Page 30 of Second Chances
“No problem, ma’am.”
Megan stiffened. There it was again. Ma’am. She turned to face Freddie. “Thank you for all of your hard work this past week. I really appreciate it.”
“You got it, babe,” Freddie said and saluted Megan with his beer can in hand.
Babe. This guy was all over the map. “Babe?”
“Shit. Force of habit I guess.”
Megan would never admit it, but if she had to pick between babe and ma’am, it was babe all the way.
She pulled on her striped hat and headed out down the street, her boots leaving footprints in the three inches of fresh snow that had fallen since she got to the job site. The stores had all put up their Christmas lights and she glanced at their displays through their frosted windows as she strolled down the street.
Let’s hear those sleigh bells –
Megan jumped as the familiar Christmas carol rang out into the street followed by terrible static and squelching feedback sounds.
Ring- a -ling, ting, ting, ting, a ling too.
She looked up and saw that each of the black streetlamps had a little speaker and the soft sounds of Mariah Carey’s Christmas were lilting through the air in between the gently falling snow. She saw a crew of workers finishing up the wreaths and garlands. One of the old guys wearing a Chance Rapids Maintenance jackets tipped his hat at her.
“Apologies, Miss. We’ve got a short in the wire, but it should be sorted out soon.”
Megan turned and looked behind her and saw Freddie jogging across the street.
“I think you’re in good hands.” She smiled, and the old man smiled back.
“Merry Christmas,” he said and patted her on the arm with his leather mitten.
“Merry Christmas,” Megan replied. The words felt foreign to her. It wasn’t something that she said to strangers back in the city. It felt good.
She turned left at the gas station and started to pay attention to the street numbers of the houses. As she neared eighty-eight, she smiled as she saw what Freddie had been talking about.
Josh’s house didn’t have a white picket fence, it had a, she didn’t know quite what to call it, other than a ski picket fence. Old skis, their tips facing the street lined the property. In any other town it would’ve looked junky, but in Chance Rapids, it was the perfect fence.
She walked up the pathway to the covered porch. She lifted her hand to knock on the door but then paused to take a deep breath. She could feel the butterflies taking flight in her stomach. She knew that she had a good excuse to be there, but she also knew that Josh had done everything he could to stop her from dropping by his house.
She wondered why. It was the cutest little bungalow on the street, complete with a wooden porch swing and red front door.
You can do this. You’re just here on business. She said to herself and steeled her nerves as she raised her hand again to knock.
But the door opened before she could touch it.
“Megan.” Josh seemed surprised. He stepped out onto the porch in his sweater and closed the door behind him.
“Hi,” Megan said, a little more breathless than she would’ve liked.
“Hi,” Josh replied. “What are you doing here?”
“I. Um, Freddie told me that Sarah has you working on some tables. I was just wondering if I could take a look at them.”
Josh didn’t move from his position in front of the door. “The tables. Yeah, they’re not done yet. Still in pieces really. Not much to see.”
“Oh, okay. Sorry to bother you.”
Megan turned to walk away and could feel the heat in her cheeks contrasted against the cold afternoon air.
“Megan, wait.” She turned to face him. He blew on his bare hands to keep them warm. He was wearing a wool sweater and a flat brim baseball hat, and both were covered in sawdust. There he was, an honest to goodness, hard working man, who could literally have stepped on the pages of an Eddie Bauer magazine ad, with his perfectly messy hair and mountain man beard: short enough that he wasn’t Grizzly Adams, but manly and full enough to protect him from the elements. “Come in.”
