Sammie.
“Not too much later,” I answer. “You’ll see her today.”
She looks at me now, casting a suspicious glare my way. “Good. I like her.”
“Me too.”
“It’s possible I like her more than you, you know,” she says, smirking. “Stan’s got a crush. Stan’s got a crush,” she chants in a singsong voice.
I bark out a laugh. “I don’t blame you. She is far more likable than me.”
“Prettier than you, too.”
Good lord, we’re edging into dangerous territory. And all it takes is one glance in the rearview mirror to know that Ruth is staring at me too hard for the comment to be off-handed.
I shrug. “She’s Samantha Knight,” I say, like that explains everything. The way she is. The way she’s always been. “And my best friend’s cousin. She’s practically his little sister.”
I change the subject right as we pull into the drop-off line. “Wanna review short films with me?” I ask. “I worked on some shorts to promote a few products, and I’ll be uploading some of them in my drafts.”
I can tell I’ve taken her aback. Sammie was right. A spark of interest flares in her raven eyes.
Ruth points at me and then at herself. Her oversized black hoodie has holes where she’s pushed her thumbs through. “You want me to watch your films with you?”
“Yeah. Thought it might be fun.”
“I’ll think about it,” she says simply, but she fails to hide her excitement.
What a drama queen.
She opens the door and steps out, but before she goes, she swings her backpack over one shoulder and turns back to me with a smug smirk on her lips.
“And just so you know, all the perv dads at pickup have also noticed she’s,” her fingers curl into sarcastic air quotes, “Samantha Knight.”
Great. Now I have to follow Sam for pickups.
When I get to the office later that day, Sam is hard at work. She’s on the phone, trying to get the contractors to play ball.
“Pleeease,” Sam whines as she spins in her chair, staring up at the ceiling.
There’s something childish about the entire scene. The high-pitched tone of her voice, her dramatic begging. But it’s the way her hair trails behind her that has me staring. Brown, gold, silver—it’s like every strand is a different color, and all darker at the root. Some shades come from the salon, no doubt, while others have probably changed in the Rose Haven sun.
“No, listen.,” she says. “The pay will be solid. Just come look at the place. You did a terrific job with my parents’ house. On time, under budget, the whole thing. You’re the cream of the crop for contractors.”
She continues spinning, and I can just make out the dull, deep voice of the other person on the line.
“I know there are other contractors in the area, but you beat them by a country mile. No comparison. You’re a cut above.”
It was Sam’s idea to spruce up the office, so she’s been making calls all morning. So far, she seems to be doing a good job with that. And distracting me. I can’t help but keep looking at her out of the corner of my eye, captivated by her very being. Rather than watching her, I really should work my way out from under the pile of emails I need to respond to. Not only have I not made notes on the script Selena worked on, but I also need to start interviewing for the cast.
Sam finally catches sight of me, my shoulder propped against the doorway, and stops twirling. Her eyes go up and down, taking me in with no shame. Likely as payback for what I said to her last night.
“Trust me, this guy’s loaded enough to pay,” she says to the phone. “He’s wearing a Rolex right now. And he styled his hair to look like it’s mussed when it’s not.”
I look away and stare down at my wrist, catching the glint of my Rolex. This is the one I bought to celebrate having a million dollars in my investment account. All money I earned myself, not Daddy’s money. Mine. My hard-earned cash.
The Rolex was the first stupid, frivolous thing I bought with my own cash.
“So you’ll do it? Urgghh… fine, I’ll tell him.” She groans and hangs up. She turns to me, still swinging in her chair. “That was Lesley Philips. Your new contractor.”
“Oh?” I say. “He’s going to take the job? ”
“Yes and no. First, he wants you to play a game of pool with him.”
I blink twice at the bizarre request. “I’m lost.”
“You play billiards, don’t you? With Lucas and all the other sweaty men?”
“I’m one of those sweaty men, you know.”
“I know,” she grins. “So, he wants to play a game with you. That’s all. And then he’ll decide if he wants to work with you.”
“It’s still a bizarre request,” I sigh. “But I’ll play with him tomorrow or something.”
“Has to be tonight.”
I raise my gaze to see if she’s joking, but she has a smile on her face. She’s not joking, and she’s enjoying this.
“I can’t,” I say. “Someone needs to watch Ruth. She’s still getting used to being here.”
“Oh, no biggie,” she says. “I can hang with the kiddo.” She shrugs.
“You’re going to spend a Thursday night hanging out with a thirteen-year-old?”
“A thirteen-year-old girl. Just in case you forgot, I’m also a girl. And why not? Is it somehow more badass when you do it?”
I bristle. I’m trying to play it cool, but I was genuinely looking forward to hanging out with Ruth tonight. While stressing out about Sam on my drive back, I was also brainstorming dinner options.
“I told her we’d cook over the fire again,” I say.
“I’ll ply her with pizza and a chick flick,” Sam says. “She’s young, she’ll bounce back. Take one for the team so we don’t have to work in a place that reeks of mold. You’re not in Hollywood anymore, Movie Boy. Good contractors are not a dime a dozen around here. You can click your $500 Frye boots together all you want, these guys don’t just pop up out of nowhere.”
She crosses her arms, and her loose knit sweater stretches over her breasts in a way I should not be noticing.
It reminds me of last night, and I think about putting some distance between us. Especially since she has a boyfriend, my best friend’s little sister, and to top it all off, my employee.
“That reminds me, Samantha. During office hours, you should just call me Stan or sir rather than Movie Boy,” I mutter. “We still need to maintain an air of professionalism.”
“And if I don’t want to be professional… Movie Boy?”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to have to dock your pay,” I tease, sensing she’s getting more annoyed with every word I speak.
She rolls her eyes. “Fine, Stan. I mean, sir.”
I laugh.
Totally worth it.