9 - Lauren
Lauren
Time began to march by in a blur of rotating equipment, dust and wood shavings.
While the most utilitarian spaces like the kitchen and bathrooms were sited for earlier completion, the rest of the building was still being ripped apart down to the bare bones.
Some days, I assisted the guys where I could. Others, I alternated between working and getting better acquainted with the city. But as the renovation got more and more underway, I was finding more inspiration inside the firehouse than without.
Watching the three of them work was something special. The most obvious reason was that they were simply a crew of very hot, very capable, and very built men. The more time I spent with them and observed them, though, the more appreciation I began to have for what was less obvious.
I noticed that, where the others might need to chip away at a wall, Rafe often only needed a few minutes to study it before he could pinpoint the exact load-bearing point and bring it down with a single, controlled strike.
It was clean work every time, a testament to the precision and talent that made his God-awful attitude worth tolerating.
Or how Callum was so patient and dedicated to beauty that he would spend an hour meticulously stripping off a century's worth of old paint from a surface or hand-sand wooden banisters to the feel of silk. He loved the details.
And Brock, well, Brock was the one who kept things running. He could chase a dead wire through three floors of brick and timber just to ensure the lights worked.
Seeing them work together, I now understood the foreman's insistence that Rafe was needed right at the start of this journey.
It was like magic, the way their skills fit to transform every space they touched.
I could see it now, even though there were still months of work ahead.
The vision in my head was slowly starting to come to life.
One night in particular, the crew had decided to work a bit later and had ended up skipping dinner completely. I was pretty sure they didn't even notice, but I could see the sweat and exhaustion on them, and some part of me wanted to make sure they didn't push themselves past the point of breaking.
“Okay, time for a breather. I ordered pizzas and they'll be here in five,” I announced, clapping my hands together once to get their attention.
All three of them paused in their current tasks to look at me with varying degrees of surprise, confusion and disbelief.
“That's…very kind of you, but really not necessary,” Brock said.
I gave him a look. “Your men are on the verge of passing out. If you're not careful, they might unionize against you and they'd be well within their right to do so.”
“You hiding a law degree in one of those suitcases?” Rafe put his hammer down and sauntered over, hands on his hips. But despite the usual challenging smirk on his lips, I noted the sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, and the flush of his skin after hours of heavy labor.
He truly was tired. They all were.
“I might,” I shot back. “And I have photographic evidence to prove it as well.”
“Ooh. Hear that, boss-man? I think she has your balls in a vise on this one,” Rafe nudged Brock's arm.
Callum joined us, his hands coated in plaster. “I could do with a slice.”
All of us looked at Brock expectantly. His eyes darted between our faces until they rested on me and I gave him what I hoped was a charming smile. His resultant sigh told me he probably just found it even more exhausting than all the work they'd completed today.
“Fine. But I'll compensate you for the pizzas,” he relented.
“You can compensate me by doing an amazing job on my house,” I said.
Something softened around his mouth but he didn't reply to that. I let them clean up in my sink just in time for the delivery guy to get here. They didn't stand a chance when I ordered them to the watch office and made them wait while I organized dinner.
My heart felt light as I piled three plates sky-high with slices of pepperoni and meat-lovers’ pizza.
I hadn't had the opportunity to take care of anyone other than myself in a very long time and doing it now, for these three who'd been pouring their blood, sweat and tears into helping me turn this house into a home, felt as natural as breathing to me.
Granted, they were being motivated by a check, but still.
The check didn't force them to put as much effort into this project as they were currently doing.
Their contract didn't include Callum offering to attend the community meeting with me, or Rafe defending me against Tim, or Brock installing a brand new, top-of-the-line deadbolt on my door out of his own pocket. As though I didn't notice.
I noticed it all and this was the least I could do. I was debating on how to carry three plates at once to avoid multiple trips when someone swooped in and simply took one of them off my hands.
“Callum?” I asked.
