Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
ANDI
As Reece loads the last plastic tub into the back of his truck, a big green SUV pulls into the narrow alley behind the gas station. I don’t need to see the driver to know who just arrived.
I turn slowly. “Hi, Teo.”
He stomps across the potholed road to my side, his gaze locked on Reece. “What’s going on?”
No point in beating around the bush. “I’m moving out to Reece’s place.”
Reece winces so hard I can see it clearly in my peripheral vision. Teo’s gaze hardens, then transfers to me. “You’re moving in with Reece?”
My face goes hot. “No! Not like that. I’m going to help him with his remodel, and in exchange he’s providing me with a room. It’s a business deal. Barter.” Not for the first time, I wish I’d taken a couple of business classes with my art degree. Then I could at least sound intelligent. Maybe I could convince him with talk of returns on investment or strategic decisions.
“Kellie let her go.” Reece comes around the end of the truck and stops at my shoulder. “Since it was kind of my fault, I came up with an alternate plan.”
I frown at him, wishing he hadn’t brought that up. “Kind of your fault? It was entirely your fault.”
Teo lifts a hand. “Perhaps we should go inside to discuss this. Unless you enjoy airing your personal problems in public.”
Reece and I both look up and down the deserted road. It’s after seven on a weeknight—no one is out and about in Rotheberg. I suppose the nosy old lady down the street could be watching, but she can’t hear that far away. Even when she’s wearing her hearing aids, she constantly demands people repeat themselves. “There aren’t any personal problems,” I say. “Just a solution. I can’t pay my rent, so I’m moving out.”
Teo crosses his arms. “Traditionally, one gives notice before moving out.”
“I pay by the week. And I’m pretty sure the apartment is illegal.” I dart a mischievous grin at Reece, but his attention is locked on Teo. “I’m also sure they can find someone else to take it.”
“I’m not worried about your shady landlord. Although if I’d known he was shady, I wouldn’t have let you live here.”
I lift my chin. “You wouldn’t have let me live here? That’s not really your call.”
“That’s not—” His jaw clenches, and he lowers his voice. “If you can’t afford the rent, we can work something out. Why don’t you come stay with me? And if you need a job?—”
“I have a job.” My fists clench at my sides. “I’m working for Reece. And I don’t need my big brother rescuing me. I came here to be independent, not to be a sponge. It’s done.” I shove past Teo and stomp to my car.
“It will be fine.” Reece’s low voice barely carries to me. “I need help with the painting and decorating, and she’s good at that stuff.”
“How do you know?” Teo’s cold words cut. I know he’s challenging Reece, but it feels like he doubts my abilities. I’ve always been the flighty younger sister while he’s the responsible elder. His tone makes it clear he doesn’t believe I’m capable of anything useful.
“Your sister is an accomplished artist.” Reece pulls out his phone and taps on it. “I’m sure she can paint a few walls. And her sense of color is—” He breaks off, staring at the screen, then shoves it at Teo.
What is on that phone? I haven’t shared any of my art with him.
Which, now that I think about it, is odd. Why is he hiring me? He’s taking me at my word that I have the skills he needs. That’s some potentially misplaced trust. Aside from measuring rooms, I haven’t demonstrated any of my skills. And he suggested we get married the other day. I think it was a joke, but now I’m wondering if I’ve misjudged my situation completely. Maybe Teo was right and he’s expecting other “skills” from me.
No, I don’t believe that. Reece is an honorable man. He rescued me in London and walked me home without any quid pro quo. I may not know him well, but I can feel in my bones that he’s a trustworthy guy. And Teo must agree—otherwise they wouldn’t be friends. My brother surrounds himself with people he trusts. And despite his attitude where I’m involved, it’s clear Teo likes Reece.
Whatever. He and Teo can argue all night—I’m going home. To my new home. I climb into the car and slam the door. It takes three or four tries to get the engine running, then I pull away from the building, leaving my brother and my new boss arguing in the mud. As I drive away, I look in the rearview mirror. Reece gesticulates at Teo as he runs around his truck to climb in. His lights turn on, and he pulls in behind me.
The Rusty Pumpkin makes it to Reece’s place, although every time I rattle down this rough driveway, I worry it will shake something important loose. I park next to the house, carefully leaving Reece’s usual spot available. A few minutes later, his dusty truck pulls past me and stops in front of the garage.
I wait for the cloud of dust to dissipate, then climb out of my car. Grabbing my small suitcase and my pillow—a spare stolen from Teo’s closet weeks ago—I meet Reece on the front porch. Silently, he unlocks the door and swings it wide, then picks up the plastic tub at his feet and follows me inside.
