Page 14 of Ghost's Obsession

“Thanks,” I respond absently as I unwrap my sandwich and grab a soda out of his cooler.

“When did you decide to strike out on your own?”

Losing my appetite, I lay my sandwich aside and open my drink. I take a sip of the cold soda before I launch into an explanation. “I was raised by my grandfather. He worked right up until the day he died. My father stepped into his shoes, but we never got along. So, I struck out on my own by necessity.”

Eyeing him, I’m eager to change the subject, so I ask, “What about you? You work at your club’s garage. What do you do there, just repair motorcycles all day?”

When he laughs, his tone is deep and genuine. “It’s actually a full-service garage. I work there full time, mostly repairing cars and trucks. Occasionally, I luck out and get a motorcycle, but not often. But I supplement my income by picking up side gigs.”

I perk up because I’ve always been interested in the gig economy. “Like what kind of gigs?”

“The one that nets me the most money is being a mobile mechanic,” he responds. “I’m also a mobile locksmith, a self-defense instructor, I give motorcycle tours on the weekends, and sometimes I work funeral or wedding escorts for veterans and bikers.”

I just stare at him with my mouth hanging open. “That’s a lot of extra work.”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “I grew up broke. Don’t ever want to be that way again. I like having options in life, and to have options, you have to have cold hard cash.”

Suddenly, a lot of things make sense that didn’t make sense before. Namely, the constant work, the intensity. He’s always doing something, always working, like standing still is some kind of sin.

Finally, I find my words again. “That’s really smart. Bet it’s a real nightmare to file your taxes every year.”

That earns me a full grin. “You ain’t wrong about that. Sometimes, I think my accountant actually hates me.”

I laugh and pick my sandwich back up, feeling my appetite return with a vengeance. “If you ever need help preparing to meet with your accountant, I’ve got a system for sorting receipts that’ll blow your mind.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Are you being serious right now? ‘Cause I’d totally take you up on an offer like that. Name your price.”

His tone is serious, but his expression is warm. And his eyes linger on me for a moment too long.

I look down at my sandwich. “I’m always up for another gig with you. Just let me know when you want to have a sit-down.”

He shoots back, “How about the second we get this build finished?”

I choke on my laugh. “Sounds like you’re a needy, needy man.”

“When it comes to keeping my businesses straight and spending time with you, you’d better believe I am.”

I smile at him and take a bite of the food he made for us.

Except my stomach roils halfway through the sandwich, and I have to wrap it back up.

Noticing immediately, Ghost asks, “Is the food not good?”

“It’s wonderful, I’m just gonna save the rest of mine for later,” I tell him. “I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought.”

He doesn’t press, but I catch a flicker of concern in his eyes. He’s not the kind of guy to pry, so he doesn’t keep after me to tell him what’s wrong.

Of course, this is another reason I like being around him. He notices things but lets me have my space. That means he has good boundaries.

By the time the sun sets we’ve made real progress. We’ve taken out the rest of the junk, marked up the framing layout, moved the utility hookups into place for the kitchenette, and started clearing wall space for the new appliances. Ghost has to leave for a night ride tour he’s planned for some motorcycle enthusiasts from out of town. I stay behind, waving him off with a promise to lock the place up before I go to bed. He gives me a long hard look, like maybe he doesn’t want to leave me here alone, but eventually he gets on his bike and leaves.

I start to tidy up because on a worksite there is always a mess to clean. I’m used to that though, so it’s no trouble. The silence after he leaves is peaceful. Truth be told, it’s also a bit lonely. In the short time I’ve known him, I’ve gotten used to hanging out with him and I like his company. I also like the way he looks, but thinking about my employer in that way is all kinds of wrong.

Thankfully, my stomach has calmed down. I take a short break and finish my sandwich from earlier and drink another soda pop. All in all, I feel like we put in some good hours today. I like that feeling. But now my muscles are aching, and my fingers are sore. It seems like something is always destined to hurt when I do this kind of work.

After cleaning up, I shower off in the stand-up shower and then curl up on my cot in a hoodie and leggings with my project notebook on my lap and a pen in my hand. I scribble out a to-do list, revise some budget figures, then flip the page and just stare at the paper for a minute.

My stomach has stopped churning. Mostly. But something still feels off.

---