by Freya Barker
She’s shameless, and I love it. I throw my head back and laugh.
“What’s this?” A deep voice sounds behind me and I turn around, a smile still on my face.
“My friend, Jen, who apparently feels the need to feed the masses. She owns the coffee shop in town.”
Damian, Ben’s friend, who arrived last night and bunked in what turns out to be his old trailer, reaches past me and lifts the lid of one of the boxes.
“Thought I smelled cinnamon buns. Damn, are those still warm?” he directs at Jen, who is standing there slack-jawed.
Oh, I get it. Damian is beyond handsome with his smoldering Latino good looks. Something Jen’s clearly noticed.
“They are,” I quickly jump in when Jen doesn’t answer. “Where is Ben?”
He rolled out of bed while it was still pitch-dark outside. I’d still been half-asleep and vaguely remember him saying something about getting the site ready. I haven’t seen him since.
“He’s going over the plans with Jim,” Damian says, lifting a sticky pastry from the box and looking at Jen for approval. Still struck dumb, she just nods sharply and watches as Damian shoves half of the cinnamon roll in his mouth, biting it in two with strong white teeth. “They’re really just killing time,” he mumbles around his mouthful. “The trucks won’t be here for another half-hour or so.”
I grab my phone and give Ben a call.
“Jen just showed up with fresh coffee and warm pastries. Enough to feed an army.”
“Be right there,” is the only answer I get before the call is ended, but just moments later, I hear the sound of engines. Ben, on his four-wheeler, is leading a pickup truck with four or five guys in the back, straight up to the trailer. Three more come out of the cab of the truck. Ben saunters over with a grin, tagging me around the neck, and pressing his mouth to mine in a hard kiss.
“Jen,” he turns to my friend, before they zoom in on the pastries. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Suck up,” Damian coughs out.
The rest of the crew ambles up to the table, and I get busy pouring everyone coffee, while Jen does the rounds with the boxes. I manage to secure a coffee for Jen and me, and motion for her to join me on the trailer steps. I take a bite of the roll she hands me and enjoy the banter around me. There’s quite a bit of good-natured ribbing going on between the guys, which Jen seems to get as much of a kick out of as I do.
“They’re here,” Jim announces, standing up. The rumble of voices instantly dies down, and then we hear the sound of truck engines.
In a matter of seconds, everyone is up, mumbling their thanks and hustling back to their vehicles. Ben lingers to kiss Jen’s cheek and my lips.
“You coming up?” he asks, excitement dancing in his eyes. He’s like a kid on Christmas morning with a new box of Lego bricks.
“I’ll just clean up and grab my camera. Be right there,” I promise, waving him off.
“God,” Jen sighs, a little breathlessly, when we watch as Damian gets on the ATV behind Ben and they hurry off behind the rest. “That was an overwhelming infusion of testosterone. How do you survive?” She turns to me with her eyebrows lifted high. I shake my head and chuckle.
“I just concentrate on the one that’s in my bed every night.” I shrug, and Jen’s eyes narrow to slits.
“Lucky bitch,” she mutters, gathering the empty paper cups and tossing them in the fire pit.
“You should come up more often,” I suggest, nudging her with my elbow.
“Are they gonna be here?” She tilts her head in the direction the guys disappeared.
“Maybe not—but I will.”
“Oh, all right then,” she concedes with a wink.
We’ve got the now empty coffee containers loaded back in Jen’s car, and she’s standing with the door open.
“Did you ever talk to that woman? The one I gave your email address to?”
“I got an email, she’s looking for some guy and thought she recognized Ben in that picture.”
“Good to know,” Jen says, surprising me. “She called again to make sure I gave her the right email address.
“I haven’t sent anything back,” I admit. “Ben was a little freaked out and asked me not to. I promised him I’d let you handle it. I should’ve called you.”
“Not to worry,” she says, waving her hand. “Just shoot me a copy of her email when you have a chance. I’ll take care of it. You go enjoy the view.” She grins, pointing up at the lookout point where the arm of a big crane is visible.
