by Karin Beery
“I, um …”
The screen door slammed, stealing Callie’s attention. She turned in time to see Ryan rush across the deck and into the side yard. His lean body moved effortlessly across the grass.
Pain ripped through Callie’s elbow. She looked down at Mae pinching her skin.
“What was that for?” Callie jumped away from the car, rubbing her abused skin. “I’m already a mess.”
“Just trying to help you focus. Scrap the plan, Cal. It’s okay not to know what’s going to happen next.” Mae leaned as far out the window as her petite and pregnant frame allowed. “Bye, Ryan!”
“You can go now.” Callie massaged the tender spot on her skin.
The engine roared. “I hope to have a baby the next time we meet.”
“You’re not due for three weeks.”
“Yes, but I can hope.” Mae shifted. “I’ll see you Sunday!”
Callie waved her good arm. She watched until Mae’s taillights disappeared around the first corner. When Callie turned back to the yard, Ryan waved from beside the fire pit. Maybe modifying the plan wasn’t such a bad idea.
Ryan kicked the rogue log back into the fire pit, then stomped on the grass, killing any flame’s chance at surviving. With another quick kick, he nudged the singed lawn chair a little further away from the unstable bonfire.
The crunching of Mae’s tires across the pebbles faded into a cadence of soft steps. By the time Ryan looked up, Callie was already crossing the yard toward him.
She smiled. Her skin glowed yellow in the firelight. “Mae says hi.”
“Sorry I missed her. I should have come out earlier.”
“I would have invited you out, but we needed some girl talk.”
Hair. Shoes. Kyle. “Never mind then. I hope you had fun.”
Callie laughed. “Girl talk isn’t that scary.” She closed the gap between them, then stopped within arm’s reach.
Through the rich flavor of smoke, Ryan caught a brief whiff of something flowery. He remembered the fragrance from the day Callie arrived. Just like she had on that day, she stood in front of him, lovely and familiar, but this time she was examining the ground. He watched her drag her foot across the dark, flattened grass.
“What happened here?”
Ryan kicked the ground near her foot. “Your fire tower collapsed. I happened to look out the window as a log rolled off the pile and into the chair.”
“What?” Callie dropped to all fours, pulling the chairs closer to the light and inspecting each one. “Oh, no!” Her hair whipped around when she looked up at Ryan. “Did I ruin it?”
He squatted and looked at the chair legs with her. He ran a hand across the singed paint. “I doubt it. I don’t think the log was hot enough to burn through the paint. A quick cleaning, maybe repaint it. A new coat would definitely work.”
Callie moaned. “Great. If he wasn’t mad enough before, this should send Jack right over the edge.”
“Why? All they need is a little paint.”
“These were his first chairs,” she said, sliding onto one of the seats. “Don’t you remember? He made them in high school. He loves these things. They’re his inspiration. They helped him realize that he wanted to be a carpenter. They—”
“I get it.” Ryan raised a hand and nodded. “Jack likes these chairs.”
Callie plucked a twig from the grass and tossed it on the fire. “Do you realize that everything I’ve done since I got here has been a disaster?”
“Everything?” Even dinner with Kyle?
“Everything.”
Ryan pulled the other chair closer to the sulking beauty. He sat. The flames flickered, stirring the light. Yellow and orange hues danced across Callie’s cheeks. Her lips sagged, pouting. He held back a smile. She would think he was laughing at her circumstances. She wouldn’t understand how cute she looked.
Turning his eyes back to the fire, Ryan refocused on the conversation. “So, dinner didn’t go well?”
“Oh, no. That was actually very nice.”
“Then not everything has been a disaster.”
“I guess, but my work has been, and now I’m ruining things in my free time.” She rolled her head to the side, looking over at Ryan. “I want to help Jack, not be a burden.”
“You’re not.”
