“Didn’t you think I had a real job? As much as I love being your personal assistant, I can’t live on that.”
“I know. I’m high-maintenance.” I put my hand over my face.
It kills me to be a burden even if he’s teasing. I’m well aware that I bring very little to this friendship.
“Good thing maintenance is in my job description.”
“I thought maintenancewasyour job. I know you’re the facilities manager at The Village, but you work for your mom too, right? And don’t you still take classes?”
“No, well, yes, I help my mom, and I take classes occasionally. That in-depth study of statistics, for instance,” he deadpans.
“Ha ha. Funny.” I definitely would’ve failed Statistics without him. “Are you working on a master’s or something? What’s your degree?”
I know it’s businesssomething. I’m trying to remember everything we’ve talked about over the last year, and I can’t come up with a lot of personal details. I’m still half asleep, but I may not know as much about Daniel Crawford’s life outside our little bubble as I thought.
I know he likes his music on vinyl, he’s replaced the same Vans sneakers three times, and he only uses guitar strings from Mapes. He also likes cult-classic movies and food with spicy sauces—easy to remember since he introduced me to some of the things we now have in common. But maybe we never got around to discussing his degree.
“I have an associate’s degree in business and a finance BBA with a real estate concentration. I have a real estate license too. I don’t need a master’s degree, but continuing education is required for work, and I need to get my broker’s license soon. That’ll be six mind-numbing weeks of classes. Oh, and I have welding and electrical maintenance certificates if you want to count those.” He shrugs.
“Holy crap, DC.” My eyes widen. For some reason I thought he might be in his last year of undergrad or possibly working on a master’s—just taking it slow while he works. “When did you graduate? What was that paper I helped you with?” Suddenly I have a million questions.
“You helped with my last business ethics paper. My last paperever, so thank you for that.” He nods my direction. “I took my time—took breaks for family things and sometimes for work. Not long after my sister moved back home with Kami, I movedout to do on-site maintenance at The Village and give them more space.”
Daniel keeps his eyes on the road while I watch his profile. He’s not secretive, but he doesn’t share a lot about himself unless we’re alone—which isn’t often. I’ve met his younger sister, Sydney, and his brother, Evan, a few times, but I see Kami more often when he picks her up from school.
I’ll never forget the look on Daniel’s face the first time I noticed the booster seat in his SUV. Mr. Cool, Calm, and Calculated sputtered out a nervous explanation like a mere mortal, and it was adorable. “Uh, that’s not … I pick up my niece from school and give her guitar lessons, or sometimes I take her to my aunt’s house for piano, but she’s not mine. I mean, she’s mine, but my niece, not my kid. I like kids, though. You’ll love her. I’ll bring her over one day.” And of course, he did.
I know he went through a breakup around this time last year too. He handles so much responsibility with effortless grace.
“Then after Syd moved back, my dad’s health declined, and Mom needed help driving Evan around,” he continues. “My dad had encouraged me to go to college part time and play fill-in gigs when I was younger. Just like he did. He said education was important, but the skills I’d gain playing music on stage were priceless. Then he got sick, and I had to hurry to get specific certifications and take over some responsibilities. I graduated the spring before you moved in, but I didn’t receive the diploma until December when you helped me finish that last class. I had an extension, but I was too burnt out until you offered to help.”
“That’s understandable, but all I did was proofread a paper.”
“Well, you helped, so thank you. Moral support, maybe. Dad was tough on me, but he didn’t care about my GPA or any particular degree. He just wanted me to be intentional. Every credential I earned had a purpose.” He holds his hand out, and Islide mine across it like part of our handshake, but he doesn’t let go.
I’ll allow it.
“Do you ever do fill-in gigs now?” I ask.
“Just for Sam if he needs help. I’m too busy now.”
“No kidding.” I gape at him. “How do you manage everything?”
“I have a strong support system. Lots of aunts and uncles who like to feed me and make sure I go to church. Creative outlets. And the sound of a short girl snoring in my passenger seat is surprisingly relaxing.”
I try to jerk my hand away to smack his arm, but he tightens his grip with a wicked grin.
Now that he’s talking, I want to know more. “What other properties were you talking about?”
“In Blountville. Two townhouse villages and an office complex,” he says.
“We’re in Blountville? Now?” Not that I care. He can drive wherever he needs to go.
“We weren’t there long. Just checking the parking lot lights. I’m headed back now,” he assures me, as if I’m worried. This is the least worried I’ve been in a month. I don’t have a care in the world.
“So do you check on maintenance issues there too? Like burnt-out lightbulbs and clogged sinks?”
He tilts his head side to side, like he’s trying to think of the best way to explain it.
