Page 13 of Just The Way You Aren't

“If you’re not going to be serious about the work, Mr. Langley, then I suggest you go back to your corporate tower. I’ve spent most of my adult life caring for these people. I won’t have you upsetting my applecart.”

“Perish the thought,” he grunts. He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Where do I start?”

“We have to load meals into the van. Then we can take them to the different homes we need to visit.”

“We’re just doing deliveries?” he asks cautiously.

I nod. “That’s what’s on the agenda right now.”

“And after?”

“After, we see what else needs to be done. We play it by ear.”

I swear his eye twitches. “You… don’t have a set daily schedule?”

“I wouldn’t get done what needs to get done if I did.” Iwant to frown at him, but it’s just not something I usually do. I can’t make my muscles pull in that direction.

He doesn’t have the same trouble. In fact, he nearly scowls. “No schedule at all?” he repeats.

“Yes, you heard me correctly. I mean, I know what needs to be done, but I work with people. Everything takes the time it’s going to take. You’ll see,” I reassure him.

Damien does not look reassured at all. In fact, I think he might be ill. “I’ll… see then,” he manages with a grimace.

I give him my sunniest smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll love the people. Come on, let’s go load the van.” I take him through to the back of the office where our refrigerators are lined up.

He sighs when I open the first one and he sees the boxed meals carefully packed by volunteers stacked inside. “I guess I’ll get right to it, then.” He takes off his jacket, revealing a shirt starched within an inch of its life that still can’t hide the amazing muscles he has.

“Do you work out?” I blurt without thinking.

Damien looks at me over the stack of boxes he’s about to carry to the van. “Yes. Every day, six a.m. sharp. It’s on my schedule.”

Schedule. Ugh.

A brief memory of an old lady shaking a wooden spoon at me while I’m in bed just as the sun is coming up flits across my mind. I roughly push it away and simply add more wattage to my smile. “I see.”

He nods and starts out the open back door to where our older model van with the Silver Hearts logo peeling off the side is parked. The last repair to the transmission nearly killed us, so I’m not even bothering with the paint job. A new van was one of our pie-in-the-sky needs. We just can’t afford a new vehicle right now. Maybe the fundraiser will help?

Three of our five fridges are hiccupping as well. Crossed fingers and a very understanding technician are the only things keeping them running.

But those are problems for another day. Today, meals. Well, for now it’s meals. Maybe a tenants’ meeting later, or we could actually start planning the fundraiser. But only if Mr. Powers’ tenants don’t need reassuring. The evil bastard sent another notice, which caused Mr. Khan to need his pacemaker recalibrated. Assholes who throw people out of their homes should all have to live in a cardboard box for a month.

I’m so stuck in my thoughts that I don’t realize Damien is going for the back door handle of the van. “Wait!” I cry.

But it’s too late. He wrenches the door open and it falls right off its hinges, landing on the ground. Luckily, he didn’t drop any meals.

“What the hell?” He gapes at the fallen door in horror.

“Sorry,” I say, running over. “It’s a bit touchy…”

“Touchy? It fell right off!” he snaps. “Someone could break their foot, and then you’d have a lawsuit.”

I wince. “Yeah, I know, I know. But all the volunteers know about it and we’re really careful.”

He scans the van with a critical eye, from the fallen door to the peeling logo, to the rust, to the duct-taped muffler. “Unbelievable,” he mutters. He steps into the van with the meals and starts stacking them up on shelves, still shaking his head. “You need a new van.”

“The refrigeration in it still works,” I tell him. “It’s impossible to get a van in our price range with the refrigeration still?—”

“How much?” he asks.

---