She snorted. “Says the man who doesn’t work with me.” She slid down in the chair, sinking until she was hanging off the edge, practically sitting on the ground. “It’s okay. I can admit it. I’m a klutz. I stink at my job.”
“Don’t let the first week get you down.” Ryan reached for her hand but remembered his promise to Jack. He tucked his hand back behind his head. “You’ve got a lot of summer left. It’ll get better.”
“I’ve already maimed myself with a paint scraper. It can’t possibly get much worse … unless I poke out my eye with a foam paint brush.”
Ryan tried to picture the scenario. Nothing about it triggered his sympathies. No matter how he tried to imagine a debilitating sponge-tipped accident, he couldn’t muster up any fear for Callie. Instead, he laughed. Then laughed a bit more. As he chuckled, he saw the corners of Callie’s mouth perk up. Finally. Progress.
“You might not be as handy as Jack, but I don’t think your sight is in any danger,” he said. “Have a little faith in yourself. Anyone who can play a piano like you do can’t be a complete klutz. You’ll figure it out.”
Callie pushed herself up and leaned toward Ryan, resting her arms on his chair. “You should have been a cheerleader. You’re really good at this.”
Then she hit him with a full-watt smile. Ryan’s blood surged.
He leaned forward, leaving just inches between them. “Not really, but you make it easy. I’ll cheer you on anytime.”
Callie flinched, but she didn’t move. Her eyes widened, and as they stared at each other, something changed. She swallowed. Her eyes glanced down, then back at him. Ryan glanced down. His eyes stopped at her lips. His pulse raged.
When he looked back up, Callie’s eyes fixed on his. She watched him, studied him. Were her emotions as confused as his, or was he simply seeing himself reflected in her eyes?
“Soft spot,” she whispered.
“What?”
Before she could answer, a car door slammed.
Callie jumped to her feet. The murmur of late-night tourists floated toward them. Grabbing a long, charred stick, Callie poked the fire and turned her back on Ryan.
What was he doing? Ryan scrubbed his hands over his face. He needed to talk to Jack again. The move was taking longer than Ryan had hoped, and he wanted to share his intentions with Callie. Maybe he and Jack could come to a different arrangement.
Callie cleared her throat. “I haven’t told Jack yet, but I don’t like living in Alma.”
Ryan hands stilled. “You don’t?” He hopped up and stood beside her. “Why not?”
She shrugged. “I like my job and everything, but I miss Mae. I miss the beach. I miss seeing you guys.” She sighed. “Alma’s just not the same. I didn’t realize it until I got back here.”
Ryan watched Callie poke at the fire, drawing the branch through glowing red coals. He thought about her living with Jack, about football games and eating popcorn on the couch, teasing each other as if nothing had changed, but wanting it to. He’d never noticed how nice she looked in a ponytail before or how comfortably they could talk about anything. It would be nice to have her closer to home.
“It would?” she said.
“What?” Ryan looked down at her. Callie’s eyes were the size of softballs. The stick dropped to the ground. “What are you talking about?” he asked.
She blinked. “You said it would be nice to have me closer to home.”
Every muscle in Ryan’s body tensed. “It would be … nice.”
Callie stared at him. The
n she stepped closer. She licked her lips. Why did she have to lick her lips?
“I had a really nice time with you on Sunday,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind doing it again.”
Ryan’s eyes flickered back to her lips. “Neither would I.”
She watched him. Firelight danced in her eyes. The scent of flowers teased him. Somewhere someone laughed, but beside Ryan and Callie, only the fire dared speak, sizzling and popping in the silence.
“Ryan?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for Sunday.” She grinned.
Jack. I promised Jack.
Ryan took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then moved. “You know, I think the fire is under control.” He stepped back and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Just make sure you douse the wood when you’re done. I think I left the television on, so I’d better go back inside.”
Before she could respond, he dashed across the yard and through the gate.
Space. He needed space.