“You’re not coming up?”
“Nah. I get one look at men getting sweaty; I’ll never leave. I’ve got a business to run.” She gives me a one-armed hug before getting in the car.
I give her a wave as she drives off and rush inside to grab my camera.
Time to see my house come together.
Ben
“Wow,” Damian says behind me.
The sun is going down fast as last of the trucks is just rumbling down the mountain. Jim and his crew are packing up for the night, and I just told them to take tomorrow, off.
That was a hard fucking day of work. Six crew from the builder, plus Jim and his crew of seven, Damian and myself, and I am looking at our new house.
“No shit,” I respond.
Nowhere near done, but the shell is there, complete with windows, outside doors, and a roof. Monday, the guys will start with the hookups: plumbing, heating, and electrical. Jim put in the rough-ins, according to the plans the builder supplied, before pouring the foundation, but it all still has to be connected. Jim cautioned it would likely be another three weeks, two if he pushed it, before it would be anywhere near habitable.
It looks bigger than I thought it would be.
“I should head back home,” Damian says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Just got a message one of our cases is heating up.” I turn and clasp his hand.
“Thanks for your help, man. Appreciate it.” I pull him in a man hug, pounding him on his back a few times, before stepping back.
“Whatever,” he scoffs. “I owed you; you spent enough hours on my place.” He starts walking toward the ATV.
“No bite before you head out?” I ask, following him. Isla left about thirty minutes ago to throw some dinner together. She’d been up here most of the day as well, only heading back to the trailer every so often to download the massive number of pictures she was snapping all day.
“Nah, I’ll hit a drive-thru in Cortez.”
I swing my leg over the seat and scoot forward to make room for him.
“Don’t tell Isla, she’ll be pissed if she finds out you’re blowing off her dinner for Taco Bell,” I warn him when he climbs on behind me.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he promises with a chuckle, before his tone gets serious. “You know you hit the jackpot, don’t you? You deserve it, man. Despite what you might think.”
“I know,” I finally answer, my voice rough, as I start the engine.
-
Isla is disappointed when Damian announces he has to leave, as I expected, but she gives him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Next time you come, you won’t recognize your Deville,” she promises. “It’ll be ready for you whenever you want to get away.”
“Sounds good. And tell that old man of yours to bring you up to see me, if not before the winter, then in the spring. I’ll take you out rafting on the Animas River.” With a last wave at her, he turns to his vehicle, where I’m waiting. “Jackpot,” he says again. “Lucky bastard.”
“You’ll hit yours,” I tell him as he climbs behind the wheel.
“Nah. Thought I did once, turned out to be someone else’s quarter.”
Before I have a chance to say anything, he drives off. I watch until his taillights disappear through the gates before heading inside.
“Isn’t it awesome?” Isla smiles big, turning her head when I come in. I walk up behind her, slip my arms around her waist, and lean my chin on her shoulder.
“Pretty amazing,” I agree. “What’s for dinner?”
“Potato ham soup and grilled cheese. Easy, stick to the bones kinda food.”
“Sounds good,” I mumble against the side of her neck, before closing my mouth over the tender skin and sucking. “Do I have time for a quick shower?” I ask, stepping back to put some distance between us before it’s more than just the grilled cheese burning up.
“Tease,” she hisses, throwing me a dirty look. “Yes, there’s time.”
-
After dinner Isla pats the spot next to her on the couch.
“Come have a look.”
She has her laptop open to a sleek looking website.
“I. Ferris Snapshots? I like,” I comment when I see the heading. “This looks good. Who did this so fast?”
“It’s only temporary,” she says, a little flush to her skin. “Until I can get a proper website designed.”
“You did this?” I ask, pulling the laptop closer so I can get a better look. I’m impressed; I wouldn’t know where to start. “It’s really good. Doesn’t look temporary to me.”
