Chapter 38
I’m not proud of it, but yes, I do wait up for Mike to come home after his shift at Superhero Escapes on Black Friday.
There is something undeniably delicious about a man in a dress shirt. Add suspenders and I’m pretty sure a quarter of the population starts salivating, Pavlov’s dog-style. Present company included.
I’m not creeping, I have a very good reason for waiting with my ginger ale on Mike’s back step. Ordinarily, I’d just waltz inside and find a seat at his kitchen table, but the house is locked tonight.
He pauses when he sees me, the glow of his phone highlighting his chiseled chin and runway cheekbones.
He slides his phone into his trouser pocket. “Something I can help you with, Bea?”
“Yes.” I stand, blocking the door. “I need a favor.”
“No.” He twists his key in the lock.
“A small one.”
“No.” He struggles with the lock.
“All those muscles and can’t even open a back door.”
“The lock has corroded in the salt air.”
“Sure it has. Why’d you lock up, anyway? Don’t you trust me?”
“I’m holding on to something for a friend and didn’t want to tempt fate.” He sighs and tries again.
I don’t make it easy for him, leaning against the door. “So about my favor… I just need to borrow something.”
“Let me guess. A kidney. Maybe a working heart. My right brain?”
“Silly Mike still thinks he has one.”
“Fair, considering I agreed to lease to you.”
“I need to borrow your truck. And I need you to be in it. Driving, preferably.”
Mike takes me by the shoulders and guides me away from the door. He then pulls, jiggles, and shoulders it open.
“Come on, Mike.” I follow him inside. “I found this amazing fire pit for my patio, but it won’t fit in my Porsche.”
“No.”
“Not even when I fold the seats down.”
“No.”
“You want me to beg?”
He pauses. “I must admit I’m curious. Is that even possible?”
I consider as I help myself to a glass of cranberry juice and a couple of blackberries from his fridge. “I don’t think so.”
“Aren’t you going to wash those?”
“Why?” I pop the berries into my mouth. “You buy organic.”
“You still have to wash them!”
“Oops.” I live for the exasperation on his face right now. “So how ’bout it? We could leave around noon. Maybe grab burgers at In-N-Out.”
Mike is unrolling his sleeves. “I’d love to help you, Bea. Except I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” He tugs off his suspenders, pulls off his dress shirt, and heads to his bedroom.
“Because why?” I call.
He returns in a T-shirt and levels a look at me with a can-you-please-be-serious stare. “I’m a little busy tomorrow.”
I look around and see several work buckets filled with white flowers and balls of twinkle lights on the floor. I open his fridge again and spy a bottle of champagne. “Oh my gosh. Monique is proposing to Stacey, isn’t she?”
“Yes, and I have some work to do before they arrive tomorrow evening.”
“I need to know all the details.”
“They’re going to walk the beach, where our photographer friend will just happen to cross their path and mention that he is headed this way to take pictures at sunset of my remodel.”
“Smooth.”
“Monique will insist on coming to see it with Stacey in tow. All kinds of special extras will be set up for the photos. Charcuterie board, champagne, flowers. Café and twinkle lights on the decks. And then as the sun is setting, Monique will propose to Stacey, and Jeremy will be on hand to take pictures.”
I love it. “You have the ring, don’t you?”
Mike opens the kitchen drawer and pulls out a blush pink box. “Now you get why I locked up.”
I snap it open, and a gorgeous diamond winks at me. Before I can take it out and try it on, he snaps the box shut and slides it back into the drawer.
“Tell you what,” I say, “I’ll help you stage the place in exchange for helping me get my fire pit. Deal?”
“Why does everything have to be deals and trading favors with you?” Mike kicks off his shoes.
“If you treated favors like a normal person, and I wasn’t busy trying to get everything picture-perfect for tomorrow, I’d help without any strings attached because that’s what friends do.
But it’s always turnabout is fair play, tit for tat, and keeping score. ”
“That’s how the world works, Mike. It’s one negotiation after another. Fair play is important to think about, and it’s better if the terms of the agreement are known upfront.”
“Friendships don’t work that way. Relationships aren’t transactional.”
It’s my turn to level an are-you-serious glare at Mike.
“Easy for you to say. You smile, pull into a parking space, open a door, and people are giving you jobs and favors and whatever else you want. And they’re things you want to do.
And are good at. ‘Take my card.’ ‘Narrate my audiobooks.’ ‘Come babysit my cat anytime.’”
“I want to do exactly none of those things.”
“That’s your fault for having high standards and lots of options.”
“Careful, Bea. That sounds like a compliment. A grudgingly, pathetic compliment.”
I take a seat at his kitchen table and start unpacking the boxes of tea lights. “Well, I worry about your already overly inflated ego bursting.”
“You worry about me?” Mike also sits.
There is something arresting in the question. Something real, something soft and exposed. I could thrust in a quip, and Mike would hiss and growl and know better for next time. A scar would form over the wound—tough and thick. I don’t want that. “Sometimes.”
He pulls my chair closer to his. “Then you do care.” My knees are all but bumping his now.
“Sometimes.”
Mike breaks into a wide grin. “I’d love some help—and a reason to make myself scarce around sunset tomorrow.”
“Same. I don’t want to run the risk of ruining Monique and Stacey’s moment by playing Starship Cruiser too loud or taking a shower or sneezing.”
He breaks open a box filled with glass jars. “You can hear everything from your patio?”
“Just about. So we have a deal?” I extend my hand to shake on it.
Mike looks at my outstretched hand, takes it, and wiggles it side to side like a fish. And I laugh. “See you tomorrow. Ten a.m.?”
“Oh no, I’ll be here at seven. This is going to take much longer than you think.”
I have to hand it to Mike. The renovated place is amazing.
It’s beachy and contemporary, and none of his choices get in the way of the showstopping views or the charm of his grandma’s quirky property.
We assemble furniture, scrub and polish every surface, arrange flowers, hang lights, and as the sun is sliding low into the sky, we light candles.
Jeremy, who I recognize from Superhero Escapes, comes to snap some interior pictures before the light fades. “Incredible,” he says.
“Isn’t it?” I agree before offering him a piece of red licorice.
Mike texts Monique that all is ready, and we head out to get my fire pit. Yay for Small Business Saturday deals.
“Your grandma and your mom would be proud,” I tell Mike as we drive back.
He smiles. “They are. Somewhere, wherever it is, however it works. I know they are.”
When we return, I ask him if he wants to stay to witness the inaugural run of my fire pit.
“I’m going to head into work. Your brother texted and asked if I could help out tonight. They have quite the crowd at the escape room this weekend.”
Right. “You want me to blow out the candles?”
“I think Monique and Stacey got it covered. They’re giving the beach house a test run tonight, and I’m going to crash on their couch.”
I don’t want him to leave. “Isn’t that weird? The Airbnb-ification of your home?”
“Holding on tighter to something doesn’t make it any more yours. Night, Bea.”