She hides the smirk I know wants to peek out. “This is different.”
She used to build some of the prettiest birdhouses I’d ever seen and paint them bright colors that would pop off the trees. It was one of the ways she made extra money while in college. Not going to lie, I was fucking impressed with her skills, to the point that I tried to best her with my own birdhouse-making skills. I failed. Big time. My big hands weren’t dexterous enough to work in fine detail. She slayed me, and fuck if I didn’t love her for it.
“Still using tools.” I clasp my hands together and glance at my workspace. “So, do you want to get started? We have a lot we have to finish in the next month and a half.”
“Yeah, I think I’m going to ask Mr. Buster for reassignment. I really won’t be any help to you.”
“You won’t be any help, or you just don’t want to be around me?” I ask the question before I can stop myself.
She bites the side of her mouth like she used to when she would think about something. Toeing the ground, she says, “Both.”
I guess I can’t be mad about her honesty. I don’t know why I expected any other answer. A part of me wishes she would accept the past and try to at least rebuild a friendship with me. Don’t get me wrong. Do I wish I had another chance with her? Hell yeah. I would snatch that chance up so damn fast, but from her need to flee anytime she’s around me and the easy smile on her face I saw when she was talking to her boyfriend on the phone, I assume my second chance is non-existent.
I press my lips together and try to think about what to say. I don’t want to insult her, but I also want to tell her to grow up. Asshole, I know, but hell, I just want her to hang out with me for a bit.
“I don’t think you’re going to get another assignment from Mr. Buster, but I can ask him for you if you want. We’re good friends. What assignment are you looking for?”
“You would do that?” she asks, a lift of surprise in her brow.
I nod. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. What assignment would you prefer?”
“Costumes. I think I can handle that.”
“Okay. Give me a second.” I tap the table next to me and walk past her, catching a whiff of Light Blue. Fuck, she smells good. Smells have always been triggers for me, and Amelia’s scent was associated with love. And then later . . . heartache. God, I’ve fucking missed her.
Call me a dickhead, but I don’t want her to change assignments. I don’t want her working with someone else. I want her to have to volunteer with me, to have to work with me every Thursday for the next six weeks. I can’t force her to consider a friendship with me, but I can at least try to keep her on my volunteer assignment.
“Mr. Buster, can I borrow you for a second?” I cut in, thankful he hasn’t started his meeting yet.
“Of course.” He steps to the side with me, garnering us a little bit of privacy. “Is everything okay?”
I take a deep breath and hope my friend is going to help me out here. “You know Miss Santos?”
“Yes, she just transferred from the city. She’s volunteering to get to know more people and to fulfill an assignment her predecessor signed up for.”
“So it’s mandatory for her to be here?”
“Yes.”
I clasp my hands together and level with Mr. Buster. “I’m going to be honest with you. That’s my ex-girlfriend from a while back, kind of the girl I thought I would end up with.”
“Ohhh.” Mr. Buster pats my arm. “Say no more, let me see where else I can put her.”
“No.” I place my hand over his clipboard, blocking Amelia’s view so she doesn’t get any ideas that I’m about to sabotage her request. “I, uh, I was kind of hoping you could make sure you keep her with me.”
Mr. Buster’s face morphs into a sinister smile as he pokes my chest with his pen. “You old dog.”
Oh, Jesus. My face flames hot from the knowing jab Mr. Buster is giving me. I should have known he wouldn’t have made this easy on me.
But I’ll take his teasing, because from as far back as I can remember, I’ve always been the other. The other friend, the other employee . . . the other brother. For once in my life I want to be the only. I don’t care if this is wrong, if she’s already with a guy. I want some time with her, just a little one-on-one interaction that doesn’t involve an awkward wave and a sprint to her house to avoid me. Maybe during our Thursdays together, she’ll see the real me again, the boy she once loved.
The man who still so desperately loves her.
Smirking, I lean into Mr. Buster. “Can you help a guy out here?”
“Anything for you.” He pats me on the shoulder and walks over to Amelia, clipboard at his side.
Shit. I didn’t mean for him to go talk to her.
“Miss Santos. Aaron told me about your concerns of working with wood and not wanting to get splinters, but I assure you, there aren’t many splinter injuries in set building. The wood isn’t scraggely.”
I run my hand over my face. Christ. First, wood isn’t scraggely, and second, where the hell did that come from? I never once muttered splinters.
“I wish there was another department I could work you in with, but we are full to capacity. Maybe I can get you gloves for your splinter concerns.”
Amelia glances at me and I’m tempted to jump to the side from the daggers she’s shooting my way. Before she can answer, I step up and grip Mr. Buster’s shoulder . . . tightly. “I can get her some gloves, not to worry. She’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” Mr. Buster taps his clipboard and says, “You’re with a good one, Miss Santos. Aaron is the kindest, sweetest, most caring man I know. Every year he gives his time and money for this production, staying later than anyone else and often the first to lend a hand when needed, even in the sewing department.” Okay, now he’s getting a little loose on the lips. “He’s also such a good friend, a good-looking man, and successful. So successful.”
“Cool it, cool it.” I mutter under my breath while toeing the ground, appreciating his compliments but trying to avoid him overdoing it.
“And what a cook. He made a casserole once for my husband and me for our anniversary, so sweet. And delicious. The best casserole I’ve ever had.”
Okay, now he’s just lying. I gave them a gift card.
“He also looks fabulous with his shirt off . . .”
“Okay,” I shout and step forward, blocking Mr. Buster. “We have to start working, and there are people waiting for you, Mr. Buster. Best you move along.”
“Okay, okay.” He steps toward a very skeptical Amelia and pats her shoulder. “Hard not to love this guy.” He looks between us, winks at me—Christ—and says, “Have fun, you two.”
He skips away, clearly on cloud nine about his praise, leaving me with a not so happy looking Amelia.
That didn’t go as planned.