“Uncle Bill is going all out,” Hunter says with a grin.
“Yep.” I shouldn’t have accepted the offer, knowing what a sacrifice it was for them, but I couldn’t say no. If Uncle Bill didn’t want me there, he wouldn’t have offered. Bottom line: I can’t mess this up. I can’t disappoint. If I get this right, maybe, after thirteen years, the folks of Ashleigh Lake won’t mind having me back in town.
“Aunt May would love to have you home again for a bit. A few weekends here and there and two days over Christmas for the past thirteen years hardly cut it, Raiden.”
I can’t look into his eyes. I’ve been missed here at home but being in Ashleigh Lake always unearths memories I’d rather keep buried. Just driving into town is a walk down the memory lane of my misdemeanors: some, innocent pranks gone wrong; others, things that went wrong that weren’t pranks at all. “I’m not staying with Uncle Bill and Aunt May in the farmhouse. I’ll camp out in the boathouse. With Liam and Ethan’s renovations and add-ons, it’s a pretty decent place. And since neither of them is here for the summer, it’s available. I checked.” Everything is falling into place so perfectly, it’s as if the universe had a hand in all of this.
“The boathouse? That’s the accommodation you’re offering your intern?” Hunter asks with a frown.
“Yeah. Nothing wrong with it, is there?”
“You’ll be sharing?”
“Why not? There’re two bedrooms, a bathroom, eat-in kitchen, living room, massive firepit and grill outside. What more can a guy ask for?”
“A guy can’t ask for much more, but—”
“See? Plus, it will be good for teambuilding.”
Hunter’s phone rings and he glances at it. “Let’s hope you’re going to get along then.”
With a dry chuckle, he picks up the call. He shakes his mouse to light up his computer screen as he talks to whoever is on the line, but soon he’s standing and peering through the glass wall that gives a bird’s-eye view over the organic dairy and ice cream factory he owns. A few people dressed in white coveralls, rubber boots and haircaps mill around a medium-sized stainless-steel tank. Another man stares up at Hunter, making a hand signal.
“Yes, yes, give me a minute and I’ll come check.” Hunter hangs up and I look up at him. “There’s an issue with a mixer. I won’t be longer than half an hour, I hope. I know you’re not a fan of reading but read those résumés in the meantime.”
I nod and pull the stack of papers closer and flip through it. “To summarize: we’ve narrowed it down to Matt from Burlington, Steve from Boston, and George from Miami.”
“Yes, but read those résumés before you decide who you’re going to be spending the summer with twenty-four/seven.”
Hunter’s gaze laser-burns into my head, as if he can get in there, take control of whoever runs the show and make me do things.
“I’ll look at them.” Promising to read them back-to-back would be going too far. I admitted I needed help with this, a simple ask that would be a small step for anybody else, but for me, it was like taking a leap from one continent to another.
“Raiden.” Hunter manages to slip a world-weary sigh into my name. “This is a big deal for you. I’m not making any final decisions on your intern.”
“Yeah, I know.” And fair enough, he’s not the one who’ll be spending six weeks with a stranger building a tiny house from scratch. Any of my friends at Cash McGraw’s construction company would have loved to help me out, but most of them have kids and can’t give up their pay for what I can offer within the budget of the competition.
As it is, I’m offering accommodation in lieu of pay to cut costs from the budget and have more money to spend on the tiny house’s interior. An intern with just enough experience is about all I can get away with, and those aren’t readily available in Ashleigh Lake. All the local kids have their summer jobs lined up and secured months in advance. I had to advertise the position, and that’s where Hunter stepped in to help.
There’s no telling whether this faulty machine will only take half an hour to fix, and I still need to tackle the four-hour drive back to Boston today. I stand and reach to shake his hand. “Thank you for all the hard work with this.”
Hunter holds on to my hand a second too long. “You know, Raiden, Mom would have figured it out. Dad would have figured it out. Between them someone would have figured it out in time to have made a difference.”
I don’t want to go there. Not now, not here. Not when it took me two years to build up the courage to do something for me and change the trajectory of my life. The fact that I’ve come this far is a miracle. “Probably. It’s water under the bridge. Don’t beat yourself up over it.” I grip the papers in my hand a tad too tight. “Only… k-keep it to yourself, I don’t want it blasted across town. I–I…let me tell people on my own terms. In my own time.” And only when absolutely necessary.
Hunter nods. “Okay. If this takes longer, leave the résumé you’ve chosen with Britt. We’ll sort out the rest.”
“Thanks, I owe you.”
“It’s nothing.” He smiles and strides out of his office.
I’m standing there, clutching a fistful of paper. For a while, I look through the glass wall to the factory below and my brother’s evident success; then, with a sigh, I sit down and split the stack into the three options. I stare at the résumés. Each comes with a cover letter on the first page. So many paragraphs. Solid blocks of black and only thin slits of white. I lean in, taking a deep fortifying breath, with the full intention of going through them line by line. My eyes focus and jump. The letters aren’t exactly doing a line dance. They’re more like a scramble of ants whose nest has been disturbed.
I slump back in my chair and press my thumb and fingertips to my closed eyes and give them a gentle rub. I’m too tired to do this now. At work we’ve been pressed to finish two new-builds in time for summer. I’ve been working three weekends in a row now, often fourteen-hour days.
After hours, I’ve been doing detailed work on my tiny house’s model, only to wake up at dawn with squashed polymer clay still stuck to my fingers. I’m falling asleep on my freaking sofa and haven’t been getting enough shut-eye with the additional planning, stress, and excitement of this tiny house competition. Hunter doesn’t know this, but if he did, he would never push me to read these résumés.
I revert to an old trick to fool my brain and read the papers from the back to the front, mostly catching only keywords. The three read mostly the same with small variations in experience. When I come to the first page and cover letter my brain just goes Now that ain’t gonna happen and I skip reading those.