Page 32 of No One Else

She bites her lip, gazing intently at me. “Thanks, Evan,” she says finally.

I nod, picking up my bag again and start toward the door.

“And wear something tight,” she calls out after me, a twinkle in her eye.

***

ISHOW UP AN HOUR EARLYthe next morning, just in case she needs any last minute help. I was sitting on my ass at home anyway. And I’m glad I came because Natalie is setting up her booth by herself, not a soul around to aid her. Oh sure, there are plenty of people zipping around, but they all appear to be busy with other tasks. She’s crouched down on the ground, a hammer and nails in her hands and confused expression on her face.

“I thought you said you’d have help.” She turns around at the sound of my voice, brushing her bangs out of her eyes with the back of her hand. “Where is everyone?”

“Olivia,” she says, her tone hard. “She reassigned them to help with the bake sale and the dunk tank and the sundae bar and every other station but mine. She said since Chad is sick we might as well cancel the kissing booth anyway, even when I told her I got a replacement.”

“Is the girl still coming?”

“Yeah, but Olivia doesn’t like her either. Ugh, I’m so mad I could-” She kicks the red and white painted plywood on the ground at her feet, not that it has much of an effect. “Why do I even care about this? If she doesn’t want my help, I should just pack up and go home. Have a free Saturday to myself.”

“The Natalie I know isn’t a quitter,” I say softly, taking the hammer out of her hands before she does any damage with it and set it down. “You can’t help but see a project through.”

“You’re right,” she wails. “God, it would be so much easier not to care.”

I take her by the shoulders, gazing intently at her. “You can do this. I have absolute faith you’ll pull this off, even with Olivia working against you.”

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, a smile overtaking her face. “Yes, absolutely.”

“Forget all the other crap. What can we still do to make it a success?”

“Social media. That was the biggest thing I was pushing for that she wouldn’t let me handle. We need to let people know we’re here, not just hope they’ll wander by.”

“And I’m assuming you need the booths actually built?” I glance around at the scattered pieces of lumber.

“Yeah, I was trying to figure that out when you came... but I don’t exactly have any construction skills.”

I wave her off. “I’ll handle this. You do your social media wizardry.”

She rubs her hands together in glee, pulling her phone out of her back pocket and taps away at the screen.

“I’m going to take some pictures of you setting up the booths. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine,” I grunt, moving the boards around on the ground in the rough shape I’ll need to assemble them in.

She snaps a few candids of me as I work and when she finally puts her phone away helps hold the wood in place as I hammer the nails in. It’s not the best construction job, but it’ll keep for the rest of the day.

She blows up pink balloons and attaches them with white string to the sides of each booth, then hangs bunting banners across the front. Stepping back, the effect is one of a vintage carnival with the red and white striped booths. It actually looks pretty damn good.

She pulls her phone out again, checking her Instagram account, and raises her eyebrows. “You’re popular,” she says, waving it at me. “The ladies are excited.”

I eye her suspiciously. “What did you do?”

She turns the screen toward me, showing a series of shots of me building the booths, all when my muscles happened to be flexed. There’s also a close-up, my gaze angled away from the camera, staring into the distance. Not to brag, but holy shit, I actually look good.

The first line of her post jumps out at me -Get up close and personal with this hunk yourself.

“Natalie,” I say, mockingly shocked. “Are youobjectifyingme?”

She grins unrepentantly. “Yes.”

I laugh. “Well, if you need anything else, let me know.”

---