Chapter 8
Vanessa
Okay, forgive me, Lisa, but I’d have to be dead not to notice how my future brother-in-law fills out a pair of jeans. They’re also faded, and now I’m crying in Spanglish.
“You good?” he asks.
I pull the cotton fluff out of my brain and nod. “Yeah, I’m good.”
He walks over to my side of the car and shuts the door, then he gestures at a pale yellow single-family home across the street. “There it is. We call it Suenos.”
“Dreams. That’s nice. This house represents a family’s dream, right?”
“Yeah. But not just theirs; ours too. It represents our dreams for them, our dreams for the people who come after them, and our dreams for the hands that touch this place. A common goal that brings joy to many.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. This man. Is he a saint or something? It’s bad enough that he’s handsome, but he also has the nerve to be a good person? Ugh. Zero stars. Do not like. To him, I say, “It must be so satisfying to finish a project like this.”
“It is. You know when people talk about refilling the well? Being involved in Built to Excel does that for me.”
Honestly, I envy him. I don’t have anything that refills my well, and I don’t know what will. Unfortunately, the well is well and truly empty. “Ready to head inside?”
He stares at me a moment too long before he answers. “Yeah, let’s go.”
When he holds out his hand, I take it without hesitation. I’m supposed to charm him, after all. Only problem is, he’s being more charming than I am.
We enter the home through the front door, and I immediately inhale an almost lethal dose of paint fumes. “Good God, that’s strong.”
“Sorry, I guess I’m used to it. I’ll grab you a mask in the kitchen.”
“Should I be wearing a hard hat?”
“Nah, all the structural stuff is done. We’ll just be working on the finishing touches.” He flicks one of my curls. “I bet you’d look cute, though. Maybe another time.”
Oh, well, hey now. He’s leveling up on his flirting game. And he’s ahead of schedule too. Just as I predicted, easy.
In the kitchen, a small group of teens and a middle-aged Black man are shooting the shit as they drink coffee from paper cups.
“I brought our latest sacrifice,” Jason says jokingly as he points at me over his shoulder.
“Wait, should I be worried?” I ask.
The man steps forward and puts out his hand. “Not at all. We’re a nice bunch.” He gives the teens behind him side-eye. “Most of the time. I’m Silas, the director of Built to Excel. And you are?”
“Vanessa. Jason’s…friend.”
The pause is purposeful, of course. The power of suggestion is a reliable tool in my arsenal, and my apparent equivocation suggests that I’m considering whether there’s more to the relationship than I’m acknowledging.
“Thanks for joining us, Vanessa. Did Jason tell you what we’re about?”
“He did. It’s an impressive mission. I’m happy to be put to work for such an excellent cause.”
The rest of the people in the group, seven Black and brown teenagers in all, introduce themselves as I struggle to remember everyone’s names.
A Latine teen with a ball cap on backward—Benny, I think—grins at me. “So, are you Jason’s girlfriend?”
One of the girls, Ivy, smacks Benny’s shoulder. “She’s the first person he’s brought around here. What do you think?”
“We’re getting to know each other,” I clarify.
“Aaaand that ends the interview portion of the program,” Jason says, grabbing a mask off the kitchen counter. “We’re here to work.” He looks over at Silas. “Where do you need us?”
Silas consults his clipboard. “We need to prep and paint the dining room. Think you can handle that?”
Jason turns to me. “Sound good to you?”
That small gesture, considering my wishes, means a lot. It’s not as if he deserves brownie points for it—politeness is the floor—but it’s a relief that he isn’t the kind of guy who expects a woman to go along with whatever he wants.
Why do I care, though?
Oh, right. Because Lisa wants to date him. And I’m here to make that happen. And it’s a good thing that Lisa’s interested in a nice guy. Yes, that’s exactly why it matters.
“Works for me,” I say.
“Want a tour of the house first?”
“I was hoping you’d ask.”
He smiles, and the brightness in his eyes twists my insides.
I’m trying to remember the reasons for my initial reaction to him—my visceral need to take him down a peg—and I’m coming up empty.
I’m such a hothead. All I can do now, though, is play matchmaker for him and my sister.
That’ll make the pettiness I’ll eventually unleash on him worth it.
“We’re still on for the Intro to the Construction Industry workshop at the end of the month?” Silas asks Jason.
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Just remember, you promised to bring doughnuts.”
“I won’t forget,” Silas replies. To me, he says, “Be sure to make Jason do most of the work.”
