11. Heath
The following week passes quickly. Every morning I send Gabby a “good morning” text, and I ask her about her day each evening. She’s slowly opening up, though she still hasn’t agreed to go to the festival with me.
“It’s Friday, Heath. What are you still doing here?” Bradley asks.
“Sorry, boss. Just finishing up taping this room.” And I lost track of time daydreaming about Gabby.
“How much longer? I’m ready to cut out of here.”
I glance around the room. “I can clean up and finish Monday.”
Bradley nods. “Need help?”
“Nah. Thanks, though.” I pack up all the tools, closing the putty containers and making sure the mess is at least contained before heading to the front. “This job’s about over. Any idea what’s coming next?”
Bradley grins. “Eager to move onto the next job site?”
I shrug. “Just curious. I want to know what our schedule looks like around Thanksgiving.”
“Ah,” Bradley nods. “Right. Well, we take Thanksgiving week off entirely. No sense in making the crew come in for a day or two when they could be spending time with family, especially if they travel.”
“Good to know,” I say, relieved that it looks like Mom and I can head to Olivia and Dominic’s for the holiday.
“We take the week of Christmas through the second of the year off, too. In case you were wondering.” Bradley motions for me to leave the building before him.
“Perfect,” I say. This job has turned out to have more perks than I expected. Coming home from the Army, I wasn’t sure what I’d be able to get for work. Especially in a small town like Piney Brook. Apparently, construction is always in demand, no matter how big the town.
“You have a good weekend,” Bradley says as he locks the building. “Don’t get into too much trouble.” He laughs at his own joke. If anyone would be getting in trouble this weekend, it’s Hudson. That man is always up for a good time. Still acts like a kid. Not that he’s any younger than I am—we’ve just lived very different lives.
Once I’m settled in the truck, I take out my phone and text Gabby.
Heath:How was your day, beautiful?
A few minutes later, my phone dings with a text. My fingers itch to check it, but I’m driving, and that’s a big no-no. It takes all my concentration to wait until I pull into the driveway before I snatch the phone off the seat beside me and open the screen.
Gabby: Could have been better . . .
I click the attachment she sent. It looks like someone, or something, dumped her trash cans all over her yard.
Heath: Ouch! How’d they get into the cans? I thought Gram always kept them in the garage.
I hop out of the truck and head inside, toeing my work boots off at the front door.
“I’m home,” I call out before remembering that Mom was going to the cancer survivor support group tonight.
My phone dings with another notification.
Gabby:Yeah, well. The door sticks and I can’t for the life of me get it to open.
I smile. Not because Gabby is having a hard time with her house, but because this is something I can do for her.
Heath:I can fix it for you. Give me thirty minutes to shower, and I’ll head that way.
I don’t wait for her to tell me no. I rush into my room and grab some clothes that I don’t mind getting dirty, but are a step above my work uniform. An old t-shirt from high school with George Strait on it, and a less ratty pair of blue jeans. It will do.
I rush through my shower and get into my clothes in record time. I check my phone, and, sure enough . . . Gabby’s trying to refuse my help. Stubborn woman.
Gabby:Oh no, you’ve worked all day. It can wait.
Heath:I’m on my way. Want to grab pizza after?
I hold my breath. Would she refuse pizza? It’s her favorite food. Or it used to be.
I slide my shoes back on while I wait for her answer. I’m stepping out onto the front porch when she sends it.
Gabby:I’ve got lasagna in the oven. I could share.
I throw my fist in the air in celebration. She’s letting me in. At least a little bit.
Heath:Sounds perfect. On my way.
A few minutes later, I’m pulling into the driveway behind Gabby’s old Jeep. Memories of driving her home that last summer, holding her hand, hearing her sing along to the country music take me back to a time that seemed so simple. So perfect.
I step out of the truck and head to the garage door to check it out. I’m hoping the seals just need to be replaced. Easy enough. We’ll see.
I hear the front door open and turn to see Gabby standing there watching me. “You didn’t want to come in and say hello first?” she asks, a smile on her face.
“Figured I’d get right to it. I’m sure you don’t want to spend all night with me in your space,” I say, secretly wishing she did.
A light blush stains her cheeks. “Maybe not all night,” she says before turning and heading through the front door, leaving it open for me to follow.
“It smells amazing in here.” The smell of bubbling cheese and marinara sauce hits my nose the moment I step through the door.
“Thanks,” she says simply before turning toward the kitchen and the door that leads to the garage. “Want to see it from the inside?”
