Page 97 of Into These Eyes
He saunters over, his kind, worried eyes locked with mine. “Did you call your sister today?”
We’ve talked about this a few times now. I need to tell Anika the truth about our father. About Gavin. I have a deadline. She’s due home the day before Christmas Eve. I can’t have her arriving to the shock of Gavin living in our house. That’d make for quite a tumultuous Christmas.
The clock’s ticking. But I keep putting it off. Because I’m a coward. I don’t want to be the one to rip open that old wound for her.
“No, not yet,” I say quickly, dropping my gaze to his chest to avoid what I know I’ll find in his eyes. Changing the subject, I say, “I’d love to see how the painting’s coming along.”
When I brave a glance at his face, I only catch the last visage of disappointment before he lets me off the hook with a broad smile. Day by day, he can’t wait to show me what he and Benny have accomplished. It’s abundantly clear he can’t stand being idle, that he’s at his best when busy, when achieving something. When feeling useful.
Last weekend we went to the hardware store and chose paint colours, plants, mulch and a bunch of other stuff I can’t evencomprehend. Ever since, he and Benny have kept themselves busy in the backyard.
After I change out of my work clothes and step outside, Gavin places a hand on my lower back. I love it when he touches me, and I wonder if he subconsciously looks for a way to do so without it appearing intentional. Like I do when we manoeuvre around each other in the kitchen every morning.
“No peeking,” he says, guiding me toward the pool, away from the house.
Concentrating on the garden bed that’s now been completely demolished and rebuilt from scratch on the far side of the pool, I walk ahead until his hand slides to my waist and gently encourages me to turn.
I stare in astonishment at the transformation before me. Instead of the peeling, chipped cladding, the back of the house appears brand new. Pristine white window frames pop against the light grey wall. My drab 1980s house has been transformed into a modern, Hamptons-style home.
I slap my palms to my cheeks. “Gavin … It’s amazing! I love it!”
“Here, I’ll show you what we’ve done.”
He beams as he guides me toward the house, explaining with infectious enthusiasm which siding planks needed replacing, how Benny did most of the sanding and how many coats of paint they applied. Then he takes me around to the side of the house and shows me what he plans to start on tomorrow.
“I need to figure out how much I owe you both,” I say.
His hand instantly disappears from my back and lands on his hip. “You’renotpaying us a damn cent, Jamie.”
“But if I hired someone to do this it’d cost—”
“No,” he says firmly. “I want to do it. It was my idea, not yours.”
“So? You’re still doing the work. Just like anyone else, you and Benny should be paid. You obviously have skills. You can’t do all this for free.”
“I’m not,” he says, his smile returning. “If there’s any way at all to look at it, this is me starting to pay you back my wages. Just with my services instead of money.”
Damn man. Too proud to let me do what’s right.
“That’s not how wages work. You’re cooking, cleaning, landscaping, replacing gutters and making me feel safe in my own home. You’re earning that money.”
“Fine. But I’m not taking anything extra from you for something I thoroughly enjoy. So, forget it.”
“Fine,” I bite back, “then I’ll pay Benny. And don’t eventhinkabout stopping me.”
He rolls his eyes, clearly exasperated, but this time, he doesn’t argue. How can he? He can’t deny his best friend a bit of extra cash.
I bite my lip as I look him up and down, taking in his paint spattered clothes. They’re old and ruined, but that’s not the problem. It reminds me of the size of the duffle bag he brought with him.
“There’s something else I need you to do for me. Two things, actually.”
He narrows his eyes with suspicion. “Which are?”
“Let me take you clothes shopping.”
“No.”
“I’m not finished. Part two’s contingent on part one.”
