Chapter 8
I was sweating through some character work and sweating literally when I heard the knock at the door. I looked out the peephole
and pulled it open.
“I’m here to replace the A/C unit.”
When I arrived home on Saturday night, my A/C wasn’t cooling properly. By Monday morning, it had stopped working altogether.
On Tuesday maintenance told me the unit needed to be replaced. They’d given me a small portable unit, but it did just enough
to keep me from melting.
I looked past the man to his van, which advertised air-conditioning and furnace installation and repair. “I’m glad to see
you, but I was told this wasn’t happening until Thursday.”
“It wasn’t, but I had a cancellation this morning, so I decided to move your job up.”
The maintenance man’s pickup rambled down the road in my direction. He parked and stepped out. “I’m sorry, Miss Chambers.
I planned to meet him at the gate. Is it okay for us to take care of the A/C today?”
Okay? This week had already been ten long hot days. “Of course. Does he need access to the inside?”
“Inside and out, and I stay with him. Unfortunately, it’ll get warmer in there with the power off. You won’t be able to run
the portable A/C.”
“In that case, I’ll make myself scarce.”
Going inside, I gathered my things and drove down to the center. Walking today was out of the question. It was over ninety
Southern degrees, and I was already sweaty.
I swiped my key card and entered the building. It was cool as a cucumber. Once inside the conference room, I opened my laptop.
I was finally making some progress with the first chapter of my new story.
It took twenty minutes before my muse woke up, but once it did, I started banging out words. I spent the next two hours writing,
adjusting my outline, praying—doing all the things I did to get myself moving along. Then my tailbone started hurting. These
were not writer chairs. It was time to get up.
I stood and stretched.
“Hey, in here.”
Gabe’s voice came from the door.
There was something completely intoxicating about seeing him. “Hey, yourself,” I replied. My eyes had a mind of their own.
They did an involuntary sweep of his body from his feet up.
He raised a bag of food. “It must be lunchtime if you’re in a stretch.”
He dropped down into the chair to my right. “The deli gave me the wrong sandwich. They made me another and let me keep the
first one, so as long as you’re not picky, I have lunch for you.”
I picked up my water and took a long sip. “Free food. I like it.”
He emptied the deli bag of the sandwiches, condiments, napkins, and a bag of chips. “We’ve got a turkey bacon Swiss, and this one is an Italiano.”
“Which did you order for yourself?”
A smile crept over his face. “Which do you prefer?”
A little joy circled my heart, and I fought blushing. “I prefer the sandwich they gave you by accident, sir.”
“Well, I prefer you have the sandwich you’d actually prefer.”
I dropped back into my chair and dragged the Italiano to me. “My favorite.”
Gabe raised his hand to his chest. “Thank you, Jesus. I don’t like salami.”
“Yet you were willing to eat it.”
He smiled again, dimples on display, a flirtatious light in his eyes. “You didn’t get an onboarding lunch.”
An embarrassing laugh exploded from my gut. I covered my mouth. This man was a delight. “With a free sandwich?”
“We are a nonprofit.”
I unwrapped the Italiano and picked up half. “That we are. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he replied, his eyes lingering on my face longer than they should have. He broke his stare with “We can share
the chips.”
I hadn’t realized how hungry I’d gotten until I started in on the food. “This is doin’ what it’s supposed to do.”
Gabe nodded. “It’s from a spot that’s not too far from my house.”
“And where is that?”
“Adams Run.”
I searched my memory to recall it. “Is it in Charleston County?”
He nodded, taking a bite of his sandwich. After swallowing, he said, “It’s a tiny community north of Edisto Island. There
are a little over four hundred residents.”
“Four hundred people?”
“That might include some dogs and horses.” He chuckled. “It’s one of those small places in the cut. But listen, we have a
post office. It’s a postcard-worthy little building with a rustic blue awning and its own stories.” It was plain to see he
was proud of his home.
“A post office for four hundred people.”
Amused as I was, he added, “And it’s open every day.”
“You must tell me the history.”
“The original post office opened in 1843. There were several large plantations in the area that needed postal services, so
that was why it was established. After the war, it was also one of the first polling places in the area for freedmen.”
“That is interesting.”
He raised a finger. “There’s more. In the early 2000s, the original building was condemned. It was eaten from the ground up
by termites. All that’s left is the roof.”
“Eaten from the ground up?” I took a sip from my water bottle. “I didn’t know termites worked like that.”