He flips on the lights. “You can take my room.”
“What? No. I’m not taking your bed.” My cheeks warm at the words, but I fight the blush down. “There are three bedrooms.”
“But one is the office, and the other one doesn’t have a mattress, yet. I ordered one, but it won’t arrive until next week.” He starts up the steps with his burden.
“That doesn’t need to go upstairs.”
He stops halfway up and looks down at the huge, plastic tub. “It’s not clothing?”
“It is, but not mine.” I roll my eyes at myself. “I mean, obviously it belongs to me, but it’s business materials, not stuff I wear.”
He frowns. “Business materials?”
“I paint textiles. Those are second-hand clothes. Jeans jackets, mostly. I paint them. To sell.” I haven’t actually sold anything yet, but that’s part of my master plan.
“Got it. You want them in the maker space.” He comes back down and passes me, headed for the kitchen.
“Maker space?” Leaving my suitcase by the stairs, I drop my pillow on the couch and follow him through the kitchen to the dining alcove.
He opens a door by the table and balances the tub on his hip so he can flip on the light. Then he carries the bin through a small, scrupulously clean laundry area to another door. He flips another light switch, then opens the door.
I squeal a little. The garage has been transformed into a video-worthy workspace. Pegboard covers sections of clean white walls, with stark black outlines for the tools hung there. A wooden bench across the back holds power tools I recognize but can’t name. Thick anti-fatigue mats cover most of the concrete floor, except a front corner walled off with plastic sheeting—probably a painting booth. “This is… breathtaking.”
Reece gives me an indulgent look as he sets my bin beside the painting booth. “Breathtaking? That’s quite a compliment. I think. But I can’t take the credit. Except for painting the walls. This room was one of the reasons I loved this place.” He grins sheepishly. “It just took a bit of cleaning up.”
“What do you make in here?” I trail a finger along the front edge of the white countertop. Unlike the rooms upstairs, this time I leave a clean streak through a thin coating of pale sawdust.
His gaze darts to the mark. “Not much yet. So far, I’ve just fixed a few things. But I can do all of the woodwork in here, including cutting studs, if we decide to reframe anything. Sorry about the dust. The previous owner installed a really good air handler, but even the best can’t get everything.”
I wipe my finger on my jeans. “No, it’s amazingly clean for a workshop. You should have seen my apartment back in Freiberg.” I ignore the little jolt of loss. I loved my apartment back home but had to move out when the royal allowance stopped arriving in my bank account.
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “You still have a place there?” His tone sounds casual, as if he’s barely paying attention to the conversation.
“No. My stuff is in my parents’ cellar. Some here, but most of it there.” I touch a paint brush gently. “Paints, easels, clamps, sewing machine. And a lot of clothes.” I grin ruefully as I look at my ancient jeans. If I had any money, I’d buy another pair, but that will have to wait. Maybe I can get Victoriana to send some of my wardrobe.
“I can’t help with the sewing stuff, but you’re welcome to use anything in here. Except the power tools—I want to do a competency check before you touch those.” He taps a clear plastic housing curved over a blade with huge teeth.
With a shudder, I lift both hands in refusal. “No, thank you. I prefer to keep all of my fingers.”
He pats the saw’s curved metal cover. “This has safety features that won’t allow you to cut off your fingers.”
Putting my hands behind my back, I step farther away. “Don’t trust it. Not touching it.”
“That’s a good plan.” He gestures toward the kitchen. “Do you want to finish unloading your stuff tonight or save it for tomorrow?”
“You mean leave it in the truck? In the back, with no cover or locks?” I pause at the door. “Is it safe out there?”
“We’re half a mile from the highway, down a dirt road in the middle of rural Oregon. No one’s going to steal your stuff. The only thing to worry about would be a pack of artistic squirrels.”
I choke a little. “Artistic squirrels?”
His eyes dance, and the corner of his mouth tilts up. Is that a smile? He shoos me toward the house again. “There isn’t any food out there, so the only thing that would attract wildlife would be if they want to use your craft supplies. There isn’t any food, is there?”
“The food is in the cab. It’s just cookies and snacks. I’m not much of a chef.” I stop in the kitchen, staring around as if I’ve never seen the room before. “We’re going to starve, aren’t we?”
“I’m a decent cook. I’ll keep you fed.” He slips past me and into the living room. “Your artsy squirrels aren’t going to get into the cab, but let’s grab that bag anyway. And whatever you need for bed tonight.” His cheeks go red as he says that, and he hurries out the door.