He beamed softly at me, an extra plate in his other hand. “You looked like you could use a hand.”
Touched, I grinned and nodded at the second stack of pizza. “Feeling extra hungry, huh?”
He shook his head. “This one's for you. I figured we couldn't let our host starve while we scarfed down all her food. That just wouldn't be right at all.”
I felt giggly at his words. His boyish charm had the strangest effect on me but I wasn't complaining. We walked back to the office together, our arms brushing against each other as we made small talk about the week past and the one laying ahead.
Brock and Rafe were sprawled out on the floor of the room, with Rafe looking half asleep and resting his head on his bag and Brock checking something on his phone.
But the incoming wafting smell of meat and melted cheese snagged both of their attention like a snare.
I was about to take a seat of my own on the bare floor when Callum stopped me and rolled up a nearby dust sheet for me to use as a makeshift chair.
He even had napkins in his own bag that he passed around.
While the guys vacuumed up their pizza, I couldn't help but just marinate in the cozy atmosphere of the watch office.
The room wasn't close to being finished.
In fact, it was arguably one of the least finished rooms in the entire firehouse.
It was tight and glass-walled, with the old, waist-high wooden desk taking up the bulk of the space.
The lighting was shot, with nothing but a large, milky-white orb suspended from the roof to provide diffused but too-soft illumination.
It felt like being in a fish bowl.
And yet, it was the most at-home I'd felt since I first moved in.
There was very little conversation but it didn't feel awkward or stilted at all.
Everyone just refueled, occasionally sharing a joke or recalling a funny memory that happened during the day.
It felt easy, like all the stress of the renovation was melting away.
And once conversation started picking up, I caught a glimpse into what they were like with their guards lowered.
Rafe and Brock were joking about some last job they'd finished, sounding almost like an argument but lacking the bite.
And to my surprise, Rafe wasn't taking any opportunities to be an asshole.
It was like a heavy weight had been lifted, and if I didn't know any better, I could've sworn I saw the corner of Brock's mouth lift. Mon dieu!
“Where are you going?” Callum asked as I got up and dusted off the back of my jeans.
“For some water,” I shamelessly lied. “I'll be right back.”
“Okay,” he said, turning to fall into conversation with Rafe and Brock while he waited for me to get back.
I retrieved my camera from my makeshift bedroom and came back downstairs, fiddling with the lens.
Between the grease and carb overload and the day's labor, none of the guys noticed me taking photos at first.
The moment was just too perfect not to capture. When the shutter went off, Rafe was the first to snap his head back at me. My finger hovered over the button, my heart suddenly hammering at the thought of a repeat of the first day we met.
I wondered why he'd been so livid at the time, and I wondered if he'd be just as furious now. He watched me carefully, his eyes fixed on the camera in my hand.
But then he just raised an eyebrow in that vapid, snarky way of his. “You gonna start paying me for these?”
I heaved a sigh of relief and took another one. “I just paid you with food.”
“That was a tip for the manual labor I'm providing,” he said. “But if you must.”
I chuckled to myself. It was obvious that the prick was enjoying the attention this time. I caught him looking at the camera through the corner of his eye at times, sometimes stopping mid-sentence to affect a smolder that he tried to make look natural.
“You really take pictures all the time, don't you?” Callum asked, his cheeks dusted with a light blush. He looked so adorably uncomfortable that I couldn't help but take another shot to capture that expression.
“Only when I feel inspired,” I explained, setting my camera down temporarily. “You're very photogenic, by the way. Beautiful, really.”
His blush deepened.
When it came to Brock, he had no patience whatsoever, waving me away as though I were a bug. “Quit pointing that thing at me.”
“Aw, come on, boss-man. Just one?” I begged. He gave me an uncertain look but didn't protest.
I didn't take too many other photos, wanting to leave some of the magic for the present. But even despite their claims to the contrary, all three of them seemed to like being made the center of my attention. Even if Rafe was the only one really preening for the camera.
