Thankfully, there’s a teenager with a watering hose, and they’re able to spray off the worst of the concrete.
“You ready to finally get your hands dirty?” the old guy from before asks as he hands me a hard hat.
I look around, unsure if he means to include me in the actual doing of things. He raises his brows expectantly, so I go along with it.
“Uh, sure. Do I need to sign a document? Like a safety sheet or something?”
The old guy snorts. “Do you plan on getting hurt?”
“No, sir,” I answer quickly.
“Then go to house number three six three and help with the tape and float job.”
“I don’t actually know what that means,” I admit, heat blooming on my neck and into my face.
Reality check: I have no business being here if I’m not actually going to help. These folks are here to do serious work, and I am… What? Stalking some guy who said no?Nah, my dads raised me better than that.
“That’s why you’re here today, aren’t you? To learn how to do those things,” he insists, pointing again at tiny house number three six three.
Having lost sight of Truett—again—I let out a sigh. At least I’ll be doing something nice for someone else. I walk over to the tiny house in question and find the woman wearing cargo shorts who looks like she’s in charge.
“I don’t have any skills whatsoever, but that guy over there told me you need help with tape and float. Uh, whatever that is?”
Shading her face with her hand, she looks up at me, amusement sparking in her eyes. “Boys, we’ve got a green one!” she yells, her voice tinged with, frankly, a little too much glee.
A shout goes up from the guys working on the house, but it all feels good-natured, not judgmental. Not gonna lie, it’s a little embarrassing when they have the teenager who hosed me off show me the mud-tape-mud process, but he’s an excellent teacher.
Thankfully, it’s one of those fast-brain things, and I pick up on it quickly. Despite my lack of knowledge, I get through the taping and floating in a little over an hour. Feeling proud of myself, I step outside to grab a drink of water.
The gal in charge comes over and pats my shoulder. “Don’t worry, kid. You’ll get faster with a bit more practice.”
Oh. Er, maybe it isn’t one of those fast-brain things after all,because the teenager is inspecting my work and fixing all the errors I made. Considering the house is only about two hundred and fifty square feet, I’ve messed up quite a bit.
At least the building is still in one piece.
Taking another long swig of ice-cold water, I see Truett heading toward his Mustang out of the corner of my eye. I return the materials to the teenager, send a quick salute to the gal in charge, and head toward the parking lot.
I love my car, one of the newer EVs on the market, but it’s a little flashy. If I’m going to continue following Truett, I’ll need to borrow a truck from Tia Scout or one of my uncles.
I hang back as he starts his Mustang and makes his way off the jobsite. As soon as it looks safe, I take off. I didn’t, however, plan on the shift switch. Right as Truett makes it onto the highway, everyone rushes the exit. I finally reach the highway ten minutes later, but he’s long gone.
Maybe next time.
12
TRUETT
I retractmy statement from before. Rami Bashistracking me and…wow. He is nothing like his fathers. Jesus.
I’m at my favorite coffee shop, and he’s in the back corner of the shop, wearing a pair of glasses. Does he think the glasses render him unrecognizable? Invisible?
Clark Kent, he is not.
I mean, it’s kinda hot that he’s been basically stalking me, and I wouldn’t throw him out of bed for wearing those sexy glasses, but that’s not the point.
Wait, what was the point?
Whatever. I’m not so full of myself as to assume that an accidental run-in is the equivalent of spying, and I am in no way endangered, given I can see him coming from a mile away, but he’s been following me—badly—for a little over a month.
