He grins against my temple as he kisses me. “Nah, I’m having too much fun with that little detail.”
A little shiver races through my chest as we make it into the office area. First, Truett hasn’t mentioned that neither of us is acting like this is casual, and now he’s let Janice’s words fly without a complaint.
Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t get your hopes up.
Pivoting to the freshly installed dry wall, I warn, “I might be really bad at this.”
“That’s okay. Show me what you’ve got.”
Based on the amount of laughing he’s doing, I’ve still got a ways to go.
“You’ve already figured out that if I don’t get it automatically, it takes me a while. So don’t lose patience with me.”
Truett stills beside me, his gaze intense. “Hey now, it takes as long as it takes to learn this. And I’ll never lose patience with or judge you.”
Before I can process the sweetness of his words, the side of his mouth hooks into a wicked grin. “Besides, nobody gets this good at edging by being impatient.”
I elbow him lightly. “You’re the worst.”
“No. I’m just really good at making you say my name when we’re in bed together.”
I flush, even though we’re the only ones in the office. I definitely said his name a lot this morning.
Truett, knowing I’ll get too in my head about things, proceeds to show me the proper technique for tape and float. I can see where I went wrong before and am grateful to find it isn’t all that hard. He has me tape the next two joints, then lets out a low whistle.
“You’re a fast learner when you’re not trying to moonlight as a stalker.”
I preen. “Every once in a while, I get it right.”
We may make our way around the office pretty quickly, and Janice approves of our work.
“Now it’s time to learn how to put up drywall.”
“I can show him how,” Truett says with a warm smile.
“Excellent.”
Now that I’ve actually gotten hold of the tape and float portion, putting up drywall is dead simple.
Truett and I once again fall into a rhythm and start talking—chatting, really—in a way we haven’t before. We exchange friendly banter, details about our childhood, that kind of thing, and it’s all just…easy.
A to Z.
That said, I can’t help but shed a few tears when Truett explains that he didn’t have the best childhood. He wasn’t physically abused, exactly, but the minute his family picked up on his queerness, they collectively started ignoring him. Sure, they always made sure his basic needs were met, but he spent most of his high school years feeling like a ghost in his own home.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to understand that.
I’m grateful he found an outlet in the vigilante work, and the things he’ll do for Wimberley are a natural extension of that. He also shares that he helped local PD with an incident at the Pecan Street Festival, and sometimes passes along information to Detective Hitchens, the same detective who arrested Brantley at the gala.
“He’s sneaky,” Truett says, shaking his head. “I’m pretty sure he’s joined the WhiteHat group under this goofy name, booneyruney something-or-other, but he’s just been lurking.”
That sets off…something. “Wait. Hitchens is the camp counselor Mav was crazy about.”
“Did they…?”
I’m quick to shake my head. “God no. Mav was like…maybe fifteen? And Hitchens was eighteen or nineteen and not at all interested.”
Truett grimaces. “Poor Mav.”
