10. Caleb
CHAPTER TEN
Caleb
The following week, I walk into the historical society with my head held high, pumpkin spice latte in hand. Totally normal for a guy in his mid-twenties. I greet the receptionist, Jordan, with a nod as I sign in, then make my way down the hall toward Marnie’s office.
Clicking sounds from her keyboard fill the space when I reach her doorway. She’s deep in thought, and part of me wants to walk away and leave her alone to work. But the other part of me wants to be in her company.
I haven’t been this excited about a job in years. Maybe ever. I’m sure my father would love to hear that. If this ends up being my last assignment as I intend for it to be, this is a hell of a way to go out.
When Marnie finally notices me, she greets me with a soft smile and slides her computer to the side, giving me her full attention.
I approach her desk and slide the drink toward her.
She tilts her head up to look at me, lifting the drink as she does. “You remembered my coffee order?”
I shrug. “Wasn’t too hard to remember.”
She hums to herself before meeting my eye again. “Thank you.”
“Wait—” I cut her off just as she brings the cup to her lips. “You have to answer today’s tip jar question first. Art’s orders. I don’t make the rules, I’m just the messenger.”
Leaning back in her chair, her eyes narrow slightly, then move from mine to the cup as she reads today’s question: Most iconic horror movie soundtrack?
She arches a brow at me. “If you don’t like my answer, will you take this back?”
“Nope. Just curious what you’d say. Halloween or Psycho?”
A few seconds pass as she considers the options. “Halloween for sure.”
“Agreed,” I smile back.
“Here’s to John Carpenter,” she starts, lifting her cup to me. “For scaring the shit out of us while giving us a memorable soundtrack.”
I toast my hypothetical cup in the direction of hers, and she takes notice immediately.
“Where’s your coffee?”
“I wasn’t in the mood for coffee this morning, but I was in the area and thought of you. I wanted to kick off our first official day working together on a high note.”
A hint of pink stains the tops of her cheeks, and she raises the cup to her mouth once more.
“Okay, so what’s the game plan?” I ask, plopping down in the chair across from hers.
“I take it you’ve familiarized yourself with my project proposal?”
I nod in response, watching her pull out a stack of materials. Everything is neatly organized and color-coded with an array of tabs sticking out on the sides. It’s impressive the way she easily flips through to the exact page she’s looking for.
As she studies the page, a wisp of hair falls forward out of her bun, curling slightly at the end. She makes no move to fix it.
I have half a thought to reach across the desk and brush it back behind her ear when I remember my senses.
Just last week we agreed to keep it professional at work, and that is definitely not something that coworkers would do.
Instead, I shake the thought from my mind and focus on the paper she pulls out and slides across the desk in my direction.
We go over a rough timeline of when she wants different pieces completed and what her expectations are.
The historical society usually gives our company a tight budget to stick to for building materials, transportation, and setup costs, but with all the buzz around this exhibit, that budget has been expanded and we have almost no limitations.
The marketing opportunities and tourism draw from this exhibition will more than make up for any additional costs.
I tell her I’ll draw up some rough sketches and blueprints based on the dimensions of the showroom for her to approve before I start ordering anything.
We compare calendars and set a few check-in dates over the course of the summer to ensure everything is progressing smoothly since most of my involvement will now be behind the scenes until installation begins in early August.
My hands flip back and forth between the months on my calendar, excited by all the dates we just marked off to collaborate, but I find myself still wanting more. More opportunities to see her again. More chances to spend time with her. “What about a weekly check-in?”
Her eyes bore into me. “Is that really necessary?”
“With such an accelerated timeline, I’d hate for something to slip through the cracks and throw off our progress.”
Dismissing my last statement, she awkwardly pulls out her laptop and starts typing away. “We can schedule additional check-ins as needed as the summer progresses.”
I hum in acknowledgment, but I want to stay. Keep her talking. Be in her presence.
“Good, we can start tomorrow.”
Her fingers pause over the keyboard. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m taking my boat out tomorrow and you’re coming.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I have a ton of work to do and a very short timeline to do it, as you so politely put it.”
“What if I told you this excursion is work-related?”
“Are you always this persistent? Don’t you have other work to do?”
“I received specific instructions to make this my sole priority, so no, I do not have any other work to do besides this. What do you say?”
She still looks unsure.
“I’ll bring my dog,” I add, as if that fact is going to sweeten the deal. Not sure where that came from, but I roll with it. “She’ll be coming with us on this excursion, if that makes a difference.”
“Oh?” She cocks a brow at me. “Does that line usually work for you?”
“I’m about to find out.”
She closes her laptop and eyes me curiously. “Why would that sway me?”
“Having a dog is an excellent judge of character. It shows I’m responsible enough to keep something alive. And she at least likes me enough not to try to escape.”
“She’s probably just conditioned to stay with you on the promise of treats. I read somewhere that’s quite an effective tool, so that’s not all that impressive.”
“You’ve never met mine. She’s very picky. Quite the diva, really.”
“I don’t know,” she replies hesitantly.
“This is strictly business,” I assure her. “We will pass several spots that are relevant to your exhibit, so you can technically classify this as work.”
She’s silent for a moment, thinking over my proposition. I almost think she will turn it down.
Then her hardened expression softens and she releases a quiet sigh. “I suppose I can spare my afternoon,” she answers, returning to her computer. A small smile graces her face as she adds, “But only if your dog is there.”
“Great, I’ll make it worth your while,” I reply, playing it cool and pushing back the chair to rise. When I reach the doorway, I turn back around. “Meet me at the Oak Bluffs Harbor at noon. My boat is docked just past the picnic tables outside Nancy’s.”
I can’t quite figure out her expression. Something between wanting to say no and intrigue. In the end, the intrigue wins, and she nods her head.
On my way out, I text her the address just in case, and head out to get an early start on boat prep.