"I don't need to skip it. I'll have plenty of time." She stands up. "Let's get to work. Tell me where to start."
I take her over to the boxes stacked up in the corner. "I'm sure everything in here is junk. Just go by what we talked about the other day. Toss any old magazines and newspapers into the recycle bin in the garage and whatever can't be recycled can go in the dumpster. They delivered it this morning. It's in the driveway."
"Yeah, it woke me up when they slammed it down on the concrete."
I laugh. "It's a good thing you don't need much sleep because you're probably not going to get much having a noisy neighbor like me."
"Makes me wish Mr. Freeson was still living here. He never made a sound." She opens the top of a box.
"You don't like living next to me?"
"It's too soon to answer that," she says, cracking a smile.
"Get to work," I say, slapping her ass before walking away.
She laughs. "Hey! That's sexual harassment."
"Go tell your boss at the CIA." I return to the kitchen, wondering if her secretiveness will continue now that we're working together. She has to break down and tell me something eventually. At least she explained why she was up last night. Or maybe she lied about that. I can't tell with this girl. Of course, I didn't know Marissa was lying to me for months so I guess I'm not good at knowing when women are lying.
An hour later I go check on Callie. "How's it going?"
The stack of boxes she was working on is now gone. "So far, I've found mostly old newspapers and magazines. Your grandfather really liked to read."
"I don't think he read them. I think he just hoarded them."
"Well, they're all in the recycle bin." She pats the top of a box. "I'm going to start on this stack next."
"It's almost ten. You have to get to Lou's."
She checks her watch. "I didn't know it was that late. Okay, well, I'll see you this afternoon, after I stop at the store."
"If you don't want to come back this afternoon, that's fine." I say that, but the truth is, I want her to come back. I like having her here with me, even if she's in the other room. A few times I heard her singing along to my country music. She was off tune and I'm not sure she even knew she was singing because when I walked in to tease her about it, she was so focused on what she was doing that she didn't even notice me there. So I turned around and went back to the kitchen, laughing to myself.
"I'll be back around four," she says. "I'll work for an hour and still have plenty of time to make dinner."
"Sounds good. Need help with the garage door?"
"Nope. I got it." She leaves and I stand at the door, watching her. She still limps a little because of her knee. I feel bad she hurt it because of me, but I think the broken sidewalk was more to blame than my truck. But I'll get the sidewalk fixed this weekend.
Callie shows up again at four and gets right to work. She's a hard worker, like me. She sees what needs to be done and does it. At five, she goes home to make dinner. I'm a little surprised that she insisted on making it. But she did say she likes to cook.
At six-fifteen, I shower and put on dark jeans and a button-up shirt because a t-shirt didn't seem nice enough for a homemade chicken marsala dinner. I run down to the gas station and get another bottle of wine, a more expensive one this time, then head over to Callie's house just before seven. As I stand at her door, I feel like I'm going on a date, dressed nicer than normal and bringing a bottle of wine.
"Why are you so dressed up?" Callie asks as she answers the door. She's wearing black shorts and a light pink, button-up shirt. And she's wearing earrings, small silver hoops. I haven't seen her wear jewelry before, but I like it. I also haven't seen her with her hair down until tonight. It's straight and silky and hangs a little below her shoulders.
"You're making a nice dinner and I didn't want to look like a slob." I hand her the wine.
"This is a good one," she says, inspecting the wine. "Thanks."
She steps aside to let me in, and as soon as I walk in the house, I smell the food. "The chicken smells great. I can't wait to try it."
"I also made a salad and got a loaf of bread." She walks over to the kitchen and holds up a tray. "And I made these since I didn't show up with them last night."
I go over and see a row of chocolate chip cookies lined up on the tray. "You baked for me?"
"Only because I told you I'd bring them over last night and didn't."
"Can I have one? Or do I have to wait until after dinner?"
She laughs. "You can have one. Go ahead."
They're still warm from the oven and when I bite into one, it practically melts in my mouth.
"What do you think?" she asks.
"Best cookie I ever had."
"You're just saying that." She goes to the stove and stirs the sauce that surrounds the chicken.
"No, really." I take another cookie. "These are even better than the ones my mom used to make. And she was a good cook."