Well, fuck me. “What day?”
“Friday.”
“Time?”
“We need to leave my place at seven. It starts at eight, but I want to be there early.”
I think about the bet. Shit, it’s the least I can do. I’m on the home stretch, and soon our time will end anyway. “Yeah, what do I need to wear?”
Her face brightens. “A suit?” she asks.
“Got it. See you then.”
She hesitates. “You want to get together this weekend?”
No. “I’ve got a lot going on with finishing up the Allen job. I don’t think I’ll have time. I’ll pick you up at seven on Friday.”
She doesn’t bother with a reply as she climbs out of my truck. I keep my headlights on her door and wait until she’s inside to leave.
Four more weeks.
Today has been one disaster after another. First, the job we bid on over on Southern Avenue called to let me know we were underbid. I have plenty of work, but I still hate losing. Although, with that particular job, I was as low as I could get. Not sure how the winning contractor is going to make money without cutting corners. Something else I hate.
When I arrived at my current job site, I found the wrong materials were delivered. The Lumber Yard mixed up the Jefferson and Williams jobs. It took me two hours on the phone to get them to bring a truck to each site to switch everything out. Their mix-up cost me and my guys a day’s work, putting us a day behind schedule, and leaving me the task of calling the customer to fill them in. Which led to my current situation. Did I mention that I hate to be off schedule?
I’ve spent my afternoon at the Jefferson job site, the final truck having just dropped off the correct supplies. Mrs. Jefferson was concerned that the materials would be wrong again, but I assured her they would be correct. In so many words, she insinuated that they better be or else. She’s a tough cookie, and was insistent that the job be complete before her sister and brother-in-law visit from California next month. To appease her, I stayed until the truck arrived, and checked the contents of the order myself. A hazard of the job is keeping the customers happy.
I was supposed to be ‘off,’—if that’s really even possible for a business owner—by five, because I have the gala tonight with Stephanie. Several times today, I thought about calling to cancel, but I gave her my word, and that’s not something I take lightly. Instead, here I am leaving the Jefferson site at six thirty, and to top off this fucktastic day, the skies open up and it starts to pour down rain.
The wipers are on high as they whoosh and skid across the windshield. I slow down when I see a car on the side of the road up ahead. As I get closer, I see a woman kicking what appears to be her flat tire.
Shit. I can’t in good conscience not stop and help her. I doubt she even knows how to change a tire.
Turning on my signal, I pull off on the side of the road, parking behind her. She’s wearing what looks like a nursing uniform and her hair is soaked. Reaching in the glove box, I grab two ponchos I keep on hand; you never know when Mother Nature is going to decide to open the floodgates. Working in construction, my supply has come in handy more times than I can count.
Tearing open one package, I slip the poncho over my head. Gripping the one I grabbed for her, I climb out of the truck. She’s watching me, her arms crossed over her chest. I see her car keys sticking out between her fingers as if she’s prepared to use them against me. Smart girl.
“Hi,” I yell over the rain. “Looks like you could use some help.” I hand her the poncho.
She hesitates, but the rain picks up and she relents, slowly reaching out to take the offering. I watch as she quickly unfolds the poncho and slips it over her head.
“I’m Ridge.” I point back to my truck marked with the Beckett Construction logo. “Just left the job site and saw you looked like you could use some help. Do you have a spare?” I ask.
She still looks hesitant; again, I think she’s being smart.
“I’m going to reach into my pocket and grab my wallet,” I warn her. Slowly, I reach around to my back pocket and pull it out. Opening it, I pull out a business card that has my full name and contact information and hand it to her.
The rain continues to beat down, and I will her to decide if she’s going to trust me so we can get this show on the road. I’m already late and can hear Stephanie whining already.
She studies the card, and then ever so slowly lifts her head and smiles warmly. Holding her hand out, she introduces herself. “Dawn Miller. Thank you for stopping. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“I got this.” I wink at her. Even drenched, she’s beautiful, with big blue eyes and long blonde hair. “Pop the truck and get inside the car. There’s no need for both of us standing out here getting wet.”
She waves off my concern. “I’m not going to melt. I couldn’t sit in the car while you were out here, I’d feel guilty. I really do appreciate this, more than you know.”
She pops the trunk and I make quick work of releasing the spare tire and jack. Just as I get the jack set, the rain lets up. I busy myself with taking off the flat tire and quickly replacing it with the donut version. “You’re going to have to get this taken care of. I hope you don’t have far to go. It’s not safe on these wet roads to be driving on this thing.” I point to the smaller tire.
“Not far. I’ll get it taken care of tomorrow,” she promises.
After making sure the lug nuts are tight, I place the flat and tools back in the trunk. “You’re all set,” I tell her, closing the trunk lid.