“Right.” The stain.
Back to the question he keeps evading, “Why are you still here?”
Chase shrugs. “I like it here.” He produces a small smile. “Plus, I brought you this.” He holds up a brown paper bag.
“What’s that?”
“Lunch.”
I slide my phone out of my back pocket and see it’s after noon. “What’d you bring?”
“I was in Excelsior and picked up some sandwiches at a place I’ve seen in Ar––er California.”
“Okay.” I point to the stack of wood I’m going to use for some built-in shelves. “We can sit here.”
I sit first and watch as he pulls out several sandwiches. “I didn’t know what you’d like. I picked up some variety.” He’s got sandwiches, chips, two bottles of water, and potato salad. He turns the bag over and out falls plastic silverware and napkins.
“You thought of everything.”
“I didn’t. The deli did.”
I wait to take any food until he sits, pointing at each sub, one at a time as he says, “There’s turkey, ham, or a roast beef. You pick first.”
I grasp the turkey sub, while reaching for the barbecue chips as he does the same. “Oh. Sorry. You take those. I’ll take the plain.”
“Let’s share.”
I blush at his words, and I don’t know why. “Sure. I can share.”
Unwrapping the turkey sandwich, I watch him choose the roast beef. Biting into mine, I moan. “Good,” I say with my mouth full.
My manners, well, they’re not great.
He bites, chews, swallows, and smiles. “They are good.”
His reaction surprises me. “You’ve never eaten there before?”
Shaking his head, he starts to take another bite. “No. But, I will now.”
“Where do you normally get lunch?”
“Here and there.”
Once again, the guy is way too evasive.
No matter. I don’t care where he gets his lunch if he’s not willing to tell me. Standing, I continue to eat as I walk back over to the trim piece that was giving me fits. Placing it into the spot, for some reason, it goes right in. “Stupid trim,” I mutter to myself. Setting the turkey sub onto the floor, I pick up my hammer, along with a few trim nails, and tap the piece back into place. Once it’s done, I pick the food back up and bite.
“Uh…,” Chase starts to speak.
“What?”
“You’re eating food that was on the floor.”
I shrug because—sure, there’s sawdust and probably some dirt on it, but in this line of work, it could be worse. Using his expression from the other day, I repeat, “A girl’s gotta eat.”
Chase’s frown stays on his face way too long until it suddenly turns into a smile. A fake smile. “You’re right.”
I know I’m right, but his reaction and comment give me pause. And some insecurities that I don’t like or appreciate, because he seems not just a little condescending.
