Page 8 of Jack of All Trades
"He's a good guy," I say. "The best."
"Yeah." She looks at me appraisingly. "He says the same about you."
I feel my neck warm under her scrutiny. "Rex exaggerates."
"Does he?" She crosses her arms, head tilted slightly. "He says you're the only reason he didn't end up in jail like our dad a few times. That you kept him straight in high school when he was headed for trouble."
Now I'm definitely blushing. "That's not. I just gave him a place to crash sometimes. It wasn't a big deal."
"It was to him." She holds my gaze for a moment longer, then turns back to the yard. "So, string lights. What else do you have?"
I accept the change of subject. "It’s like I said, not much, but let's check the garage. Mom kept all the holiday stuff out there, including some generic party decorations."
We head to the detached garage, which is part storage, part workshop. My old dirt bike takes up one corner, and my rodeo gear is neatly organized on a rack against the wall. The rest is boxes of memories that I haven't had the heart to sort through since Mom died.
"Sorry about the mess," I say, leading Maya to a stack of plastic tubs labeled in Mom's neat handwriting. "Decorations should be in these."
As I pull down the first box, my shoulder twinges again, and I can't quite suppress a wince.
"You okay?" Maya asks, more perceptive than I gave her credit for.
"Fine," I say. "Just a little sore from practice."
She frowns. "Practice?"
"Rodeo," I clarify. "I was on Devil's Spite yesterday. One of the meanest bulls in the circuit. He got in a good shake before I made the buzzer."
Maya's frown deepens. "That sounds dangerous."
"It is." I don't bother denying it. "But it's what I do."
"Risk your neck for a shiny belt buckle?" There's a challenge in her tone.
"For the feeling," I correct her. "There's nothing like those eight seconds. Nothing in the world."
"You really love it."
"I really do." I open the box, revealing an assortment of party supplies. "Ah, here we go. Streamers, some paper lanterns, and—" I pull out a string of multicolored lights, "—these will work for the yard."
Maya takes the lights from me. "Perfect. We'll need more, though."
"There should be white ones in the Christmas box." I reach for a higher shelf, my shirt riding up slightly. When I glance back, Maya is definitely not looking at the exposed strip of skin above my jeans. Definitely not.
Interesting.
I hand her the white lights, fighting a smile. "These too. Between the colored ones and these, we should have enough to string from the tree to the house and back."
"Good." She takes the lights, "What about tables and chairs?"
"I've got two folding tables. For chairs, we'll need to borrow some. I can ask Maggie at The Nail. She's got extras in storage."
Maya nods, making a note on her phone. "I'll handle the food and cake. Can you pick up drinks? Beer for the guys, some wine maybe, and non-alcoholic options?"
"Consider it done." I close the box and reach for another. "Let's see what else we've got in here."
As we sort through the boxes, I find myself stealing glances at Maya. There's something about the serious way she approaches this task, the slight furrow between her brows as she considers each item, that I find inexplicably charming.
"What?" she asks, catching me looking.
