Page 4 of Rules to Love By

He’d packed up the last of his things into the plastic milk crate he used to haul them around when the chimes sounded again, out of time with the soft breeze, making him look up. The new stairs squawked under the tread of an older man Marcus recognized as the barber who owned the shop two doors down from the Oaks.

Morning sun gleamed off the top of his dark bald head, and his eyes sparkled.

“Good morning, Marcus.”

“Hey, Mr. Benson.” He frowned at the stairs. He’d just completed them less than a week ago. If they were squeaking, it was because the house, contrary as she was, wanted them to.

“I expect she was just alerting you to my presence, son.” He gestured to the windchimes, now silent despite the breeze. “In case that wasn’t enough warning.”

“Making me look bad,” Marcus muttered.

“Not at all, not at all.” He stomped one sensible shoe on the planks. “Sound as can be. You do good work.”

Marcus lifted one shoulder. “Thank you, sir.”

“Leads me to why I came over this morning.”

Marcus tilted his head to one side. A curl dropped over his eyes, and he shook it away. “You come by every morning.”

“Well, aside from Kreed’s wonderous brew and your young friend’s delicious cookies.” He patted his paunch and winked. “Who knew vegan sweets could be so good?”

“Tris,” Marcus said, because Tris was in the process of perfecting his vegan and gluten free recipes, much to Kreed’s chagrin. “So why else are you here?”

“I have a bit of work needs doing in my place. Nothing major. Some shelves need shoring up and the like. Time to spruce the place up. I think what I need is right up your alley.” He patted the handrail Marcus had installed, his palm slapping solidly on the wood. “That is, if you’re sticking around a while?”

“You know I’m not apprenticed or anything, right? Just self-taught?”

“There’s always YouTube. That is where you young folks go these days, isn’t it?” His smile was a broad white flash against his dark skin. “And I’m sure if we run into any real issues, we can ask Ozzy’s advice. I’ll pay a fair rate. Even fix up that mop of yours.”

As if on cue, the errant curl flopped back over Marcus’s eyes. He scraped it back with a grimace. “I like my hair.”

“You young people and your—” He waved a vague hand as he climbed the last two steps. “Style’s a funny thing.”

Marcus grinned. “It sure is. Anyway. Maybe I can come over. See if what you need is something I can do?”

“Excellent, son. Thank you. I’ll just grab my elixir and snacks, and we can head over.”

“Oh. Now.” Marcus nodded. “Sure. Okay.”

Mr. Benson chuckled as he entered the building. “Not getting any younger.”

Once Mr. Benson had gone inside for his morning order, Marcus grabbed a can of WD-40 and turned to the door. “Alright, Squeaky Wheel. One more time, shall we?”

The door stop wheezed, gave in, and the door banged the last few inches shut.

Marcus narrowed his eyes. “Seriously?”

But the house remained quiet while he worked, and the hinges whispered open when Mr. Benson emerged.

“Ready, Marcus?”

“Sure.” He straightened his belt and followed the barber down the steps and along the street, waving to Mrs. Stinson as they passed the hardware store she was just opening up.

“Morning, Tyrone!” she called to Mr. Benson, who grinned back at her. “You got that diner of yours sorted yet, Marcus?”

Marcus jolted. “How does she know—”

Mr. Benson landed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Son, Sandra knows everything that goes on in this town. She’s a horrible gossip.” He waved and grinned at her again as she went inside. “And the kindest, most generous woman around.”

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