“Tiles all the way!” I shout.
He stops my fist as I try to raise it in a salute. “Nope.”
When the car is loaded with materials and we’re on the road, I apologize. “Sorry. I should have known that Paul has a tile saw. I was planning on renting one. So, I could have gotten the rest of this stuff myself.”
“You would have ended up with seriously dull bathroom tiles and a scratched-up fancy-nice rental car, so I’m glad I was here.”
“Trust me, I can’t wait until that car gets picked up.” Rolling down the window brings in much-needed fresh air.
“Another thing?” Danny says sternly. “I’m damn glad that you didn’t try using a tile saw without a lesson or five. Shit, Callie, you could have lost a finger. Or an arm.”
I slump a bit in my seat. He’s got a point. Perhaps my aspirations are more than a bit high, but I know that I can still do this in some form, major help or not. “I at least want to try.”
When his hand reaches for mine, I manage not to shudder.
“You can definitely do this.”
We shouldn’t be holding hands. This is bad. This has to stop.
Instead, I tighten the grip he initiated and look away.
Maybe it’s a friendly thing.
Friends hold hands, right?
I wish Shallots were here as a distraction.
“You mentioned Wakefest when we were at Mary Ann’s.” While I am curious, I’m also desperate to shift my focus from his touch. “What is that?”
“Oh man, it’s so fun. The best time of the year in Wake. God, it started after you left, huh? Probably a few years after. It takes place over three days in early August. We might be a small town, but this festival is killer. While we’re not big on a map when it comes to population, there’s so much land and space available here, which is perfect for a big summer fair. Arts and crafts sales, live music, tractor pulls, food stands, live bands, a children’s tent, sugar-shack stuff, maple products, face painting, and all kinds of animal shows. Oh, and produce like crazy, especially from Mary Ann’s place. Not rides, like most fairs have, but those always seem kinda deadly anyway.”
His description throws me back. “I remember going to state fairs like this. Blueberry everything. I haven’t thought about this in years. Wait, and there were sheep-shearing contests, right? Like, who could shave a sheep’s wool off in the shortest time? That always seemed weird to me. And all of the sheep at Mary Ann’s farm had short hair. So, they’re already sheared?”
Danny groans. “There’s definitely no sheep or any other animal shearing at Wakefest. Whatever you do, don’t mention that to Mary Ann.”
“Why’s that?”
“Not only are sheep routinely cut during the process, but they also have to be handled multiple times, and it’s terribly stressful for them. It’s kind of awful. So, she and her grandparents bring in people who are highly trained early in the season. They do all sorts of things to calm the sheep and make sure they’re not traumatized, and their sheep are only sheared in the early spring, when it’s an optimal time.”
“Well, shit. I feel awful now. I used to think those events were fun.”
“You and me both. I had no idea. But don’t worry; all the animal events now are very humane. Mostly people showing off their farm fur babies. You’ll love it.”
“Well, if I’m here.”
“Ha! With the renovation list you’ve come up with, you’re not leaving Vermont anytime soon. Anyway, everyone in town is involved with Wakefest somehow, so that’s going to include you. Trust me, it’ll be some of the best days of your life.”
“And what do you do at this hometown fair?”
He glances at me and raises an eyebrow. “You’ll have to stick around to find out.”
When he pulls up to the house and we start unloading supplies onto the side of house, I’m still processing the idea of being here longer than I thought.
When we go inside, the concern on his face is worse than Paul’s. “I gather you got an early start on demolition.” He also knows it wasn’t planned.
“Schroeder, it was nothing.”
“I knew that you wanted to redo it, but this?” He walks to the fireplace that I haven’t even started to clean up. To the random smashes, to chaos that was clearly not methodical. To the rubble that I’ve left behind. His hands run over what remains of the brick. “It wasn’t nothing.”