“How long have you been doing photography?“ Callum asked after I flopped back on the dust sheet and looked through some of the pics.
“I’ve always had an interest, since I was a kid. But I didn't take it seriously until I was like seventeen or something like that,” I said.
He came to sit at my feet, positioned with his knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them. He watched me as I spoke as though what I was saying was the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Did you always know you wanted to pursue it as a career?” he said.
I bit my bottom lip. The camera in my hand suddenly felt heavier.
“Not exactly. It started out mainly as a hobby, then it became a means of survival,” I said.
A brief, comfortable silence lapsed between us as he considered something.
“Survival as in, just for the bills?” he asked.
I smiled knowingly. “Not entirely. I think holding onto moments of beauty has helped me more than any checks I've earned using this thing.”
He looked as though he wanted to ask me more questions, but was unsure of whether it was okay for him to do so. Part of me found myself wanting to tell him anyway.
But he understood enough. He'd seen just that tiny extra bit of me that I never, ever exposed to anyone else. That alone felt almost overwhelming.
Fortunately, I was distracted by Callum dragging his hand through his golden hair, something he tended to do when he was deep in thought. Another stroke of inspiration.
“Hold it right there!” I readied my camera, much to Callum's shock. “Do you mind if I take another pic of you right now?” I asked sheepishly.
He nodded yes but seemed both a little flustered and confused. After, I looked at the shot and then back at his hands.
“Sorry, I know that must've been a bit weird. You just have gorgeous hands,” I said.
“What?” he grinned wider than I'd ever seen him grin, his voice cracking on the last syllable as though he was shoring back a laugh.
I laughed too, knowing how weird that probably sounded to him.
“Okay, okay, I can explain, I promise. I have a thing for hands. And no, not in a foot-fetish-adjacent way,” I said.
He gave me a look of mock suspicion and I laughed again, shaking my head.
“I swear! My brain tends to hyperfocus on contrasts; call it a photographer's itch or whatever you like.
Your hands are a good example of contrasts found in nature.
They're big and sturdy and clearly strong from years of doing the work that you do.
They have tiny scars on them, and calluses on most of the pads of your fingers.
But they're soft and capable of doing the delicate finishes on a project,” I said.
“Contrasts. Here, let me take another and I'll show you how that translates in this lighting, especially.”
He was still smiling, raising his hand in the air. I scooted closer, trying to better capture his hand in the light without having to zoom in. It was only once I felt his gentle breath on my face that I realized just how close to him I'd moved.
My heart didn't hammer. It stopped altogether.
Those warm, earthy eyes held me captive and I quickly looked down, taking his hand in mine as I did.
“See?” I asked, turning it over in my palm. I swallowed hard, gently tracing the line of an old scar across his knuckles. “It's funny how something like hands can hold memories and stories. It's…a fascinating photo study.”
Callum's warmth was addictive. He didn't stop me as I continued admiring his long, strong fingers. His forehead was practically touching mine as he stared down at his own hands, a look of light astonishment on his face as though he'd never seen them before.
Electricity cracked between us but where I should’ve stopped touching him, I chose to continue. His now-familiar scent flecked with fresh sweat filled my nose, and when he shifted slightly, his hair brushed against my cheek.
I was drowning in fire, if that was even a possibility. It was certainly how I felt.
“Miss Lauren…” he whispered, looking up at me.
“Yeah?” I said.
But before he could answer, Brock's booming voice cut through the chilled atmosphere like a knife.
“Shit!” he yelled.
I dropped Callum's hand as though it had burned me, and immediately turned to Brock. He was staring at his phone screen, seething with a look of quiet rage that sent the hair on the back of my neck standing up.
“What is it?” asked Rafe.
Brock looked at me directly and my stomach sank.
“I just got word that several permits have been simultaneously rejected,” he said. His voice was brittle. “We've been told to cease all work on the firehouse, effective immediately.”