The warm evening air chilled his skin as he walked away from the fire. Until he got out of the lighthouse, Callie was a friend. Just a friend.
If only he could convince his emotions to believe it. It wasn’t easy to do, especially after the way Callie had looked at him. Ryan had just climbed the deck stairs when Callie’s face popped back into his head. The way she smiled at him. The way she licked her lips.
He spun around and jumped off the deck, jogging toward the garage. Callie’s empty boxes were still in there. If he didn’t sleep, Ryan could be packed up and ready to move by morning.
Callie circled the power washer, inspecting every nut and bolt, not that she’d really know if anything was wrong. “Is it safe?”
“For you.” Jack handed her a pair of goggles. “Put those on.” With one fluid motion, he yanked on the cord, and the engine roared to life. “Make sure you keep the water moving. Don’t hold it in one spot for too long. And don’t point it at anyone.”
Callie watched as Jack blasted paint chips off the garage. “This is amazing! Why didn’t you just let me use this in the first place?”
“I’ve never seen anyone maim herself with a wire brush before. I didn’t think it would be a problem. Besides, I was trying to keep you busy. This shouldn’t take you longer than an hour or two.”
“Excellent.” She adjusted her goggles. “What should I do when I’m done?”
Before he could answer, her pocket vibrated. Jack offered her the washer wand, but Callie stepped back. “Let me just see who this is, okay?” Jack shook his head, but he cut the engine. She smiled and pulled out her phone.
Caller Unknown.
“Hello, this is Callie.”
“Hi, Cal.”
“Kyle.” A wave of nervous excitement buckled Callie’s knees. She leaned against the garage. “What a nice surprise.”
“Thanks. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“No, not at all. I haven’t started working.”
Jack cleared his throat.
“Yet. What’s up?”
“One of my coworkers has tickets to see West Side Story tonight at Interlochen, but her kids got sick, so she can’t go. If you’re interested, she said we could have two tickets.”
Callie jumped away from the wall. “West Side Story?” Only the greatest musical of all time! “I’d love to. What time?”
“Seven. If you want, we can pick up dinner first. Say five-thirty?”
An evening of the Sharks, Jets, and Kyle Berg? How could she have ever doubted God’s reason for calling her home? Callie looked at Jack. “How long will this take me? Do you think I’ll be done in time to go out to dinner and a show tonight?”
“Sure. You’ll be done in a few hours.”
Pure joy seeped through her veins. “I’m free.” She smiled. “Where should we meet?”
“Why don’t I pick you up at the base of the peninsula at five? We can decide from there.”
“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”
Another night with Kyle. And he had called her! Things were looking good for the plan.
“I’m having dinner with Kyle,” she said, smiling at Jack. He shrugged. Then she shivered. Wet cotton clung to her back where she’d leaned against the wall. Better water than blood. Of course, there was plenty of time left in the day for that. “Did you want me to do anything else today?”
“No. Just make sure you clean up before you leave. This is the township’s equipment. With our luck, someone will actually walk off with the power washer if you don’t put it away.”
“Clean up. Got it.”
“And keep track of your hours if you want to get paid. I forgot about that before.” Jack pulled his hat lower over his eyes. “Sorry.”
“No problem. Do I need a time card or anything?”
“No. Just write down your hours somewhere. I’ll verify them for you.”
“I haven’t worked a full day yet. Is that going to be a problem?”
“I hired you as a part-time employee. As long as you don’t work more than twenty hours a week, we’re fine.”
“What?” Callie’s smile faltered. “I thought I was your assistant.”
“You are. I never said this would be full-time work. I doubt I can even find enough work for you to do for twenty hours a week. Besides, it’s your summer vacation. I thought you’d enjoy the break.” Jack winked, then smacked her on the shoulder, like she was one of the boys. “Don’t be a drama queen.”
Drama queen. Callie’s jaw clenched as she bit back evil words for her sloppy, dirty oaf of a brother. He didn’t need to remind her of her occasional emotional variances.
