Page 7 of Jack of All Trades
I laugh out loud, startling a bird from the nearby oak tree. This woman does not pull punches.
*Wouldn't dream of it. See you at noon.*
I pocket my phone and finish my coffee, oddly energized by our brief exchange. There's something refreshing about Maya's direct approach. No games, no pretense. Just unfiltered honesty, even if that honesty comes wrapped in barbed wire.
The rest of the morning passes quickly. I mow the lawn, clean the house, at least the downstairs, and clear space in the garage for the food tables. By eleven-thirty, I'm showered again and changing shirts for the third time, which is ridiculous because this isn't a date. It's party planning. With Rex's sister. Who clearly can't stand me.
I finally settle on a plain black t-shirt that Mom always said brought out my eyes, then immediately feel foolish for caring. I add a red plaid button-up over it, sleeves rolled up, casual and unfussy. There. That looks like I didn't try too hard, which I definitely didn't.
At precisely noon, there's a knock at the door. Maya Torres is punctual. I file that information away alongside the other bits and pieces I've collected: she's fiercely loyal to Rex, she doesn't suffer fools, and somewhere beneath that tough exterior is a laugh that sounds like pure joy.
I open the door, and there she is, looking even better than I remembered. She's wearing jeans again, but these are paired with a soft green top that makes her eyes look like emeralds. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, revealing the elegant curve of her neck.
"Hey," I say, stepping back to let her in. "Right on time."
"I said I would be." She walks past me, her shoulder brushing mine in the narrow entryway.
"So, this is the legendary Morrison house," she says, looking around the living room with undisguised curiosity. "Rex talked about this place like it was a palace."
I laugh. "Compared to where you guys grew up, maybe it seemed that way."
Maya's expression shutters slightly at the mention of their childhood home, and I mentally kick myself. From what Rex has told me, their father was a mean drunk who eventually drank himself to death, leaving Rex to raise Maya on his own when she was just a kid.
"It's nice," she says after a moment. "Homey."
"Thanks." I gesture toward the back of the house. "Want to see the yard? That's where we'll set up for the party."
She nods, following me through the kitchen to the back door. As we walk, I catch her studying the photos on the walls—family pictures from happier times, Mom and Dad with the four of us boys at various ages.
"That's Ethan, Michael, David, and me," I say, pointing to a particular photo taken at the lake when I was about ten. "In age order."
"You were a cute kid," Maya says, then immediately looks like she regrets the comment.
"Were?" I place a hand over my heart in mock offense. "Past tense? You wound me, Maya."
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the ghost of a smile. "Show me the yard, Morrison."
I lead her outside, watching as she surveys the space with a critical eye. It's not large, but there's plenty of room for the small gathering we're planning. The old oak tree provides natural shade over half the yard, and the wooden fence my dad built still stands strong around the perimeter.
"This will work," she says with a nod. "We can set up tables along that side, put the food under the tree for shade. Maybe string lights from the tree to the house for when it gets dark."
"I like the way you think," I say, genuinely impressed by how quickly she's visualized it. "I've got some lights in the garage we can use."
She turns to face me, all business. "I'm thinking simple food. Burgers, Rex's favorite potato salad, that kind of thing. Nothing fancy. And definitely a chocolate cake. He pretends to be too tough for cake, but he loves it."
"I know," I say with a smile. "You had to be there for his twenty-one-birthday party. He ate half the cake himself."
Maya's expression softens slightly. "You were there for that?"
"Yeah. I remember you were away at summer camp. Rex showed me pictures of you in a canoe, looking miserable."
She laughs, the sound startling both of us with its suddenness. "I hated that camp. Mosquitoes the size of birds, and mandatory crafting hours. It was torture."
"Why'd you go?"
"Rex wanted me to have 'normal kid experiences,'" she says, making air quotes. "He worked double shifts at the garage that summer to pay for it."
There's such fondness in her voice when she talks about her brother. It's the most unguarded I've seen her since we met.
