Chapter 6
Jordan
I haven’t spoken to Pike since the argument yesterday. I refuse to call it a fight. We barely know each other. How can we be fighting?
I also haven’t talked to Cole since yesterday, either, but for some reason, that’s not bugging me. It’s how we roll. He was gone yesterday, helping a friend with his car, and by the time he made it home I was at the bar. I slept in this morning, more as an effort to avoid Pike in the house, and only woke up once when Cole left a goodbye peck on my cheek before heading to work himself.
My stomach has been in knots all morning. Why the hell was Pike so angry? I thought we were getting along. I didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, I was mowing his fucking grass, and the next thing I know he’s ripping into me like I’m sunbathing topless on the front lawn while six-year-olds race their bikes down the street.
He’s so volatile. Very unlike his son who never takes anything seriously.
I climb out of Cole’s car, him catching a ride with one of his friends this morning so I could get to the library. I grab Pike’s lunch box he left at home and take a look around the job site. It’s busier than the last time I was here.
Workers move about, dressed in hard hats with brown leather tool belts hanging from their hips, and dust kicks up from the trucks moving in and out of the area. Hammers hit steel and men with dirty boots and scuffed jeans straddle beams high in the air as they do whatever it is that they do to turn materials into a building. Not many get to see the bare bones view. I wonder why Cole doesn’t work for his father. This job has to pay well. I know some of these guys, after all. They support families off this job.
My gaze wanders, looking for someone accessible to drop off the lunch box to, but I’m kind of on alert, looking for Pike’s tattoos, too. I don’t want to see him, really. My plan when I saw he’d left his lunch at home this morning was to do a nice deed, drop it off, and leave the ball in his court to get over the argument by seeking me out to say ‘thank you’. I want to get over whatever awkwardness is between us.
Stepping over the dirt and debris laying around, I make my way for the structure and spot his friend, Dutch, bending over to pick something up just inside. He notices me and rises.
“Hey, Dutch.” I smile. “Is Pike around?”
His eyes drop to the black insulated bag in my hand. “His lunch?”
“He left it sitting on the kitchen table.” I hold it up for him. “Thought I’d drop it off while I’m running errands.”
“That’s nice of you.” But he doesn’t take the lunch box. Instead, he tosses a tool down into a box and gestures to me. “Come on, I’ll take you up.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay,” I tell him. “I don’t want to bug him. I’ll just leave it with you.”
“If you leave that with me, I’ll eat it. Or lose it.” He chuckles and leads me toward some stairs.
My shoulders slump. Awesome.
We head up to the third floor, taking what I assume will be the emergency stairwell once the elevators are installed, and reach a landing with only frames for the walls, showing how the offices and work areas will be divided once it’s finished.
Pike is the only one on the floor, far off on the left side and hovering over a clipboard.
He hears us approach and looks up from his paperwork, turning his head.
His eyes narrow on me, and I blink long and hard, feeling stupid.
He’s wearing a navy blue T-shirt, and the color on him brings heat to my cheeks. I love how it looks against his tanned arms and the curves of his biceps.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
He doesn’t sound annoyed like I was afraid, though. Just puzzled.
I lift up the bag. “You left your lunch on the table.”
His expression relaxes, and the tension in his body eases. “Oh, thanks.” He walks over, and I hand it to him. “It’s okay, though,” he tells me. “I could’ve grabbed something from the food truck. You didn’t have to go through the trouble.”
The food truck? “Well, I couldn’t let you eat crap from a food truck,” I say.
And to my relief, he smiles a little. “It’s basically the same stuff that’s in there,” he points out, setting the lunch box on a work table.
But I’m way ahead of him. “Well, I snuck in a turkey and cheese cucumber wrap, too, in case you want something different.”
His face falls.
“Don’t worry,” I tease. “Your lunch is still in there. I just made too much and needed help finishing the wrap.”
The slight fear in his eyes dispels, and he takes a breath. “You’re not going to be happy until I’m eating hummus, are you?”
I try not to laugh. “I’ll build you up slowly.”
He rolls his eyes, and I finally take a deep breath. I guess we’re over the argument.
I stand there, feeling his eyes on me, the sounds of hammers pounding and the breeze blowing through the structure slowly fading away.
Then I realize that Dutch is still in the room.
We both look over at him, his gaze shifting between us.
“I’ll go…” He swallows and clears this throat. “do something,” he says and walks away, leaving us alone.
I look back at Pike, and I guess I should go, too, and leave him to it, but instead, I slide my hands into my pockets and gaze around. “The sawdust smells good,” I tell him.
A smile crosses his eyes, and he nods, looking around. “Yeah. It’s like home to me.”
When our gazes meet again, heat pools low in my belly, and I forget to breathe for a moment. I quickly look away.
