Four hours later, I’ve had a total eye-opener. Working side by side with Raiden will do that to you. The man’s a machine. He’s been systematically putting together a subflooring system for the trailer from nothing but whatever he has in his head and the tools on hand. He measured and cut the two-by-four studs to size with a circular saw, then directed me to place them according to an invisible puzzle picture. With a few pencil marks and his simplistic directions delivered without much stutter, I soon got the hang of interpreting what he wants me to do. His ‘puzzle’ lined up perfectly with the trailer’s runner beams where we’ll bolt everything together. Already we have three of the subfloor’s pieces onto the trailer. This is the last one, and if this one slots in, I’m sold.
“R-ready?” he asks.
I go on my haunches and watch him do the same on the other side of the frame that forms the base of the flooring. “Never readier.”
Together we lift it onto the trailer, then push and shove it to slot it into its place between the fenders.
“Left,” Raiden says. “Now d-drop.”
I drop, but it’s stuck.
“More left,” Raiden says. “A little more. More. A little bit. Now closer, to me.”
I glance up at these words as I push at the subflooring frame. He isn’t looking at me and hasn’t realized that he didn’t stutter there. When the piece slides into place, I laugh. This might not be a dog show after all, and for the first time since I had the fight with my mom, I feel a sliver of hope. “We actually did it.” And we didn’t kill each other—yet. Two weeks can be a long time, and deadly.
“Told you so.” Raiden comes to stand next to me as he wipes at his brow.
A car pulling up outside draws my gaze. A dark blue SUV stops, and two women pile out of it. They stride into the barn, and I smile as I recognize them both.
“Raiden!” Brittany is next to him and forces him into a hug.
“And you must be Georgiana,” says the other woman, who had lunch with Hunter earlier today.
“Yes.” I feel dirty next to her, still dressed in her corporate suit and heels. It’s been hot today, and I have a sticky sheen of sweat and sawdust on my skin.
“Rachel Brodie,” she says with a smile, then gestures at Raiden. “This man’s cousin and ass whipper. In a good way of course, since we’re more like brother and sister than cousins.”
“We came to see the progress,” Britt chips in, her eyes not leaving Raiden’s face as he widens the gap between us all.
“Not much. Better than nothing.” Raiden waves his hand at our handiwork. “Frame up by the end of the week, for s-sure.”
“I hope so. It looks too flat at the moment,” Rachel jokes. She turns to look at me. “You done here? We thought we’d grab you for welcome drinks at Sharky’s.”
I’m exhausted and not up for any type of party. “I’m really—”
“You can’t say no,” Britt says. “Tuesdays at Sharky’s is Ladies’ night. Drinks are half price, women only. You’ve got no choice.”
I raise my brows at this. With the aura of determination hanging over these two women, there’s no getting out of this. “Okay,” I say and glance at Raiden, wanting to get the go-ahead since he might be on probation, but he’s still the boss, and we still need to clean up here and make sure we’re ready for tomorrow.
He nods. “I’ve got this.”
It’s almost six-thirty and the sun’s still high. I haven’t finished the drawings, and I need to wrap them up sooner rather than later. But it’s only a tiny house and shouldn’t take forever. After the last few days, I could do with a drink. I would’ve preferred it to be with Mel, but she’s in Miami and I’ll give her a call once I’m back at the boathouse.
“I’m not dressed to go out.” I’d love to take a shower first and ditch the work boots.
“We’re all in work clothes, and the Ladies’ night special only runs until seven in tourist season, so we’d better get going.”
I laugh. There are some thirsty women in Ashleigh Lake, and Sharky’s doesn’t sound like some fancy bar on Miami’s South Beach, so I should be good. “Okay, I’ll follow in my car.”
As I leave Britt and Rachel, Raiden’s gaze burns on my back. Maybe it’s good to get out and have time away from him. This day was loaded and to see him at home too would be intense, especially since our last interaction there was with him half-naked and my hand making a print with the water drops on his chest.
I follow Rachel and Britt to Ashleigh Lake and park behind them on a side road. They lead the way to an old, clapboard house on the water’s edge that has a massive deck and tables with red umbrellas.
“This is the local hangout,” Britt says as we head for the front door. “In the summer, the tourists take over, but we always get the best service because we come here all year round.”
People are spilling out onto the sidewalk, and from the bit of patio I spotted on the walk here, it’s overflowing. We walk into the darker, cool interior of the bar and inside dining area. It’s buzzing.
“This place is legendary,” Rachel says over the noise. “It’s been here for over fifty years and is still going strong. There’re pool tables upstairs and another bar. The only real competition is the Ashleigh Lake Inn, but that’s too fancy for the average local.”