He laughed. “Calm down, Squirt. You’re getting that constipated look.”
Her jaw dropped. “Jackson!”
He laughed harder, pulling the keys from his pocket. “I’ll be gone all day. Call me if you need me.”
And support his drama queen accusation? Hardly.
Callie twisted the water out of her ponytail. The strengthening breeze carried droplets onto the lawn. It also chilled her to the core. Of all the days to use a power washer, it had to be overcast and windy. Not a great day to wash the building. It wasn’t a great day to do much of anything outside. That didn’t stop the tourists though.
She’d already caught an escaped dog, given directions to three different couples, and answered as many questions about lighthouse history as she thought she could fake her way through. Even with all of the interruptions, though, she was still on schedule to meet Kyle on time.
“Excuse me? Would you mind taking a picture of us?” Callie turned around and found an older couple, this one in matching skin-tight blue biking outfits. They looked like any number of couples from her parents’ retirement community.
Callie smiled at them. “Not a problem.” She nudged the washer wand away with her toe. The cyclists passed her their camera, then posed by the fence. Before Callie had taken two shots, another couple walked up and waited. As she handed back the first camera, Callie accepted a Nikon from the new couple.
Four photo shoots later, the rain started. Tourists darted to their cars, trying to stay dry. Callie just sighed. Her clothes couldn’t absorb much more water anyway. She meandered back toward the garage.
Paint chips littered the tarp and surrounding grass. Jack would probably excuse the mess in light of the rain, but Callie had promised to clean up. She wouldn’t let him down.
She was reaching for the washer wand when she noticed her hands—dry skin, chipped nails, a few cuts and scrapes. If her hands looked this bad, what did the rest of her look like? The tarp crackled under her as she walked over it toward the garage door, then peeked at her reflection in the door window. Streaky make-up. Dark roots. Loose hairs clinging to her face and neck.
Ugh. No one deserved to see her looking like that. She didn’t have time to d
o anything about the hair color, but she could handle her hands and make-up.
In two heartbeats Callie had her phone open and the speed dial working. She stepped into the safety of the garage as the salon answered. “Tiffany, it’s Callie Stevens.”
“Callie! Welcome home. Enjoying summer break?”
“As much as I can. I’m working in the rain right now and realized that I could use some pampering.”
“Did you want to schedule a cut or color with Brooke?”
“Maybe later. Right now, I’m hoping you have an opening this afternoon with Nanette for a manicure, and maybe a quick blowout.”
“Nanette’s booked, but Stacey had a cancellation. I can put you down for three o’clock.”
“Stacey?” Stock girl, deli driver … nail tech? It couldn’t be. “Stacey Chapman?”
“Yep. Do you know her?”
Obviously, not well enough. “I’ve seen her around.”
“Everyone does. She’ll be free in about an hour. Would you like me to pencil you in?”
An hour to clean up, then spend some one-on-one time with the mysterious Miss Chapman? “Absolutely.”
Callie opened the salon door and stepped into the calming familiarity of earth tones. Heels clacked against hard wood. Hair dryers blasted. The scent of coffee and chemicals tickled her nose. She spotted Brooke blow drying someone’s hair and waved when her high school classmate saw her in the mirror.
Brooke set down her hair dryer and rushed over to give Callie a hug. “It’s so good to see you. Why don’t we schedule your hair cut while you’re here?”
Callie returned the hug before stepping back to examine herself in the mirror. She combed her fingers through the straight blown tresses. “Is it really that bad?”
“No, but I was out of town the last time you were here. I haven’t seen you since before Labor Day.”
Callie smiled. “That’s your fault. You were the only person here who’d touched my hair since you got your license.” She turned back to her friend. “You know I’m only here Memorial Day, Labor Day, and Christmas break. You’ll just have to plan your vacations around me. That was the first time Dawn’s touched my hair in over seven years.”