“I apologize for going off on you yesterday,” he says. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Cramer was leering, and it was creepy. I got aggravated.” And then he clarifies, “Aggravated with him, I mean. I’m sorry I took it out on you.”
“I work in a bar,” I point out. “I’m used to a little leering. I can handle it.”
Really, I can stand up and fight for my honor all on my own. And so can Cole. If it ever occurs to him. Pike doesn’t need to feel responsible for me. I’m not his to take care of.
“Well, I’ll get going,” I tell him and start backing away.
But he stops me. “You wanna see?” he offers. “A little tour?”
I’ve already seen a great deal of the place, since I was here sandbagging last week, but I nod anyway. “Yeah, sure.”
He leads me toward the back of the building, and I wonder if I’m supposed to be wearing a hard hat, but he’s not wearing one, either, so I don’t ask.
“It’s supposed to be office space for that casino riverboat that’s coming to the area,” he explains. “There’ll be a pavilion at the dock with restaurants and event space, but they’re going to run everything from here. Hiring, finances, advertising…”
He shoots me a smile, and I look away again.
“It’s like a skeleton,” I comment. “When do the walls go up?”
“Once the plumbers and electricians get everything squared away,” he replies, “I install the insulation and then we start walling it up. You’ll see rooms instead of bones.”
We enter a large space at the rear corner of the building, and unlike the other rooms, there’s an entire wall without beams. Like it’s going to be just one, huge picture window there. I step into the small adjacent space and peer over the beam in front of my face.
“What’s this space?”
He looks over at me. “It’s a private bathroom for this office.”
Must be nice. I stroll back into the office with him and walk over to the edge, looking out over the undeveloped land and green in the distance.
“Nice view.” I smile and flip my hair, spinning around in my pretend office like I own the place. “Yes, Christopher, would you please get Japan on the line? We need to discuss the production line in Malaysia,” I play.
He chuckles. “You have a male secretary?”
“A man can be anything,” I retort. “Don’t let your sex hold you back.”
He shakes his head at me, amusement curling his lips.
We settle into the ease we had the other night when we watched TV and ate pizza, and I follow him around the building, letting him explain the months to possibly year-long process of erecting a building from the ground up. He started doing this work before Cole was born and eventually formed his own company, able to make his own rules and have more control over the types of projects he takes on. It has to be a lot of responsibility, though, knowing you’re in charge of two dozen workers and the paychecks that support their families.
But still…he’s helping to grow our town, bringing work in, and getting jobs himself.
“You must be so proud to build things you get to see every day,” I tell him when we’re back down on the first floor. “Places where people will spend their lives and earn their livelihoods.”
“I never really thought about it like that.” He stops at the rear of the building, looking out at the acres of empty space beyond. “It’s my livelihood, too, I guess.”
I look out and notice an outdoor space attached to the back of the building. It’s large, and I can already see a marble fountain haphazardly placed for later setup.
“Is this going to be a courtyard?” I inquire, noting there’s no roof. “That’s a nice idea. Do you build that, too?”
“Oh, no,” he replies. “A landscaping company will come when the building is nearly complete and take care of planting the grass, trees, and installing the aesthetics.”
Right up my alley. I love the before and after, seeing an outdoor space transform.
“I’ll let you know when they start,” he offers as if reading my mind. “You can pop in every now and then to see the progress.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
I’d like that, actually. Aside from my teachers, no one else I know really enjoys stuff like this. Our eyes meet, and I realize that’s something I’ve been missing. I don’t have a lot in common with the other people in my life, do I?
We’re locked on each other but only for a moment. A worker passes by, carrying lumber over his shoulder, and Pike suddenly straightens, breaking contact with me and nodding a ‘hello’ to him.
“Well, I should…” I jerk my thumb behind me, “get going, I guess.”
“Yeah,” he answers. “Me, too.”
I back away. “See you at home. I’ll have dinner ready by five.”
He just nods and turns back to his work.
Home. Not the house? It’s not my home, after all.
I walk back to the car and climb in, feeling more out of sorts than when I came here. Dinner by five? Cole doesn’t get off until six. Did I suddenly just forget he exists?
I wrap the towel around my body and gather up my dirty clothes, the bathroom still thick with steam. Cracking open the door, I peek into the hallway to make sure it’s clear, and dash across to my bedroom, closing my door behind me.
I keep forgetting to take clean clothes in with me, so I can get dressed right after my shower. I’m still used to having my own place and not caring if I crossed the hallway in my towel. At least I’m remembering to put on pajama shorts if I go downstairs for water in the middle of the night. Doubt I wouldn’t die of embarrassment if Cole’s dad caught me in my underwear and T-shirt.