“Anyway,” she says, pretending not to have a pleased little smirk on her face that makes me chuckle. “I wanted to show you this.” She takes back the laptop and clicks a few keys. “Have a look.”
A slideshow of pictures, taken from the exact same spot, from the first time she took me up to the clearing until this afternoon, with the sun already setting. Like a time-lapse video, you can see the entire evolution from the first breaking of ground, to the roof lifted onto our house. A black frame with a single word in white ends the sequence.
HOME
My eyes move away from the screen and brush over her face. My fingers trail lazily behind.
“Home?”
“Feels like it,” she whispers, self-consciously shrugging her shoulders.
“It does,” I agree. “Wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to remember what that felt like.”
“The last time I remember feeling home, was walking in the door after school and having Mom putzing around the kitchen, while asking me all about my day.” I watch as Isla swallows hard before adding, “Don’t get me wrong, Uncle Al and Aunt Kate were amazing—and later Ginnie, too—but living with them always felt more like an extended stay than a home. Maybe because I remember Mom so vividly, it would’ve felt like a betrayal.”
She turns her attention back to the screen, her fingers flying over the keyboard.
“What are you up to now?”
She logs off and shuts down the computer before glancing at me.
“I just went live with my new website,” she says with a grin.
I’ve never seen someone adapt and adjust to whatever life throws her way, and come out the other end with that infectious smile on her face.
“You’re amazing,” I tell her honestly, because she is. “You’re like the gift that keeps on giving.”
“That’s sweet,” she says, setting the laptop on the table before she climbs in my lap and slides her hands along the scruff on my jaw. “But I think that’s the jelly of the month club.”
“It’s not sweet if it’s the truth, and why are you quoting National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation?”
“Hush,” she giggles, tilts my head back, and makes me forget everything but her filling my senses.
It’s him.
Twelve years and I’ve finally found him.
Mine.
It wasn’t the right time then, but it is now. I can feel it.
The images roll over the screen and I freeze the frame when his face appears. The lines familiar, albeit a little deeper with age. It looks good on him.
When I read the caption at the end of the slideshow, my vision blurs and a sharp pain hits me square in the chest.
That bitch.
CHAPTER 10
Ben
“Stacie,” I say in greeting, when Isla hands me the phone.
Those two have been planning out our Thanksgiving trip to Albuquerque in minute detail. It’s giving me a headache. It’s my own fault; Isla had been getting increasingly anxious about meeting my sister, and I thought it would be easier to break the ice over the phone. I didn’t count on those two hitting it off so well. They talk at least once a day, mostly about color schemes and furniture. Isla had taken some photos of the interior of the house to give Stacie a sense of the space, and now the two of them are decorating. Making lists that make my head spin.
“Ben, you should rent a trailer when you come down. It would be so much cheaper than having everything shipped.” I must’ve groaned out loud, because my sister’s hearty laugh sounds in my ear. “Don’t be dramatic, brother dear. I’m just trying to be practical.” I don’t even try to hide my incredulous snort.
“Practical is a bed, a couch, a TV—that’s it.”
“What would you sleep under? Where would you eat? You need a coffee table, chairs, linens, china, cutlery, pots, hand towels...the list is so long.”
“Stacie,” I press the bridge of my nose with my fingers. “You’re calling at seven in the morning, waking us up, to talk about fucking hand towels?” Isla chuckles as she slips out of bed, and tugs on sweats, before padding to the kitchen.
“You’re sleeping?” My sister feigns innocence, but I don’t buy it for a second.
“I was, and now my bed is getting cold because you got my girl all fired up about fucking hand towels. Jesus.”
“That’s a dollar for my swear jar, Uncle Ben.” I groan louder. That conniving brat put her kid on the phone.
“Hey, kiddo, what happened to a quarter? You’ll have me in the poor house at these rates,” I tease; smiling despite the gray hairs my little sister is giving me. Her kid is the bomb.
“I’m saving up for a dog. It’ll go faster with dollars.”
