Jo
We’re out in the garage again after lunch, because yeah, Jamie’s got a deadline for his packaging and prepping, but I’ve got my laptop so I can click through pictures of a model apartment. “It’s not overlooking the water,” Jamie tells me, and his apologetic tone is at odds with his grin. “They didn’t have any of those open, so I didn’t have to wonder if it’d be worth it.”
Obviously he knew it was a risk, but he also already pointed out that he picked an apartment, not a house. I could check out the other apartment layouts and decide I’d rather have a different one, or I can focus on the fact that my boyfriend kind of already solved my there’s not enough time to make a decision problem. “I don’t have a view of the lake right now, anyway, so you’d just be spoiling me.”
He looks up and his grin broadens, because yeah, he’s already spoiling me.
It’s just such a freaking relief. That’s one big question answered, and even if I can’t offload my downstate apartment right away—they always go fast in Traverse City, so I’m not expecting it to take long—I have some leeway to figure out my next employment step. Maybe I don’t want to put in an application at Babycakes and turn that into work, but there are plenty of other coffee shops around here that aren’t already my fun spots. That makes us into some sort of sitcom couple, the barista and the food truck guy, but I’ve done it before, and I know I like it. There are plenty of other options, but at least that one’s solid.
Oh my God, Jamie got me an apartment. He’s not the only one who can’t stop smiling.
I have time. I do need to figure out a few things—how to get a bed into the new apartment, for example, when mine’s downstate and I won’t be able to get it until my sub-letter moves out, which is after the new apartment opens up, or if it’s just less of a hassle to buy a new bed or even long-term rent one—but those are minor details. If worse comes to worst, I’m sure someone has an air mattress I can borrow. I won’t end up spending the night at Helen’s. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if I did, even if the expectation was that I took the guest room, but it’s the sort of thing I feel like she’d mark on one side of the paper and then, somehow, I’d never quite be able to make it up to her.
I take one more look at the apartment photos and close my laptop, setting it aside. “Okay. I can be helpful now.”
Jamie’s grin turns teasing. “Oh, can you?”
“Sure. Do you want me to get my hands all over your meat or your buns?” I ask sweetly.
He sighs and tells me I can start on the coleslaw.
It’s Jamie’s garage, Jamie’s workspace, so there’s no music. He doesn’t have a Bluetooth speaker or even headphones. I could grab mine, or open my laptop again and sacrifice sound quality, but that would feel like an intrusion. Jamie’s quiet is peaceful, not oppressive, and I guess I’m learning to see it that way.
Jamie’s behind schedule, at least based on previous Fridays, but with the two of us we’ll get everything done in time. Ricky or Chase will pick up today’s order and take it to the restaurant before game night, and we’ll get everything else packaged and stored so he—or I guess we—can transfer it to the food truck before the farmer’s market tomorrow.
It’s kind of weird that all his equipment is out here in the garage instead of inside, but there’s not really room in the house kitchen for a chest fridge and all the rest. The garage is at least on the same level as the food truck, so there’s no carrying things up and down stairs, and it’s large and heated. And clean, of course, considering. After PrideFest he found and took care of the hole that let in the squirrels or whatever they were, and he sanitizes things before and after. Honestly it’s a cushy setup, and there’s no way Jamie could live in an apartment because he’d lose this space. Maybe I’ve got an apartment now, but he needs Helen’s garage and her back porch and her driveway to keep up the food truck business. Did Allan and Shane think of that, or were they short-sighted enough to assume all he needed was the truck itself?
Honestly our timing is perfect. We’re just cleaning up when Ricky pulls in, and he gives us a wave but starts to head for the house. “She’s not here,” Jamie tells him with a little shrug, because of course Helen’s car is still in the driveway. There’s no sign that she’s gone.
Ricky pauses, cocking his head. “Left early for bridge?”
“Gone for the weekend.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Allan.”
Apparently that’s enough of an explanation, because Ricky turns toward us. “Nonstop sexy party, then?”
I snort. “Surprise family all weekend. My parents are up.”
He tilts his head. “I did wonder why you made it for four.”
The Rusty Barrel doesn’t actually do reservations. Most people can call ahead the day of if they want to, but since Jamie’s instrumental in so much of their menu, he gets special treatment.
Ricky can’t linger, since he needs to get the order down to the restaurant, but I’m sure we’ll hear more later. For now, though, Jamie closes up the garage and we head inside. He goes to the kitchen and the normal-sized freezer and holds up one thing of spring rolls and one of mozzarella sticks, silently asking which one he should heat up for tonight.
Have I had a single vegetable yet today? I point to the spring rolls.
“Ah, yes, the healthy choice,” he muses, turning to put the mozzarella sticks back. “Do you want to run your backpack upstairs?”
I think he means so it’s out of the way for everyone’s shoes, but it’s also going to be the first Friday where I don’t have a backpack here. Well, I suppose it’s also the first time I’ve parked in his driveway instead of across the street, so I can leave when I’m tired and nobody blocks me in. We’re totally already broadcasting that I’m spending the night. I go over to him first, though, so I can kiss his cheek, and he frowns a little, half teasing, and pulls me in to kiss me on the lips.
Chapter Forty – coming November 9
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