Page 10 of Something About September

“She was kind,” Rebecca said with a smile. “And very generous. So, I saw your flyer at the post office, and I was wondering if you might be able to help me out with some small renovations I need to do here.”

“Oh, no. I only do very small jobs. Medicine cabinets, towel bars. My wife put the flyer there. She likes me busy. Out of the house, now that I’ve retired.” He chuckled. “If it’s a bigger job you want, call Cort Adams.”

She sighed. “Cort isn’t available.”

“He will be soon. Finishing the Hartwell place on Spyre in a day or two—I was just chatting with him this morning while out for my walk, so I know that. Reliable young man. You should definitely call him.”

“Okay, I’ll check in with him,” Rebecca said hurriedly. “Thank you, Mr. Kwan.”

But instead, she picked up Eli Walsh’s card and dialed. It rang forever. She was about to hang up when there was a clatter, then a voice: “Talk to me!” Only, an alarmingly loud whirring sound made it impossible to speak and be certain he could hear her. Finally, the noise stopped. “Sorry, I’m on a jobsite. Very active situation.”

Rebecca explained who she was.

“Yeah, sure, I remember you, Reb.” No one had ever called her that. “I can always take a new job. What are we talking?”

“Leaky roof in one spot, I think. Some floor issues, windows are—”

“Windows, yeah. Big fan of those. Do you want under-cabinet LED lighting?”

“Um…no. Can you come by and see the place?”

“I’m technically between vehicles. My truck is in the shop due to something that is not my fault, but I can still roll up, sure. I’ll check with Todd.” Rebecca had no idea who Todd was. “Do you have one of my coupons for a free estimate?”

She closed her eyes. “I just assumed the estimate would be free.”

“I guess I can make an exception,” he said, sounding like he was doing her a big favor. “I’ll come by today. See you soonish, Reb.”

—

Two hours later—so, not even close to soonish—a purple pickup with bright-pink underglow lighting slid into the lot, Luke Combs lamenting the absence of love in Oklahoma loudly through the open windows.

Eli strode into the diner and dropped his tool kit on the ground so hard a floorboard popped up like it was a piece of toast. It was fine, Rebecca told herself. Everything needed to be fixed up, anyway.

They did a circuit of the diner, Rebecca pointing out the issues she had noticed. Then she watched in horror as Eli hopped up onto the corner table in his boots, tapped at the plaster with the end of a hammer. Soon he was showered in chalky grit. He hopped down, and for one suspended second, all was quiet—but then the entire panel he had been poking at crashed onto the table. “Let’s add ‘hole in ceiling’ to the list,” he said with a shrug.

Rebecca said nothing. Her eye twitched.

Next Eli dragged a stool toward the front counter. “We should probably check above here, too,” he said. “High traffic area.” But when he stepped up onto the stool, the seat sheared off. He caught the counter at the last second instead of slamming to the ground. “I hope you have building insurance,” he said.

“I probably don’t,” Rebecca replied through gritted teeth. “And don’t you…have a stepladder, Eli?”

He ignored her, took a running start, hopped onto the counter, and shattered the coffee carafe that had been sitting there. Rebecca gasped at the glittering shards, then went to find a broom and a dustpan, surprised at the tears that had sprung to her eyes. It was just a carafe, she told herself—but it had been a relic from the diner, an item she could picture in Lenore’s hand as she refilled a patron’s cup or asked Rebecca if she needed a warm-up as she studied. In an instant, it was gone. All of this will be gone soon, she reminded herself as she swept broken glass in silence while Eli did nothing to help. Finally, she stopped sweeping and looked up at him.

“Do you think you could come back tomorrow?” she said. I’m not ready, she didn’t add.

“Sure. I’ll come back tomorrow. Bright and early,” he said. “Around noon. I’ll bring my sledgehammer,” he added, as her heart sank. When he was gone, she turned and stared at the wrecked floorboards, the gaping hole in the ceiling, the pale drift of plaster dust everywhere.

The bell over the door jingled behind her.

“What did you forget—” Rebecca began as she turned. But it wasn’t Eli.

It was Cort Adams.

Chapter 8

Sawdust on his T-shirt, hammer clipped at his hip, rough stubble on his pronounced jaw, gray eyes like a late-summer storm, and a frown on his handsome face. Cort didn’t say anything to her, just walked in and set his toolbox on the counter. She couldn’t help but notice how gently he did that, although his eyes contained emotions she could tell were anything but light.

“What are you doing here?” she managed to ask. It didn’t feel like she hadn’t seen him in a year; it felt like the kiss, and his rebuttal, had happened the night before.