“You bet,” I say, following her lead.
Out in the garage, I can already tell the garage door tracks are dirty. “That could be the problem,” I say, pointing to them. “The springs look okay, so unless the tracks are bent somehow, or the rubber seal needs replacing, it should be a fairly easy fix.”
Gabby shakes her head. “Seriously? It’s dirty? It’s a garage door. Aren’t they always dirty?”
I laugh. “Well, it’s not the cleanest place in the house, but I’ll get it cleaned up and lubricated. We’ll see if that does the trick.”
She nods. “Thanks.”
“Have you considered putting in an automatic garage door opener?”
“Nope. I don’t need it. No sense in spending money on things I don’t need.”
“Got it,” I say, trying to hide my smile. Gabby was always the practical one, where I was quick to jump on the things that would make my life, and the lives of those I cared about, a little easier. “I’ll head out to the truck and get my stuff. This shouldn’t take too long.”
“Need help?” she asks. “I don’t mind getting dirty.”
I shake my head. “No, ma’am. You’re going to go inside and check on that delicious-smelling dinner, then put your feet up and read that book I saw on your coffee table.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” she says, grinning. “Thanks, Heath.”
“No problem, Gabby. I’ll always help you out. You should know that.” I walk through the door and out to the truck before she can respond.
I’m in the garage, just finishing wiping down the tracks when Gabby steps out. “Dinner’s done, can you take a break?”
I wipe my hands on a clean cloth beside me and take a step back. “Yeah, I’ve got the tracks cleaned up. After we eat, I’ll grease up the rollers and see if we can’t get her open.”
“You can wash up in the bathroom,” Gabby says pointing down the hall. “I’m guessing you remember where it is?”
I nod. “I remember everything about you,” I say, softly.
Gabby turns and slides oven mitts on both hands before pulling open the oven door. “Go clean up while I make us plates.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Once in the bathroom, I wash my hands and face before giving myself a pep talk. This is Gabby, your girl. She’s letting you in. Don’t mess it up. Well, kind of sad as pep talks go, but, hey . . .
“I hope you’re hungry,” she calls from the kitchen.
“Starving, actually,” I call back. When I step back into the hallway, I see Gabby has plated the food—lasagna, garlic bread, and side salads—and placed everything on the dining table in the corner of the room.
I pull out the chair that used to be hers, and wait for her to sit before taking the spot beside her instead of across from her. I wanted to be close, and she doesn’t seem to mind.
“So,” I say, picking up my fork. “Besides the trash pandas, how was your week?” I’m dying to know everything about her again.
“It was good. The diner is busy this time of year. Ms. Daisy’s thinking of retiring soon. Don’t tell anyone.”
I raise an eyebrow. Somehow I don’t see Ms. Daisy retiring, but I guess she is getting older. “What will she do with the diner?”
Gabby finishes chewing her bite and takes a sip of water. “Well,” she starts. “I’m not supposed to say anything, so don’t repeat this, okay?”
She’s trusting me. I could whoop or pump my fist I’m so excited. “Of course not, Gabby. You can trust me. I promise.”
She eyes me for a minute before seemingly deciding she can. “Ms. Daisy has asked if I want to take on the role of manager. She’ll still own it, but I’ll do all the day-to-day stuff. She’ll help me, of course, while I learn, but the diner will be mine to run.”
I set my fork on my plate so I can grasp her hands. “That’s amazing! You’ve always loved working in the diner. This will be the next level up for you!”
She smiles before dropping her eyes. “Yeah, but what if Gram would be disappointed? I mean, I’ve only ever worked at the diner. I never went to school to be something, you know?”
“No, I don’t know. I didn’t really go to school either. I was trained in the Army. I couldn’t imagine working a desk job. I need to work somewhere where I can use my hands and create something. Would you want to be doing anything else?”
“Not really,” Gabby says, taking another bite of her food.
“Then I think Gram would be happy for you. She only ever encouraged us to follow our dreams and do what makes us happy. Our dreams, Gabby. Not someone else’s.”
Gabby shakes her head. “Sometimes it feels dangerous to dream,” she whispers. “Dreams don’t tend to come true.”
“Well, this one is. This sounds like the perfect opportunity for you. I’m proud of you, Gabby, and I know Gram would be, too.”
A tear slides down her cheek, and it just about guts me right here at the table.
“Dreams do come true. The ones that are meant to, that is.” I hope she can sense the sincerity in my voice—the things I’m not quite saying.