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Claire
Abig bag of corned beef sandwiches in my hands, I stepped onto the construction site. I felt eyes latching onto me from all over, a small, knowing smile forming on my face as I made my way forward.
“Hel-lo, gorgeous!” one of the nearby men called from a small group of workers in hard hats and high-viz called out. A few whistles sounded, along with a little chorus of other noises that indicated the men were happy to see me.
As annoying as catcalling could be, I was fine courting it in that moment. After all, I’d just strolled onto a construction site without permission.
“Easy, boys,” I said.
One of the men broke from the group, coming toward me with a curious expression on his face.
“Claire?” he asked. “Claire Murphy?”
I recognized the guy right away. “Ian Finnerty,” I said with a smile. “What’s happening?”
Ian and I were in the same graduating class. He didn’t look much different from the last time I’d seen him other than a gold band on his ring finger and a small belly pouch under his vest.
“Not much. Just watching some girl I haven’t seen since high school marching onto my site like she’s on a mission. Good as it is to see you, gotta ask what you’re doing here.”
I lifted the big, heavy bag in my hands. “Let me answer your question with a question.” I raised my voice so the guys around could hear me. “How does a few pounds of corned beef from Pappy’s sound instead of whatever you packed for lunch today?”
The guys made noises that left no doubt how excited they were about the special delivery. They approached like a pack of wild dogs who’d just laid eyes on some raw meat.
“Sounds damn good to me,” Ian said. “But… why? This your good deed for the day or somethin’?”
“Something like that. But there’s also someone I’m looking for. I know Trevor Fitzsimmons works with Mullaney. Any chance he’s on site? Or that you know where he is?”
“Trev? Brainiac?” Ian laughed. “Yeah, he’s over in the engineer’s trailer.” He stuck his thumb over his shoulder toward a group of five or so trailers on the other end of the site. “Why? Is he in, uh, legal trouble or something?”
“Even if he were, which he’s not,” I said with a slight smile, “that’s not something I could share. I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to catch up.”
It was a lame excuse, and I could tell by the look on Ian’s face that he knew there was more to it. After a second or two, he nodded.
“Ah, I get it. Man finally makes lead engineer and you want to come by tocongratulatehim. I think I see what’s going on.”
My first instinct was to tell him he had it all wrong. I quickly reconsidered though. I knew if I told him the truth, that it would only bring attention to my search if word was to spread.
“Can’t a girl bring a man some corned beef without getting the third degree?” I asked with a grin.
Ian chuckled. “Alright, go on ahead. But first,” he hurried over to a nearby truck bed, coming back with a hard hat and high-viz vest. “If you’re going to be wandering around here, you’re going to need to at leastlooklike you’re complying with safety regulations.”
“Ah. Got it.” I put the gear on, the vest about two sizes too big for me. “How do I look?”
Ian laughed. “Hey, you pull that off better than any of the jabronis I work with. Anyway, good seeing you. And, uh, good luck with Trev.”
“Thanks, Ian.”
I waved back to the guys, who were already digging into the bag. They waved back and I started off toward the trailer. Once at the door, I knocked softly.
“Who is it?” The voice on the other side was unmistakably that of Trevor’s.
“Hey. This is Claire Murphy. Mind if we talk for a minute?” A beat of silence passed. “I brought lunch.”
At first, there was no response. Then I heard the squeak of a chair on the floor, followed by the heavy thump of work boots. The door opened and there he stood.
Trevor Fitzsimmons was tall and boyishly handsome, with big, puppy-dog brown eyes and matching shaggy hair. He wore a white T-shirt that hung on his lean body, the fabric smeared with dirt here and there, his arms ropy and decorated with various tattoos that proudly proclaimed his Irish heritage. He regarded me with a look of confusion, as if I were the last person he’d expected to see.Which, truth be told, I probably was.
“Claire?” he asked. “What’s up?”