“Who knew, right? The building had some damage from hurricanes, but the roof is the only part of the building that’s still
there. It’s like a tree stump. Tourists come through to photograph it.”
“I’ll have to come see.”
Gabe’s eyes settled into mine, and I hoped he couldn’t see me blush. We were sitting too close. He smelled good in an effortless
way. Clean like Ivory soap and clothes fresh off a line in the backyard. Everything about this man drew me to him.
We reached for potato chips at the same time. Our hands touched, and the intensity I’d just thought about coursed through
me.
“Anyway, I’d be more than happy to show you”—he swallowed hard—“the post office.”
It wasn’t easy acting normal with Gabe. His stare was effective at disarming me. I wondered if it was just me or most women, and more importantly, did he know he had that ability? I cleared my throat. “It’s obviously rural. You seem citified. What made you want to move there?”
Gabe took the final bite of his sandwich, took his time chewing, and wiped his mouth. “My family is from Edisto Beach. My
parents moved off the island, and it was one of the places where several families they knew had settled. We created a new
community. I like it because it’s quiet and there’s no traffic, so I’ve stayed.”
“Quiet and no traffic. I don’t even know what that looks like. James Island is so congested. I can’t even complain about it.
It was like that when I moved there.”
“How did you get there from New Jersey?”
“I used to visit South Carolina when I was a child. Nearly every summer. I decided to come south for college and stayed, but
I grew up near the coast. I wanted to live by the water, so I took advantage of a foreclosure.”
“James Island is a competitive market.”
“I got it in 2010. It was a fire sale during the housing crash. Unfortunate for the people who owned it, but the price was
right for me.”
“In the cycle of life, everything needs food, shelter, and water, so opportunistic maybe, but someone was going to benefit
from their loss.” He looked at me intently for a moment, and I wondered what was behind the stare. Then he moved on. “I did
the same. Purchased my property during the pandemic.”
I repeated, “Adam’s Run. It sounds like the perfect place to set a romance series.”
He chuckled and wiped a glob of mayo off his fingers. “I guess it does.”
“So,” I said, curious about what he’d shared before. “Your family moved off Edisto Island.”
“Aww, she hasn’t read my book.”
“I never read when I’m writing.” I pointed at my forehead. “Writer sticky brain.”
He didn’t seem to have a problem with my sticky brain assertion. He continued, “My mother’s family lived on Edisto. We had
beachfront property. I was able to trace my enslaved relatives back to the late 1700s.”
“That’s fortunate.”
“I know. It was a lot of work, but I needed the distraction at the time.”
“Is that why you’re so dedicated to the center? I know some of the kids are from the island.”
A little pain crept around his eyes. “I suppose.” He moved on, changing the subject. “So you said you visited South Carolina
as a child. Where was that?”
“Manning. It’s a tiny town in Clarendon County.”
“I know where Manning is,” he said. “There’s a big truck stop, popular for gas and food.”
“You’re right. It used to be Jerry’s. It was like the only thing on the highway when I was little.”
Gabe studied my face, and my eyes got lost in his. There was a little tug between us that made the room warmer.
He cleared his throat like he sensed it too. “Have your people always been from there?”
I shrugged. “As far as I know. On my mom’s side anyway. I don’t know anything much about my father except that he was from
New York. He and his mother moved to Manning when he was a child.”
Gabe frowned, and a lull of nothing filled the space between us.
He seemed to be processing something, so I waited.
He cleared his throat and changed the subject entirely, oddly.
“I know you’re only temporary, but make this job into whatever you need it to be.
As long as they get writing support and learn something, you do it your way. ”
“Okay,” I said, disappointed that the personal sharing ended so drastically.
“I took them to some off-site locations to write, like the library, the park, and a coffee shop. I’m not saying you have to—I
just liked doing stuff off-site.”
I murmured a small “Mm-hmm” and asked, “How do you transport them?”
“My church’s van. My uncle is a trustee. I’ll leave you his information. He’d have no problem doing the same for you. As long
as it’s during the week and not at night, because he can’t see at night. He also doesn’t like to go far. Basically, it’s a
useless setup.”
Gabe chuckled, and I was glad for the levity. He’d changed so much when the conversation shifted.
He continued, “You have a budget for gas, fees, and food like drinks and snacks. They are fiends for candy. Use the money.
Don’t be shy about it.”
I nodded again. “Thanks. That sounds good.”