Page 7 of Meeting Up with the Mason

“Chip?” She came directly up the lawn with a bag slung over her shoulder, smiling ear to ear. “I made it!”

I tried to relax. “In record time! I guess traffic wasn’t too bad.”

“Not as bad as the infamous Waterbury.” She turned away from me to face the remains of the walkway. “You’re not wasting even a minute! Were you trying to have this done before I even got a chance to see it?”

I shoved my hands in my jeans pockets. “Trust me, this is the fastest part.” She’d gotten one glance at me in all my wrung-out glory and turned away—so much for her blurting out that I looked good on MeetSpace. “Next step is to pull all the weeds, rake the dirt, and then flatten it out. I’ll pour a layer of gravel like we talked about, and then once we’ve got it level, we get paver sand overtop that and smooth it.” Dad had talked me through this a dozen times, so by now, it felt reflexive. “I’ll lay down your pavers, and we’ll seal them in tight with more paver sand.”

She bent to lift a stray paving stone off the lawn. “These things are heavy!” She set it back down. “Let me know if you need anything. I turned on the air conditioner with the remote thermostat, and you look hot.” I tensed, and she stammered, “I mean, you’ve been working hard, and it’s hot out here, so if you want to cool off. Anyhow, I’ll just drop my bags inside.”

She fled.

I put my unfinished lunch in the truck, nauseated. I’d packed a lot because Dad said I’d be wanting calories before the end of today. Dad hadn’t counted on a gorgeous woman getting one look at me and being repulsed.

As the heat built, I remembered in detail all the reasons people pay other people to do this stuff. My hands were sweaty in the gloves. My back ached from the bending and my arms from the lifting. I broke up the dirt along the path and then stood trying to decide whether it was worth pouring the paver base now, or whether I should do that tomorrow.

“Hey?” Alyssa came out of the house holding a drink. “I made us sweet tea.”

She met my eyes and then looked away quickly, shifting her weight. I blinked in the harsh sunlight and tried to reconcile what her body language said (pure rejection) with the fact that sweet tea sounded really good right about now—and also the responsible crew protocol. Like, you don’t go into the client’s house. Dad always said to decline their food. Did Alyssa actually want this, or was it southern politeness?

Also, what did I want? Because I couldn’t figure that out, either.

I gestured to myself. “I’m wicked filthy.”

“It’s wholesome dirt.” She laughed. “Here, take it.”

It was a tall, cool glass, and she looked like a tall, cool drink of water herself. I settled on the wooden porch steps where the gray paint was peeling—nothing Dad wouldn’t have been able to sand off and refinish. “Thanks.” The tea was cold but super sweet.

She leaned against the porch column on the opposite side, her shoulders bare and her skin tan. “You doing okay?”

“I feel like I’ve been trampled by horses, but sure.” I shrugged. “It’s too bad you had to fly here just to see a whole lot of dirt. You’ve got dirt in Georgia.”

She shifted her weight and darted her eyes off to the side—and I realized she was about to ask a question. I hadn’t put it together until now, but that was how she gathered herself when she felt uncertain—not that she was avoiding looking at me because she was disgusted.If I don’t see you, then you don’t see me.

I could get behind that. Except she’d already seen me pretty much disassembled. She, on the other hand, was sitting five feet from me, all put-together and wicked cute.

Still not looking right at me, Alyssa said, “There isn’t much food in the house, so I’m going to do takeout for dinner. It’s just as easy to order for two, so—you want to join me?”

Dad had no protocol for this, right? I would be going into her house, except I’d been invited, and I’d be eating her food…or actually, I didn’t have to because I was capable of picking up the tab. “Only if I pay.”

Her nose wrinkled. “How is that fair? I invited you.”

I tilted my head. “You paid for airline tickets and a car rental.”

“You’re building my walkway!”

We looked at each other for another three seconds until Alyssa burst out laughing, and so did I.

“Look,” I managed. “You’ve probably figured it out, but I’m not good at any of this.”

She said, “Oh, and I’m a total expert, getting my own Ph.D. in talking to the masonry dude.”

I rested my head against the railing. “Most of the people I deal with on a regular basis have been dead for three thousand years. Dinner together isn’t usually an option.”

Alyssa recoiled. “You mean sometimes itis?”

I laughed. “Wait, no— I mean—”

Dad rescued me by pulling up in his truck with the business name emblazoned on the side.

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