“I thought saws were long and flat, so apparently not.”
Ainsley laughed as she walked up to the driveway, where the regular coffee she’d brought from home was sitting on a folding table beside a small crowd of volunteers. “All right, listen up, please.” She used her classroom voice, and as they always did, people quieted down to listen to her. “Today, you’re here to help build a house for Abshir and Bilqiis Sadiq and their daughter, Fawzia. In case you don’t know where you are, Habitat for Humanity builds houses for people who can’t afford them, but every homeowner puts sweat equity into the house. We do more than just build; we also advocate for safer housing policies, less discrimination in housing practices, and training to help families improve their situations. If you decide building the houses isn’t for you,” she said, eyeing two high school girls in skinny jeans and tight T-shirts, “you could always volunteer at the ReStore in Salem. They sell salvaged and donated items to benefit the organization.”
One of the girls raised her hand. “Do they have vintage stuff?”
“You could call it that.” Truthfully, most of it was more thrift store than vintage, but she’d gotten a nice end table there last year that fit perfectly in her living room. “If you are doing this for community service hours of any kind, you must sign in and sign out. If you just sign in, we won’t know how long you were here and my dad will not vouch for you, because he’s a grouchy old man.” Light laughter came from the group of ten. “If you don’t know what to do, don’t guess. Ask the mean old man, because he’ll make me fix it if you screw up. His name’s Gary.” She pivoted. “All you, old man.”
“That’s the third time you’ve called me old today,” he grumbled, then grinned. Gary took off his John Deere hat, and said, “Let’s pray. God, thanks for today, thanks for a good crew. Keep us safe as we work, may this home be a blessing to the Sadiqs. Amen.” Ainsley wasn’t surprised Dad kept his prayers short. It had been a site tradition before they’d taken over to pray at the beginning, and he didn’t want to break it, but he was also not the public-speaking type.
Ainsley felt the women gravitating toward her, so she set them up with a simple caulking project in the upstairs bathroom, then went back down to the trailer to grab her tool belt. Kyle was waiting for her in the kitchen, looking around, poking into the cabinets.
“You looking for a snack or something?”
“Just killing time until my instructor gets here.”
She grinned. “That’s my day job. Today I’m just another lady with a tool belt.”
“How long have you been teaching now?”
“Five years.” She shook her head as she opened the box of premade planks. She handed Kyle the instructions. “Seems like less than that.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I’ve got different kids every year, curriculum’s always changing, the state standards are always shifting. I think I thought it would be easier after I’d been doing it a few years.” Why am I telling Kyle Impressive Durand about my professional misgivings? “That’s not to say that I don’t like it—I do like it. It’s been fun having Cooper in my class this year.”
Kyle snorted. “Fun, huh? Is that code for something else?”
“No.” She smiled. “I love Cooper. He’s a problem-solver.”
“He is that,” Kyle said, but his voice lacked feeling as his eyes scanned the page. “Did you acclimate the planks?”
“Yup, I put them here last weekend, so we’re good. And I already installed the moisture barrier underneath.”
He got to his knees next to her. “Okay. Show me how to put it together.”
“Hold your horses, cowboy. We’ve gotta get the shop vac and clean the floor first.”
“Can I see all the directions before we begin? I like to have a complete picture of the scope of the project.”
Ainsley smiled and handed him the directions. She watched as he read them carefully, his dark eyes scanning the page. It was impossible not to appreciate the way he gave something his whole focus; she thought she could probably dance a jig right now, and he wouldn’t notice. In her case, it was impossible not to find that adorable.
He nodded after a moment. “Okay, I think I’ve got a handle on it. Where’s the vacuum?” She walked him to the garage, and he got to work while she went upstairs to check on the caulking women, who had abandoned their project in lieu of painting cabinet doors in the garage.
She took the lid off and downed her latte before it got any colder. Kyle was almost done vacuuming when Mrs. Sadiq came in.
“Bilqiis, you made it! I thought you were working today.”
She gave Ainsley a hug, as she always did, and then linked arms with her. “No, I’m off today. Fawzia and I thought we would come down.” The young girl bounded into the house, a blur in leggings, a colorful long-sleeved dress, and a neon-pink head covering, then tore up the stairs. Bilqiis chuckled. “They’re doing something with the machinery in the backyard, and she wanted to watch from her room.” Ainsley smiled, too.
“Hello, I’m Kyle Durand,” he said, sticking out his hand.
Bilqiis looked up at him for a brief moment, then lowered her gaze. “It’s nice to meet you, Kyle; I am Mrs. Sadiq. Thank you for coming to help with my house.” Kyle let his hand fall.
“Most of the women are out in the garage,” Ainsley said, untangling them, and Bilqiis nodded, then disappeared down the hall.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No, she just doesn’t shake hands with men. She doesn’t with Dad, either. But she’s not offended. She really is glad you’re here. She just doesn’t want to appear flirty with you.”
“Right.” He eyed her. “Ready to plank now?”
“I am.” She got to work, laying out planks so that the grain wouldn’t look too manufactured despite the fact that it repeated often. Kyle was a quick study; he worked in front of her, snapping together the pieces she placed. It gave her a nice view of his backside, which she decided pointedly to not appreciate. No point in that.
She took the too-wide, too-long pieces out to cut with the circular saw, but her father’s friend Perry Helsing was already using it.
“I’ll cut it for you, gorgeous.”
She stacked the planks next to him and straightened, rolling her eyes. “Shameless.”
“Why? Because I’m seventy-two? I’m not dead, you know.” He cackled.
“Neither is your wife, Perry!” she called over her shoulder. Her father’s friends were always giving her a hard time; they seemed to feel personally responsible for her single state. She went in through the garage, stopping to remind the ladies to wipe the drips off the floor. Kyle was done placing the planks she’d laid out for him.
“Nice job, Doctor. I should’ve figured you’d be good with your hands.”
He turned to look at her, eyebrows raised, and she played back the tape in her head to figure out what she’d said wrong.
“Oh”—she felt her face flush—“I didn’t mean . . .”
“That’s okay,” he said, brushing off his hands as he got to his feet, “I am good with my hands. In more than one sense.” He was staring at her. No, gazing at her, letting his hip rest on the kitchen island.