“Smart,” I manage, chuckling at Mak’s irrefutable logic. “I’ll pay my dues next week when we get there, kid. Put your mom back on?”
There’s some rustling on the line and a mumbled, “Grab your backpack,” before Stacie comes back on the line.
“I’ve gotta run, Ben,” she says. “Gotta get the kid to daycare and get to the office.”
“So Mak wants a dog?” I ignore her plea, going in for a little payback.
“Yup. Not gonna happen,” she says in a low conspiratory voice. “I may have carefully suggested a Bernese Mountain dog, knowing they’re pricy and almost impossible to find in New Mexico.”
“I don’t know,” I argue. “Shouldn’t be that hard here in Colorado, and it would make a perfect uncle gift for Christmas, don’t you think?”
“Don’t you dare,” Stacie hisses, making me laugh, because I have her just where I want her.
“Think about that next time you can’t wait to discuss fucking hand towels and chase Isla from my bed.”
“You’re evil,” she spits out.
“You bet,” I counter. “But you love me anyway. We’ll see you guys Wednesday.”
“I do, even though you’re the biggest pain in my ass. See you Wednesday, and don’t forget, Isla’s ass is mine for some Black Friday shopping fun!”
I toss the phone on the bed beside me, fold my arms behind my neck, and watch as Isla comes sauntering in, two steaming mugs in her hands. Gray sweats hanging off her hips, an old big tank barely covering her tits, and hair sticking out everywhere, she’s the best part of every morning.
Even more so when bringing coffee.
She hands me mine and balances the remaining mug, while climbing back in bed, snuggling in beside me.
“Morning,” she mumbles with a sweet smile.
“Hmmm,” I growl, bending down for a kiss. I prefer show to tell, especially before caffeine. Isla’s lips smile against mine.
“Sorry we woke you.”
“You, I don’t mind,” I assure her. “My sister? Other story.”
“I like her.” Isla takes a sip of her coffee and looks at me from under her sleep heavy eyelids.
“Th
at’s good. I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual, seeing as she’s calling you at the butt crack of fucking dawn,” I complain, making her chuckle. “You morning people are deviants. It’s unnatural.”
-
It’s freezing cold.
My fingers are icicles, with the wind making the air feel much colder than the forty degrees showing on the thermometer outside the trailer door. I should’ve grabbed an extra pair of gloves.
Isla’s taken to making hot lunches for the crew. Something she wanted to do to keep her busy until all the structural and electrical work is done, and we can have some heat at the house. We’ll need it before we start painting and putting in floors. We, meaning Isla and me; our way to make the house a bit more ours.
Hard to believe Jim and his guys will be gone after we get back from Albuquerque. Jim’s going to meet us on Monday, to officially hand everything over, but the work should be done. Isla and I have already agreed we’ll throw a big barbecue in the spring, when we’ve got the inside all done and I have the deck built.
But for today, it’s a big pot of goulash and fresh biscuits on the menu.
She’s already got the fire going for some heat when I drive up. Since there’s no way we all fit in the trailer, she dragged two more picnic tables to our site and set them up around the fire pit. I head inside, where she’s just pulling a tray of biscuits from the small oven, and I press a kiss to the top of her head.
“Need me to do anything?”
“Just take the pot out when you’re done?” she says, tilting her face back and offering me a soft smile.
“Yup.”
I shrug out of my heavy coat before stepping into the bathroom. I won’t fit with it on; I tried, to Isla’s great hilarity. Damn bathroom. I can’t wait until we’ve got the water running hot in the new house. Now that’s a bathroom, with a separate shower stall, large enough for me plus one. I’m not one for baths, but the two person Jacuzzi thing Isla wanted in there is definitely something I wouldn’t mind trying, as long as she’s in there with me. Not much longer.
I wash my hands, struggle back into my coat, and grab the massive pot taking up two burners on the stove, and carry it outside. Isla’s already greeting the guys and has hot coffee and bottles of water on the tables. Before long everyone is chowing down.
