Carson sighs. “You’re so cynical.”
“And you’re gullible!” Carson imagines things. There is absolutely no such thing as ghosts. There can’t be. I can’t believe in them.
If I did, I wouldn’t be able to explain why Carson somehow felt Mama’s presence but I didn’t. She told me that Mama sat with her, in her room, while she played with her dollhouse. Carson was compelled to tell me and my father that Mama was okay. But if ghosts were real, I’d have sensed her, haunting or hovering or giving me a sign that she’s watching over me and Dad. I knew my mother for just six short years, but I know that she loved us. . . . I saw how much in her last breath. I know she’d visit us if she could—in whatever form.
Then, because I don’t want this kind of awkwardness between us, I apologize. “Sorry I snapped.”
“I know you didn’t mean it.”
Well, I did, but pointing that out will only put us into a dizzying circle. She always forgives me when I get moody. That’s what you do for your best friend whose mother died.
Carson and I have been together our whole lives. When her parents moved to town, her mom was pregnant with her and Mama was pregnant with me. Carson’s mom always tells the story of how they conspired to name their daughters after literary figures—Carson after novelist Carson McCullers, and me after the housekeeper in To Kill a Mockingbird. But if anyone besides Carson or Nick called me by my full name, I’d punch them. I’m more of a Callie than a Calpurnia. And to my dad, and to Mama once upon a time, I’m Callie May.
I turn in to a neighborhood that’s seen better days. It’s part of a renovation project, replacing crumbling structures with sturdier ones. I pull to a stop near a yard where the partial frame of a house has been erected. Several guys and a couple of girls are hard at work: hammering, sawing, clearing, carting. I’m always amazed by how organized they are and how quickly they can build a house. This is the third one that Nick has worked on.
“Thank goodness for the sweltering summer heat,” Carson says. “It is our friend.”
Laughing, I open the door and step out. I know she’s appreciative of the scenery. Most of the guys have opted to go shirtless, and their bared torsos are glistening with sweat. One of them is Nick. I take a moment to appreciate the way his muscles bunch as he saws a plank resting between sawhorses. His concentration is intense.
A guy walks by, says something to Nick as he passes. Nick replies and the guy laughs.
Nick is always making people laugh. Even though he’s working hard, he’s relaxed here, obviously enjoying what he’s doing. After the shorter end of the plank drops to the ground, he swipes the back of his hand across his brow as he straightens.
I know the exact moment when he spots me. He grins widely, sets aside the saw, and heads over. To my chagrin, he snatches a T-shirt that is one of several draped over a bush and works his way into it without breaking his stride.
“Hey, you!” he says, much more awake than he was the last time I saw him. His brown eyes sparkling with merriment, he jerks his head toward the car. “What’s this?”
“Remember the deal I made with my dad?”
“You’re kidding.” His bristled jaw drops. “I figured he’d get you an old clunker that I’d have to spend way too much time repairing.”
“Nope.” I run my hand over the hood in a slow, sensual manner, the way I’d like to run my hand over his chest, shoulders, and back.
“Sweet. Hey, Carson,” he says.
“About time. I was wondering if you were even going to notice me.”
He gives her a wink and a grin. “A guy has to have priorities.”
He turns his attention back to me, and it’s like being hit with a spotlight. I love the way he gives me his entire focus. “What are you up to?”
“Other than showing off the Beemer”—I step up to him and trace my fingers over his biceps—“I could not possibly go the rest of the day without seeing you again. Tonight is too far away. I brought some lunch. Appetizer first.”
I rise up on my toes and give him a big, energetic kiss. His hands come up to cup my face, his fingers threading through my hair.
Carson clears her throat. “Get a room, y’all,” she says, and then she wanders over to say hi to some of the guys she knows. And no doubt burn her sage around the house so the area is cleansed for the family who’ll be moving in once it’s finished.
“Don’t mind her,” I whisper into his ear.
“Her and a couple of dozen guys.”
I draw back to see Nick blushing. I can’t help but wonder for the thousandth time how I ended up getting this lucky, with a boyfriend who’s sweet enough to blush at me, even after a year.
“Come on, Fisher!” one of the guys calls out. “We have work to do.”
“I’ve got food!” he yells back. Then he arches a brow. “You did bring enough for everyone, right?”
“Of course.”
He pushes the front seat forward and grabs the baskets. I follow Nick to where he was working, and he sets the baskets on the plank of wood. The thunk serves as a dinner bell. Suddenly everyone is swarming over, grabbing pieces of chicken, and standing around eating. No plates, no napkins. I’m not sure four KFC buckets are going to be enough.
“Hey, Callie, you ever decide to dump this loser, give me a call,” Michael Grayson jokes before biting into his already half-devoured drumstick.
“It’ll never happen.” I wrap my arm around Nick’s and snuggle against his side. “I’m holding on to this guy like a drowning woman with a life preserver.”
A strange expression flashes over Nick’s face, like I’ve said something that upsets him. But it’s gone so quickly that I can’t be sure of what I saw.
“Callie!” Carson shrieks. “Don’t invoke death in a conversation. It’s bad luck.”
I don’t want to go back to the weirdness from the drive, so I capitulate. “Right, sorry.”
I give Nick a secretive roll of my eyes. Grinning in understanding—he’s not a big believer in Carson’s theories either—he reaches out and tucks my hair behind my ear, his knuckles skimming along my cheek. We have plans for tonight, but that seems like an eternity away. I don’t want to wait.
I lean toward him and say in a low voice, “Don’t suppose you can head out early.”
Regret softens his eyes as he shakes his head.
“But it’s not like they’re paying you or anything,” I remind him.
“I made a commitment, Callie.”
“Okay, yeah, I get that.” His willingness to always help others is only one of the many things I like about him. I tried to assist with the first house but quickly discovered that my forte is bringing food, not hammering nails. Although I am pretty talented at hitting thumbnails.
When all the food is gone, everyone starts wandering back to work. Carson sweet-talks one of the guys into carrying the baskets back to the car. I know she’s giving me some time alone with Nick—not that we can be truly alone here.
“I’m glad you came by,” he said.
“Yeah, me, too. Do you have a marker?”
He pulls one from his jeans back pocket and hands it to me.
“Red. Perfect,” I say. “Is this board going into the house?”
“Yep.”
Right in the middle of it, with a flourish, I write, “Callie + Nick Forever” and the date. Then I draw a heart around it.
“You know that will get covered up with Sheetrock,” he says.
“But we’ll always know it’s there. I like the idea of immortalizing us.”
He puts his arm around my shoulders and leads me to the car. Once we get there, I move closer to him and run my hand down his strong back, resting it just under the bottom of his T-shirt. With my other hand, I trace his lower lip, a move he loves.