Mr. Good Looking will have to stay on his side of the fence, and I'm going to have to learn self-control. Or this summer will be bumpier than just dealing with Derek.
2
CALEB
Iwipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my wrist and haul another armload of flattened cardboard out to the garage. The pile in the corner is already knee-high but I'm only halfway done. I might not have had any normal plain brown boxes of things, but with the advance my current client gave me, I've been able to buy almost everything I'll need for this house and any future house too. My back aches from lifting furniture all day, but it feels good to be doing something physical again.
A metallic clatter echoes from next door, followed by a frustrated kid’s voice shouting, “Come on!”
So I glance over to see a boy, maybe seven or eight, stands in his driveway wrestling with a red bike. The back wheel is cocked sideways, chain dangling loose. He kicks the tire, then winces and hops on one foot.
It's day one in this house and I've barely had a chance to scope out this neighborhood, but fate is giving me a chance to dig in and get started with this job already. That boy stands at the end of Olivia Bennett's driveway, which almost certainly means hisname is Ethan and he's her son. And if I come in as the helpful new neighbor, she's more likely to be receptive of my attention, which is a good thing.
So I grab the adjustable wrench off the workbench and head across the strip of grass between our yards. “Hey, buddy. Need a hand?” The closer I get, the better I can see the carnage. The bike has clearly suffered more than one accident, which makes me wonder who, if anyone, has been watching out for this boy.
The kid looks up, cheeks red, eyes wary for a second before hope sparks. “The wheel keeps coming off. I crashed it the other day and my mom doesn't know how to fix it."
I crouch beside the bike. “Let’s take a look," I tell him, starting my investigation. The rear axle is shifted, pulling the chain too tight on one side, and there's no way he could ever ride this safely. He'll keep crashing every time he tries to balance. “Looks like the wheel got knocked sideways when you went down, huh?”
“Yeah. I hit the curb.” He points to a scrape on his knee, the same purple bruises I noticed earlier when I saw him playing and watching me over the waist-height picket fence separating our back yards.
I loosen the quick-release lever and start realigning the wheel. “This is an easy fix, kiddo. And my wrench can do it all." I smile at him as I work. "I'll have you riding again in no time."
Metal clicks under my fingers as I work the wrench. The kid hovers close, watching every turn.
“Mom doesn’t have tools like this,” he says. “I wanted to ride to the end of the street before dinner.”
I keep working as I talk, not sure how to really build a rapport with a kid. I've been around only adults for too long. "Well, it's a good thing you didn't get scared. Getting back on the horse right away is the best thing."
I hear footsteps behind me and look up to see a woman stepping out of the house—Olivia, I’m guessing. She’s in jeans and a simple gray T-shirt, hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Even from here she looks tired, shadows under her eyes, but she walks right over to us and hovers over me.
“Ethan,” she calls, “step back, please.” She sounds worried and stressed, but not overly controlling. In my opinion, this is the right response to walking out of your house and seeing your kid with a stranger.
The boy straightens. “He’s fixing my bike, Mom.”
Olivia stops a few feet away with her arms crossed over her chest, gesturing for Ethan to walk closer to her. “Hi… I'm sure you're just the new neighbor, but I don't know if it's appropriate to talk with my son without having properly introduced yourself." The way she says the words is so smooth it hardly feels like the tongue lashing I know it is. And strangely, she keeps a warm smile on her face the whole time.
I stand slowly, wiping my hands on my jeans, and offer a small nod. “Fair enough. My name is Caleb Ward. I just moved in next door today.” I gesture with my wrench at the bike. “I saw your son struggling. The wheel’s off-center and the chain’s pinched. I can have it fixed in two minutes if you’re okay with it. Or I could just go home. I didn't mean to intrude."
Her eyes flick to Ethan, then back to my face, and the smile never wavers. “It's kind of you to offer. If you'd fix it, that'd be fine withme. I just… I'll stay right here." The first hint of tension in her perks my ears. My first impression is that she's worried about who I am and what I want. That’s probably a wise viewpoint to have considering she doesn’t know me. People these days can be all sorts of creepy.
“Alright, then…” I crouch again and pick up where I left off. “Ethan was telling me about his crash. Sounds like he took it off the curb.”
Olivia stays close with an arm wrapped around Ethan's shoulders. He fidgets but he doesn't rebel against her. “He did, but he had his helmet on, at least.”
“Smart kid,” I say, not pushing. I spin the wheel a few times and listen for the chain rub, then adjust the axle nuts a quarter-turn. “There. That should do it. Give it a spin, Ethan.”
Ethan grabs the handlebars and rolls the bike forward. The wheel spins cleanly this time without wobbling, and he straddles the bike. “Whoa! It works!” He pedals a quick circle in the driveway and grins. “Thanks, Mister!”
“Caleb,” I correct with a half-smile.
“Thanks, Caleb!” He takes off down the driveway, tires humming on the asphalt, then loops back fast, laughing. “It rides way better now!”
Olivia watches him and I see fondness in her eyes. “Slow down at the corner,” she calls as Ethan waves and rides off, testing the bike’s new smoothness.
Then I'm alone with the woman I'm supposed to be watching as the awkwardness settles between us. I close the wrench and tuck it into my back pocket, then wipe my greasy hands down thefront of my jeans. She's beautiful in a very simple sort of way. She wears no makeup or hair product, and her clothes are simple too, not fancy designer things. It shows she has more important things to think about than fashion and fads. That's good.
Olivia clears her throat. “Thank you. That was… neighborly.”
