Page 60 of Love at Teamsgiving
“See you tonight,” he says.
I turn to unlock the salon so I can check to make sure the deliveries for the stylist stations are correct and there aren’t any missing parts. Mom got right back in the saddle with the build-out. But what I see in the middle of what should be an empty room except for the boxes containing the stations, makes me shriek and I’m not typically a screamer.
The ceiling looks like it caved in, leaving plasterboard, dust, and splintered wood everywhere.
Thankfully, there’s no sign of water damage.
But there is Miguel by my side. He rushes in as if he had a “Juniper alert” set on his phone, notifying him if I so much as make a peep in fright or frustration.
“What—?” He blinks a few times. “Looks like a raccoon drank a can of Red Bull and was let loose.”
I purse my lips together so I don’t laugh. This is not the time or place. “Actually, it looks like a cannon aimed and fired from overhead.”
“Or a bowling ball,” Miguel mutters.
“It’s an old building. You saw what it was like in here before.”
He points at something under a set of sawhorses and repeats, “Or a bowling ball.”
We move closer and he crouches, picking up a red and orange bowling ball marked with the initials M.A.L.
Miguel hefts it. “I’d say it weighs about fifteen pounds.”
“But how? Why?”
“Seems odd. I’m not trying to mansplain anything, but I worked for A-2 Carpentry Crew starting at the age of ten. Bowling balls don’t just fall through a crawlspace and break through a drop ceiling on their own.” Miguel peers up at the gaping hole overhead.
My gaze drifts to him. You know, to make sure he’s properly assessing the damage. The supervisors need supervision, too.
His hair is long and absurdly shaggy. He could stand to see a stylist. I wince.
He reaches overhead to examine a ceiling fragment, revealing a sliver of his trim waist.
I fan my face.
He’s as fit as ever. But that’s not even the best part. While women have sweater weather, men have plaid shirts with thesleeves rolled up to the elbow weather, and I am here for it. His forearms are nicely toned. His hands strong.
A sigh escapes.
In an alternate timeline of my life, he’d be my husband.
“Pop sent Charlie and Joey into the crawlspace. Made some repairs. Had there been a bowling ball up there, they’d have found it, so I think we can rule out that it accidentally fell through the ceiling.”
“Then that means it was dropped. By who? Why?”
He shakes his head slowly. “It looks like you’re going to get that lighting you wanted after all.”
How does he know about the fixtures I wanted but couldn’t be wired in because of the existing electrical system and my budget?
I hold up my hands in innocence. “I did not sabotage the project.”
“I know you didn’t have anything to do with this, Junie.” The muscles in his jaw tick.
Just as he knows me, I can read him like a book. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“When Dad and Tony were here the other night, taking measurements, they saw someone leaving out the back door.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
