Page 7 of Kyle

“Come on, Dynamic Duo.” Green polishes off his beer and stands. “Let’s hit the road.”

We all stand to leave, and when we get out to the bikes, Rafe looks over at his brother.

“Hey, Kyle. Follow us to my place. I need your help with a delivery I got today.”

Kyle tugs his gloves on, slowing the motion. His eyes dart to me, then back to his brother. “What do you need me for?”

“Just follow us back, okay?”

TJ and Billy stare at Kyle, as if they’re listening to see what he’ll say. They swing their legs over their bikes, but adjust in their seat, not firing their engines up.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you need, brother,” Kyle replies.

TJ shakes his head, looking pissed, then fires his bike up.

Rafe seems oblivious. I climb on the bike behind him, and Kyle follows us to Rafe’s place.

Rafe rents a cute but small Craftsman house he told me was built in 1925. It has a lot of character with a big bay window, but it’s showing its age.

As for the neighborhood, Rafe told me it’s on the edge of the Little Portugal North neighborhood. The Portuguese catholic parish is two blocks over, and we hear the bells chime three times a day. I think they annoy Rafe, but I find them to be soothing.

Kyle pulls into the driveway behind us and follows us up the stairs of the front porch.

There’s a flyer on the front door.

“What’s that?” I ask.

Rafe nabs it and smiles. “It’s the church bulletin. Mrs. Vargas lives next door. She works for the church. She’s always trying to get me to attend. Guess she thinks my soul needs saving, andshe seems determined to see to it. Last summer, she and her husband invited me to the Feast of the Holy Ghost. It was pretty cool. They’re a sweet old couple.”

He unlocks the door, and we enter into a long living room that continues through to the back of the house. Tall wainscoting comes up the walls, and the floors are the original hardwood. There’s a pretty set of corner windows with seat benches underneath and leaded glass on the top of the windows. It’s charming. I’ve sat curled up in that window, reading. It’s my favorite thing to do.

The main bedroom is in the front of the house on the left. It’s the room that has those pretty bay windows visible from the street. Again, there’s leaded glass on the top transom of the window that flood the room with light.

While the house has tons of charm, it also needs tons of work.

Rafe leads us out back. There’s a garage with a small apartment in the rear. There is no grass to speak of… just blacktop.

Rafe has set up a small seating area with cheap lawn furniture around a movable firepit. The space had potential, but this wasn’t it.

There’s a big cardboard box leaned against the garage. It’s about three feet wide, a foot deep, and six feet tall.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“I ordered a gazebo.”

“Tell me you didn’t call me all the way over here to set that thing up tonight,” Kyle says.

“No. I just need help moving the box. The tenant in the apartment can’t get the garage door up with this in the way.” Rafe’s fists land on his hips. “Besides, you live all of three minutes away, asshole.”

I turn to Kyle. “I didn’t know you were so close.”

“About a mile west of here,” he replies.

“So, like walking distance?”

His brows lift. “Not for you. You get near my house, the neighborhood is okay, but there’s a good bit of industrial area you’d have to cross to get there. It wouldn’t be a good idea for a single woman to walk that route.”

“Well, my girl’s not walking to your house, bro. So, it’s irrelevant.” Rafe throws his arms around my shoulders.

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