Page 92 of When The Mountains Held Us

Harold pins Justin with a withering look that all but says he’d rather stick pins in his eyes than try to sit down and figure out how a modern computer works. It’s not because he’s not smart or capable, it’s just that when you’ve spent your whole life knowing how things work, it’s harder to adjust to more modern technology. Honestly, I get it. Even I would be stumbling over myself trying to digitize all of this, especially with the years of backlog.

“Jessie had to show me how to send a text message last week. It took me twice as long to figure out how to open the reply.”

Justin whistles low. Lucky for him, Harold seems to miss it. “Fair enough.” He seems to give up his argument and turns his attention back to the boxes.

I’m not sure he’s actually doing anything over there besides moving the files from one box to the other and back again. I’m not much better. All I’ve managed to do is separate most of the paperwork into piles of bills, receipts, and miscellaneous items. It gets me thinking, though. Digitizing this stuff would help the organization of the company, and make it so much easier to track the current jobs and payments, rather than the old spiral notepad Harold seems to love so much.

My mind wanders to Oakley again, like it has pretty much all day so far. I can’t get her out of my head, and I don’t want to. It isn’t just the physicality of last night and this morning that’s on repeat.

It’s the feeling of her in my arms as we cuddled on the couch with Bandit.

It’s the way we cooked together, our movements so effortless and easy, like we’d been doing it our whole lives.

It’s the way I opened up to her so easily, and she listened and responded without hesitation or judgment.

She sees me. She understands me. It’s like she’s crawled under my skin and imprinted herself on my soul, and I never want her to leave.

“What if you hire someone to take care of the clerical aspect of the job?” Justin suggests. “The business is doing well. I’m sure there’s plenty of money to add someone to the payroll.”

Harold seems to think it over, and while he does, an idea sparks in my mind.

“Oakley would be perfect for the job,” I say. I don’t know if she’ll be interested in the position, but if it’s something consistent with regular hours and a steady paycheck she can count on at the end of each week, I’m sure she’ll at least consider it.

“That pretty blonde girl that’s got the whole town buzzing and your balls in an iron fist?” Harold asks, and Justin snorts out a laugh.

I shoot a glare in his direction, but the old man is right. After last night, I’m officially whipped. As if I wasn’t already, from the moment she stepped foot in this town.

“That’s the one,” I confirm. “I can talk to her tonight if you want to give it a shot. She’s really smart, and I’m sure she’ll be able to sort this all out in no time. Although, you might have to invest in a new computer.” I blow the layer of dust off the boxy computer monitor—which I’m positive hasn’t been turned on in at least twenty years—for emphasis.

“You don’t have to sell me on her, son,” Harold quips, but then goes quiet for a beat, seemingly lost in thought. “You think she’ll do it?”

I nod my head eagerly, not wanting this opportunity to pass her by, and confident that it’ll be something she’s interested in.

“Yeah, I think something a little more regular would suit her.” She could even keep some of her usual shifts at the bar if she wanted to. Though, now that things have changed between us, she could turn this job down and quit her job at the bar, and I wouldn’t bat an eye. I’d give that woman whatever she wants, no matter the cost.

“What’s minimum wage up to now, anyway?” Harold asks, scratching at the scruff of gray hair on the top of his head.

“Fiftee—”

“Twenty bucks an hour.” I interrupt Justin before he can finish.

By the cocked eyebrow Harold gives me, I know he picked up on it. He’s still quick in his old age. I shrug unapologetically. So I want the best for my girl. Sue me.

“I’ll start her off at fifteen an hour for the first week until we know she’s a good fit. If it works out, I’ll bump it to twenty. Full time. Talk to her and let me know what she thinks. Lord knows I can’t do this shit on my own anymore.”

There’s a hint of sadness that coats that last comment, but I ignore it, not wanting to let on that I heard the change in his voice. Harold would beat my ass if he thought I was pitying him.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll let you know as soon as I talk to her.”

We spend the rest of the day cleaning and organizing as best we can until Harold finally calls it, and Justin and I clamber into my truck, both covered in a layer of dust and cobwebs.

“Oakley’s got her work cut out for her. My hands look like I put them through a woodchipper,” Justin says, holding out his hands for me to see the multitude of angry, red file-folder cuts covering his palms. My hands are just as bad.

I peel out of the parking lot and turn onto the backroad that will take me to Justin’s house.

“I think this will be good for her,” I say, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. Justin takes notice immediately.

“Dude, you’ve been yawning all day, and you look like you’re about to fall asleep at the wheel. What gives? Did Oakley keep you up all night or something?” He’s joking, but I can see the moment he realizes how right he is.