8 - Lauren
Lauren
Brock regarded me with a skeptical look from under the brim of his cap. I smiled innocently, wringing my hands behind my back.
“Miss Wolfhaardt…”
“Lauren. Please.”
“Look, Lauren, I appreciate the fact that you want to get involved. But you’re paying us to finish this project for you and it can be dangerous for someone who isn’t used to working on reno sites. I’d rather you enjoy your day doing something else instead,” he said, scratching the side of his neck.
I observed him carefully. I actually had plans for today that he was unknowingly a part of, but they depended on him actually letting me join the crew. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, feigning disappointment as I looked up at him.
“Oh, that’s okay, I guess. I just didn’t really have anything else going on and I wanted to help.” I gave a light laugh. “I guess it doesn’t make sense, considering I’d probably just get in the way.”
Brock’s eyes flickered. He turned them to Callum, who stopped what he was doing to weigh in on the situation. “Aw, come on, Boss, let her help. The more hands the faster we’ll get the job done, huh?”
I mouthed a thank-you to Callum when Brock couldn’t see and he just winked at me.
Behind him, Rafe walked by carrying a wicked-looking hammer about twice as heavy as a regular one.
The head of it had a mean, cross-hatched metal face that seemed like it was designed to bite into anything it hit. A rather apt tool for the man.
“I don’t know, Cal. Five bucks says she lasts ten minutes before she breaks a nail. You sure you don’t just wanna take a few pics of us instead, Lauren?” he said glibly. “That’s more your domain, isn’t it?”
I had to try exceptionally hard not to scowl at him. So we were right back to our scheduled programming then, with him trying to goad me into reacting. I wasn't about to give him what he wanted. Which in a roundabout way was probably exactly what he wanted. Instead, I just turned on the charm.
“I’m a fast learner,” I told Brock sweetly. “I promise I’ll stay out of the way.”
Rafe snorted and then promptly stopped when Brock actually relented.
“Alright. Let’s start you off with something easier,” he said. He reached into his tool bag and handed me what looked like an oversized, highlighter-yellow marker. But when I pressed a finger against the tip, it was a nub of frosted plastic instead of felt. It was light, toy-like in my hand.
“This is a non-contact voltage pen. Or a chirper, that’s easier to remember.
” He looked up, directing my attention to the ceiling above.
I glanced at the jagged, rectangular cut-out.
A bird’s nest of tangled wires sat just inside the opening.
“We’re hunting live wires. This device lets us detect live electricity without touching anything.
Your job is to hold the chirper pressed against that black wire.
If it starts screaming at you and glowing red, that means it's live.”
“You’re not colorblind, right?” Rafe called over from the far window wall, framed by the raw timber studs he was currently nailing into place. He didn’t even look at me as he said it but I rolled my eyes anyway.
“I can recognize the color red just fine. That's how I can see all those flags over your head,” I shot back.
He snorted.
Brock shook his head, not amused. He went straight back into his explanation of my task.
“You’ll be standing on that ladder over there and I’ll be right above you in the hatch.
I’m going to pull the feed from the junction box in the back—the second that light goes dark and stops chirping, you yell.
That way I don't get lit up like a Christmas tree.”
I nodded, determined now to actually do a good job of this.
I liked the fact that Brock hadn’t just given me some silly task to pacify me.
I also liked that he explained everything that was happening, like he trusted me to be able to understand and get the job done.
That quiet intelligence and competence of his was part of what set me on my plan for today.
I thought that I pretty much had Rafe pegged.
He’d been easy enough to figure out, a cliche but a sexy one, and I knew just how to provoke him to get him to play.
Callum was just as easy to decipher if not moreso, but for completely different reasons.
There was nothing to play on with him; he was stable and sweet and so open with what he was feeling that Brock’s occasional looks of disapproval hadn’t escaped me.
But the foreman…now he was a mystery, a stoic enigma that I found endlessly fascinating. I’d always been a curious person and I was set on trying to see what made him click and how he compared to the other two.
He and Callum set up the ladder and I watched with interest as he climbed up first and took up his position in the ceiling joists. Despite his size, he was surprisingly nimble up there, which I guess was due to his years of experience.
“How long did it take you guys to be able to do this without falling on your asses?” I asked.
