I look toward the back. “Delia?”
“Be on time tomorrow,” she calls. “It’s multigrain day.”
Jake only smiles a little and pushes open the door, waiting. His arms and chest move under his button-up work shirt, pulling me forward in spite of my confusion.
God, I think this is the first guy I’ve honestly liked the way I used to hear my friends talk about at school. The giggles and the fake drooling and face fanning followed by ridiculous comments like “He’s so pretty” or “I’d totally do him in a phone booth.”
I mean, how stupid is that? When was the last time anybody even saw a phone booth?
Here, now, following Jake and his brisk stride across the street to his truck, it finally all makes sense: AJ’s right. I like him. I like the way he keeps trying to help without treating me like I’m fragile. I like the way he looks at me, like I’m a woman he finds attractive, not a wounded animal he has to pity. I like that he feels easy to talk to, even when he’s all growly.
I don’t feel scared or tentative around him. And in spite of his dire warnings, I’d like to hang around him more.
I want to spend time with him so much I’m following him even though I don’t have a clue where we’re going, and even though I’m still a little annoyed by his sandwich comment. I half suspect if we passed a phone booth right now, I might give the thing a moment’s pause.
Then, out of nowhere the tears come. Only for a second, because now isn’t the time to get emotional. It never is, so I shove them down.
He’d never get it, what liking him this way means, even if I tried to explain. He’s already given me one serious friend-zone lecture.
I sniff and blot my eyes on the edge of my T-shirt. Thankfully, he’s too busy unlocking his truck to notice.
Anyway, I like him enough that maybe the friend-zone is okay.
9. A FAVOR
Cassie
Not quite an hour later we’re pulling into a driveway after picking up chips and salad wraps from a little shack that masquerades as a deli on the edge of town. The house is cute and tiny, but it has a garage which I can see has been turned into “man” space. The door is up and the whole inside is lined with shelves and cubbies of tools.
“That’s really something,” I marvel when we get out. It’s hard not to compare it to the garage in my mom’s old house, which was stuffed full of paint cans and old Christmas decorations, and a million other things that never got used. Things that all had to be thrown away before I sold the place.
“Thanks.” He grabs a couple of folding chairs from inside and heads through the rear door. “I got a good deal on all the tools.”
“This is your place?”
“I rent, but yeah.” He unfolds the chairs in a sunny patch on the back patio. “Here. Sit. Eat.”
“You have a whole lot of stuff there just to work on your truck.”
He smiles. “I do some freelance repair work here and there. Mostly stuff like oil changes, brakes, and mufflers.” He digs out the food and hands mine over. “I only have the basics. It’s all under the table so I don’t get in trouble with the shop or my landlord. I can’t take on anything major. Every bit helps, though.”
“So you’ve basically got three jobs.”
He takes a bite of his chicken salad wrap and the edges of his eyes crinkle. “Sort of,” he says after he finishes chewing. “Never did go to college, so I do what I can here and there. Someday I will, when I get enough saved.” Another bite. A shrug that looks more casual than it probably is. He has a plan he’s working towards. The determination is there in his eyes.
I’m impressed in a way I can’t define by how he’s so solitary and yet he’s carved this life out for himself. He’s built a safety net with these multiple income streams, and it’s a lesson I intend to remember. Clearly, he cares about things. About himself. I know firsthand what it looks like when a person has given up.
Jake’s a survivor, and I like that about him.
“How did you learn to bartend?”
“Joe took me on as a bar back. Learned most everything from him. There are also classes you can take. I tried one of those, but it was full of college guys who wanted to hook up with drunk girls.”
I laugh, but it’s hollow. Inside the thought makes me hurt. All women are to some guys is something to be taken advantage of. Jake isn’t that kind of man, even though he’s tried to make me think he’s a jerk before. Instead, he just now made me like him even more. “What about fixing cars?”
He’s not so relaxed after that question. He straightens in his chair and his neck gets so tense I wish I hadn’t asked. “Been doing that my whole life. I started helping my dad change the oil in his car when I was six. It was a natural line of work to look for when I left home.”