“Okay, great. Great. Just come around 7:45 and we’ll get you started.”
“See you then.”
Weirdest. Phone. Call. Ever.
CHAPTER SIX
“MAKEUP.”
Ainsley passed her father his Daily Buzz coffee. She preferred Cuppa Joe, but Daily Buzz made him happy. “And good morning to you.”
“Why are you wearing makeup to build? Makeup is for your mother’s activities.”
She sipped her half-caff soy latte. “There’s no reason why I can’t wear makeup to this, too.”
Her father grunted, stroking his salt-and-pepper beard thoughtfully. “Something’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on.” Geez, he was nosy. She was, too, but it was only in the other person’s best interest. She was like one of those diabetes support dogs she wanted her dad to get. She sniffed at people’s problems because she cared. Whereas he just . . . sniffed.
“Uh-huh.” He did not seem convinced. Not in the slightest.
It was only seven thirty, but there were a few volunteers already around. Ainsley wandered toward the trailer, yawning, casually avoiding the additional questions she could feel circling her like sharks. She unlocked the trailer and rummaged around until she found the sign-in clipboard and attached this week’s roster, which she’d tucked under her arm. She yawned again. She’d gotten up at five to shower and wear real clothes and fix her face . . . she usually slept until six, then left at 6:10. But Kyle was coming today . . . She shook her head, chuckling at herself. I’m an idiot. He’s not here to see me.
“Something funny?”
Speak of the devil.
She turned to see him, arms crossed, in the open door. He was wearing stone-washed jeans and a black fleece jacket with some kind of green thermal top under it that somehow made his eyes look browner, warmer. “Nope.” She pushed the clipboard at him. “Here’s the sign-in. Put it next to the coffee when you’re done.” Put some distance between you, she thought. That’s it.
Ainsley could hear him following her as she descended the stairs, but ignored him.
“Pop.”
“Yo.” Her father was on the other side of the trailer, chatting with some of the other regular builders.
“Got a build virgin for you,” she said, throwing her thumb over her shoulder, and she heard Kyle chuckle.
“Well, if it isn’t Dr. Durand 2.0. How are you, son?”
“Good, thank you, sir.” The two men shook hands, and her father gave her a pointed look. “How are you, Mr. Buchanan?”
“Fine, just fine.”
“How’s retirement?”
“Oh, as long as I stay out of my wife’s hair, it goes just fine.”
“Don’t be like that. Mom loves having you around more,” Ainsley said, sipping her coffee.
They ignored her. “How’s your brother? Heard he had another kid.”
Kyle nodded. “Philip’s good, still doing the physical therapy thing. Daniel’s still in residency, but it seems to be going fine.”
“You’ve got a sister, too, don’t you?”
His eyes dropped to the muddy ground. “Yup. Maggie’s still in high school.”
She shared a glance with her father that said “Something’s happening there.” His answering look said “I agree.”
“Well, it’s good to have you here,” her father continued. “Help yourself to some coffee, and Ainsley will get you started after she does the orientation spiel.”
“Oh no,” she said quickly, “I really wanted to get the flooring in the kitchen done today, that’ll take me a while. I was hoping you could do his orientation.”
Her father smiled and slung an arm around her neck like she was twelve. “But sweetheart, you know I could never orientate him as well as you can.”
“Pop, for the ten thousandth time, orientate is not a word. You can orient something, you can do orientation, but you cannot ‘orientate’ anything.”
“Oh gosh, I was hopin’ you’d say that,” he said, as he whipped a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her.
She opened it cautiously, then read aloud, “‘Orientate. Intransitive verb. To turn or face to the east.’” Ainsley looked up and popped her lips loudly. “Fine. I promise to point Dr. Durand east before I get started on the kitchen.”
Gary pointed to the bottom of the page. “Keep reading, pumpkin.”
“‘Transitive verb. Orient.’”
“HA!” her father cried. “HA! Suck it, daughter.”
“First of all? Rude. Second of all, where’s Mr. Trask, I know he’s the one who told you it was really a word, and thirdly, if you’d kept reading, it says ‘chiefly British.’ Is that the kind of American you want to be? One who uses British words? What’s next, tea and crumpets for breakfast?”
“I’m just gettin’ in touch with my roots,” he said, kissing her temple before he walked away, chuckling.
“We’re not using that word! And you’re half-Scottish, half-German!” Ainsley called after him, fuming. Crumpling the paper, she turned to go back to the trailer and startled. Kyle was still standing right behind her; in her word fury, she’d completely forgotten about him. “Sorry,” she muttered, even though she hadn’t run into him.
“For what?”
“I almost ran into you.” And I forgot you were there.
“But you didn’t.”
“No, I . . . guess not.” Ainsley sipped her coffee. She really wished her brain would hurry up and orientate itself to Kyle’s presence.
“I already know which way is east, but I don’t know anything about building houses.” His face didn’t indicate that he was joking, but his dark eyes had a twinkle in them. She would have found him unnervingly good-looking, but he was just Kyle. She wouldn’t worship him like the other women in town, no matter how funny and smart and thoughtful he was. It’s not like he’s perfect. I’m sure he has flaws.
She started toward the trailer again, carefully walking around him this time, and once again, he followed her. I guess it can’t hurt to humor the old man. “Well, maybe you’d like to help me with the flooring.” It was the only logical thing to do with a newbie on-site, she told herself. Left to their own devices, they could really screw things up, and that wouldn’t be fair to the Sadiq family. Life was hard enough as a Somali refugee, from what little she knew of it; they didn’t need poor tile installation in their bathrooms to add to their troubles.
“What does that entail?”
“Are you good at puzzles?”
“Word puzzles or cardboard puzzles?”
She suppressed a small smile. She’d forgotten he was like this. He always wanted more information, was always cautious.
“Cardboard puzzles. You know, five hundred pieces all look the same, and then you get a picture of a field of sunflowers when you’re done?”
“Mine are always famous historical sites, but sure. I guess I’m okay at them.”
“Well, this is a lot like that. We have to piece together the laminate flooring without the seams showing. Do you know how to use a circular saw?”