Callum chuckled, holding onto the ladder’s frame so I could follow Brock. Brock himself didn’t answer but Callum shrugged. “He fell a month ago.”
“Shut it, Doyle.”
“Just making conversation.”
I found my perch around three-quarters of the way up the ladder, directly beneath him, and got the chirper ready in hand.
From here I could only see Brock’s lower half, clad in heavy work boots and jeans, braced against the top rung.
Callum went back to work on the central island's cupboards maybe four feet away from where I was stationed.
Rafe was focused as ever on his job, not so much as even glancing in my direction.
“Ready when you are,” Brock called down.
I lifted the pen to the black wire.
“Try not to move too much, Miss Lauren,” Callum said. “The signal might drop.”
I heeded his words, steadying my hand as much as possible. True to its name, the pen began to chirp like a mechanical bird and let off a bright, rhythmic red pulse at the tip.
“She's screaming!” I called up.
“Hold it right there,” Brock's muffled response rang out, strained with effort. A few seconds of agonizing silence passed, only broken by the frantic beep-beep-beeping in my ear. Then quiet eclipsed even that and the red light vanished.
I was about to call it out, but the slight twist of my torso and raised hands caused me to lose my balance. I shifted on the ladder, then began to panic as I felt the feet of it slide against the dusty floor.
It wobbled and before I could so much as scream out a warning, I fell to the side.
I flailed my arms, trying in vain to catch a hold of something and mentally preparing for the painful landing…
except it didn't come. The ladder crashed to the ground with a jolting clatter but there was no heavy thud where I should've fallen.
Instead, I found myself cradled in a pair of strong arms, holding me as though I weighed less than a feather. Callum's warm chocolate eyes met mine, filled with concern.
“Are you okay?”
Was I ever.
Unlike Rafe, who felt like a solid mountain of muscle and raw, challenging strength, Callum's was functional and fluid, the sort of power that came with a lifetime of moving with purpose.
I could feel his body heat radiate through his soft, cotton shirt, and the steady thrum of his heart as he held me against him. He smelled like sandalwood and clean laundry, the scent lingering in my lungs as I gasped for air, still breathless with shock and adrenaline.
The collection of Callum painted a warm and cozy picture, one I wanted to voluntarily lose myself in. And unlike with Rafe, who set my heart hammering, it fluttered with Callum.
It was such a different experience, but one no less effective.
When his golden brows knit together, I realized I hadn't actually given him an answer. Why, oh why did his sweetness have to reduce my brain function to the speed of drying paint?
“Yeah, I'm good. Thanks for catching me,” I said, finally getting myself together.
“No problem,” he replied, setting me down as gently as though I were made of glass. His ears turned red again, and I could feel my own face heat up as though I was back in high school. He cleared his throat and went back to his work with a smile on his face.
There was a sharp, metallic clang from above and our heads shot up.
“What was that?” Callum asked.
“Nothing. Just dropped my pliers.” Brock's voice sounded just a touch more gravelly than usual, and I immediately filed that little piece of information. It wasn't exactly in character for him to appear rattled or flustered.
Which was interesting.
I was just starting to turn over the possibilities in my head when I caught Rafe's eye.
I knew that look—the tightening jaw and steely eyes that held a storm cloud behind them.
The moment he realized I'd caught him, he dropped the indifferent mask back over his face and continued with his task but I saw it. That flash of pure jealousy.
“Everything alright down there, Lauren?” asked Brock. “Or are you gonna sit this one out?”
I fought the little grin that wanted to surface and instead picked up the chirper again.
“No, I'm okay now. I wanna finish the job.”
It didn't take me too long to help Brock sort through the rest of the wires. He was now onto a solo project that he cryptically referred to as “pulling home runs.”
“It's just running cables from the kitchen ceiling to the main breaker panel,” Callum explained to me.
“Yeah. He just likes making things sound more impressive than they are,” Rafe said quietly, half to himself.
Brock's head popped down through the hatch. “The acoustics are like a hollow drum in this place, you jackass.”
Then he disappeared again and Callum and I laughed quietly at Rafe as he continued muttering half syllables at a whisper volume.
“You can help me line the cabinet doors, Miss Lauren. I need a spotter,” Callum said, waving me over.