“That’s the plan,” I say, waggling my eyebrows.
Silas salutes us with his baseball cap. “If you need anything, I’ll be outside with the kids working on the yard. Thanks again.”
“Our pleasure,” we say in unison.
Jason rests a hand on my lower back and guides me out of the kitchen.
“Do you know anything about the family who’s going to live here?”
“Not yet. There’s an application process. And a training process too. The head of household commits to attending home-ownership workshops as part of the deal.”
“The home’s all paid up?”
“No, but the remaining mortgage payment is lower than the average rent in the area. Much lower, actually.”
“That’s fantastic. I can imagine it’s a huge relief to the families who participate.”
“Seems to be,” he says. “Last year, we did a reno in Brooklyn and two women who’d been living in shelters scored this fantastic brownstone that had been given to the program by a former member of the board.
The only requirement was that whoever the program chose had to be an abuse survivor.
They both were, and they wrote letters to BTE explaining how this was going to change their lives. ”
“I can see why you’d want to be a part of this. It’s inspiring.”
“It is.”
We walk up the stairs, and Jason points out the various rooms from the landing.
“Tell me there’s a bathroom in the primary bedroom,” I say. “That’s my dream come true.”
“There is,” he says, chuckling. “And a Jack and Jill bathroom for the kids.”
I’m in awe as we walk through the home’s interior.
It’s modest but comfortable, and the upstairs rooms are already furnished with the basic necessities—beds, nightstands, and dressers.
The craftsmanship appears to be top-notch, too, which I’m guessing Jason’s partly responsible for. “Who pays for all of this?”
“Donors, mostly. Every couple of years, the program lands a grant, but Silas doesn’t have the time to chase down money constantly. We could probably do much more if he had a bigger staff.”
“Yeah, nonprofits always seem to deal with staffing challenges.”
“Exactly. Silas complains about it all the time, so I try to lighten his load in other ways. Ready to head down?”
“Let’s do it. I’m excited to help.”
“I had a feeling you would be.”
The dining area is small and has just enough space to fit a table set and a sideboard.
The walls are adorned with crown molding and feature a chair rail along the perimeter of the room.
I picture a family spending their first holiday here, sharing a meal, with the falling snow visible through the arched windows.
The vision energizes me, makes me want to be part of bringing it to fruition.
“I’m your apprentice today, so I’m following your orders. What do you need me to do?”
“Hang on a minute,” he says, fishing something from his pocket, then pulling out his phone. “Say that again. I want to record it.”
I roll my eyes at him. “And just like that, the truce is over.”
He gives me a half smile, one I’m starting to get used to. “I knew it wouldn’t last.” He hands me painter’s tape and a putty knife.
“What do I do with the knife?”
“We should start by masking off the trim and chair rails, then we use the putty knife to make sure we get a good seal. We don’t want the paint to bleed through.”
“That’s a great tip. It’s almost as if you’re a pro or something.”
“No more lip, woman. Get to work.”
“Okay, okay,” I say, heading to the wall opposite Jason’s and putting on my mask.
We work in companionable silence most of the time, occasionally checking in with each other’s progress. The mask is stifling, though, so after a few minutes I remove it and slowly grow accustomed to the paint smell. “Do we have to sand the walls after this?”
“Yeah, that’s next.”
“How’d you end up volunteering here anyway?”
“One of my former employees told me about it. He moved to Pennsylvania, but before that, he participated in BTE’s program.
Considering he was one of my best workers, I became curious about the training.
I visited the home base in Manhattan, met Silas, and decided I wanted to be a part of it. He’s a friend now. Silas, I mean.”
“Kind of like a father figure?”
“Exactly.”
“This isn’t a conventional place to take someone on a date, but I’m glad you invited me. Makes me feel like I’m part of something important.”
“Because you don’t feel that way now?”
“Not really,” I say, shrugging. “I have a good job, but I’m not really tied to anything. Basically, I grind, I sleep, I wake up, I grind some more. It’s been that way since I graduated from college.”
“What about fun?” he asks, his forehead furrowed.
“What’s that?”
“But you’re so young. Why is work your only focus? What about friends? Spending time with family? I mean, I’m not a party animal, but even I know it’s important to connect with other people.”
“I get it, I do. But I don’t make friends easily, and before you say anything, yes, I know that’s a red flag. And my family…well, let’s just say they have every reason to be wary of me.”
“There’s a story there.”
“There is.”
“You don’t want to share it, though.”
“Hell no. Not on the first date.”