Chapter 4—Simon #3
I arch a brow. “I’ve met him.”
“Several times?”
“Unfortunately.”
That gets another laugh.
I stop before the conversation turns into something I have no right to encourage.
Christa seems to recognize the same boundary because she returns to the work without adding anything about her husband.
By four, the first section of veneer is stabilized and three old repairs have been documented for later treatment.
Christa begins packing away the materials she doesn’t want left out.
I remove my gloves. “When do I get another assignment?”
She glances toward me. “You enjoyed that?”
“I labeled screws for forty minutes. I’ve had board meetings less fulfilling.”
She smiles skeptically. “That’s either an endorsement of conservation or an indictment of your board.”
“Both.”
She smiles as she closes one case. “Next time, I might let you clean hardware.”
I sound as enthusiastic as I feel, which is just pathetic. Again. “I’m honored.”
“Don’t be. It’s tedious.”
I hold up a hand. “I was promised training.”
Christa scoffs. “You were promised nothing.”
“I distinctly remember probation.”
That makes her laugh. “Probation isn’t a promise.”
“You’d make an excellent executive.”
Christa makes a face. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“I’d fire half the room by lunch.”
I grin. “I’ve been tempted, and that could be efficient.”
She waves a hand. “I’d just have to spend the afternoon fixing whatever they broke. No, thanks.” She laughs while I carry one case toward the door.
Her phone vibrates again before we leave the library, and she doesn’t look this time.
I do. The screen lights long enough for me to see Tate’s name, and I look away immediately.
Christa picks up the phone only after it stops buzzing and slips it into her bag without reading the message.
Something ugly settles behind my ribs.
Not jealousy.
At least, not only jealousy.
She’s married to a man who appears to make her less happy every time he contacts her.
That’s none of my business. I repeat that to myself as we walk downstairs.
At the front door, Christa reaches for the case I’m carrying. “I can take that.”
“Okay.”
She waits until I hand it over. Her smile suggests she notices the choice. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She shifts both cases and looks toward the drive. “I’ll be back Thursday.”
“What time?”
“One.”
“I’ll be here.”
“I assumed a busy man like you would be waiting for your next lesson,” she teases.
I should let her leave, but instead, I ask, “Do you need anything before then?”
She arches a brow. “Besides an owner who follows instructions?”
“I’ve been exemplary.”
Christa clicks her tongue. “You touched a screwdriver without permission.”
“I was moving it.”
“You were considering using it.”
I put a hand on my chest. “Unprovable.”
Christa’s smile widens. “Thursday, Simon.”
“Thursday.”
She turns toward her car, and I watch her for exactly two seconds before forcing myself back inside. That seems restrained when I want to stare at her until her car disappears.
Misty calls five minutes later. Bracing myself for an onslaught of mockery, I answer from the library. “Calling to bust my balls?”
Her laugh comes through the phone. “Absolutely.” She chuckles when I groan. “Noah and I have a pool.”
I close my eyes. “Of course you do.”
“He says you’ve already volunteered to assist with the restoration. I say you’re pretending your presence is necessary while hovering six feet away.”
I scoff at her. “I labeled screws.”
After a second, Misty starts laughing.
I regret everything. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” She sounds delighted. “You labeled screws?”
“Correctly.”
“I’m proud of you.” She’s obviously pandering to me.
“I may block your number.”
“You can’t. I’m your emergency contact.”
I snort. “That was an administrative error.”
Her tone turns serious. “How was she?” Not how was the work, but how was she.
I look toward the escritoire. “It went well.”
Misty waits. She wants more, but I give her nothing.
Her voice softens when she speaks again. “You really like her.” It’s not a joke this time.
I rub one hand over the back of my neck. “Yes.” That’s an unplanned admission. The word carries more weight spoken aloud than it did in my head.
Misty is quiet for a moment. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“You like her. She’s married. You know what that means.”
I close my eyes. “I do.”
“Of course, if that changes someday, it changes.”
I stare out the library window toward the drive where Christa’s car disappeared several minutes ago. “I’m not waiting for her marriage to fail.”
“I know.” Misty’s answer is immediate. “That’s why I’m not worried about you.”
I appreciate that more than I say. “Good thing. She’s coming back Thursday.”
She lets the silence last only a few seconds before ruining it. “So Thursday, are we moving all meetings again?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Naturally.” She shakes with laughter.
I hang up on her and look at the neat row of labels Christa left beside the escritoire. One screw is slightly crooked in its tray, so I straighten it.
Apparently, I’m committed to the work. I wish I could pretend it’s just about work.