My thoughts return to her as I get back into bed. There's something going on with her. Something she doesn't want me to know. I fall asleep with that thought in my head, and a few short hours later, the sun wakes me up for a new day.
I shower, then get to work, tearing up the linoleum floor in the kitchen. At eight-thirty, I drive down to the gas station and get some breakfast for Callie and me. Instead of bringing it to her, I set it up in the living room since she's coming over any minute now.
"Nash?" I hear her at the front door, which is open, but the screen door is closed. "Can I come in?"
"You work here now," I say, meeting her in the living room. "You don't have to knock. Just come in."
"Does that only apply to work hours?" She smiles and uses a flirty tone. What does that mean? Is she deciding she wants to be more than neighbors? I keep telling myself not to get involved with her that way, but if she's offering, I'm pretty damn sure I won't be able to turn her down. She's already got my blood pumping faster just looking at her. She's wearing khaki shorts that barely cover her ass and a navy t-shirt that has a deep v-neck that I'm betting I could see right down if I were standing in front of her.
"Feel free to come and go whenever you want," I say, answering her question. "You're welcome any time, day or night."
The night reference caught her attention and she glances away, like she's not sure what to do with that. This is why she confuses me. I'll flirt with her and she'll flirt back, or kiss me back, or let me give her one of my famous foot rubs—and by famous, I mean girls back in Chicago begged for them—but then she'll suddenly revert back to the girl she was when we first met. She'll act as though she has no desire to be anything more than friends, if that.
"So where should I start?" Her eyes scan over the sea of boxes.
"Start with breakfast." I hand her a cup of coffee and a wrapped-up egg sandwich.
She takes it and sits on the couch, a plume of dust rising all around her. "You didn't have to get me breakfast."
"It's your first day. You get breakfast on your first day." I grab my coffee and sit next to her, causing more dust to fly in the air. "I need to get a cleaning service over here, just to get rid of the first layer of dirt. Then I'll bring them back later when the house is done."
"I could help," she says, biting into her sandwich.
"Help what? Clean?"
She shrugs. "Yeah. I don't mind cleaning. And you pay better than anyone else in town."
"And provide breakfast," I say holding up my coffee.
"Just on the first day."
"You can expect it every day." I nudge her. "You know I don't like to eat alone."
She sips her coffee. "Are you paying in cash?"
"I was planning to until I found out you work for the CIA. Now I'm going to have to pay you the legal way and file all the paperwork."
She rolls her eyes. "I'm not in the CIA."
My two egg sandwiches are eaten before she's finished half of hers. I drink my coffee, then say, "So I saw your light on last night. Couldn't sleep?"
"You were spying on me?"
"My bedroom was like a hundred degrees so I got up to open the window and saw your light was on."
"I don't sleep much. I can get by on just a few hours a night." There's that look again. That nervous, sad, uncomfortable look that comes out of nowhere, then disappears moments later. She wraps up her sandwich. "Do you have a garbage can somewhere?"
"You're not going to finish it?"
"I'm not that hungry." She always says that after she gets that look. Whatever she's thinking about seems to take away her appetite.
"Here. Give it to me." She hands me the sandwich and I unwrap it and eat it all in one bite.
"Wow. You eat a lot."
I point to myself. "It takes a lot to fuel this, especially when I'm working all day. I could've eaten five of those sandwiches. Speaking of food, what's for dinner?"
I'm kidding. I was planning to get us take-out tonight, but I asked just to see what she'd say.
"Do you like chicken marsala?"
"Callie, I was joking. I'm not making you cook dinner. I'm surprised you did it the first time. I'll just order Chinese."
"Oh. Okay." She sounds disappointed, her eyes on her coffee.
"Hey." I touch her arm and she looks up at me. "Did you want to make the chicken? Because it sounds really good. I just didn't want to make you go to all that work."
"It's not that much work. Making it is easy. It's the cleaning up part that takes forever."
"Then you cook dinner and I'll clean up. Sound good?"
"You're going to clean up my kitchen?" She smiles. "I can be really messy when I cook."
"I don't mind. If the chicken's as good as your spaghetti sauce, it's worth having to clean up a mess."
"We'll have to eat at seven. I need time to go to the store, and I'm working two jobs now so..."
"If you ask nicely, I bet your boss would let you skip your afternoon shift."