Nine

Seth

 

Luckily for his bank account, the flyers Seth had posted were beginning to pay off. It had been a couple of weeks since he had first posted them around town, and people were starting to email. After one no-show asshole (Seth had even called again to confirm the evening before), his first actual appointment was easy. Mrs. Anderson, one of his friend Micah’s neighbors, needed her front yard refreshed. She was too frail to do the work herself any longer but missed the annuals she’d cheered herself up with over the years.

They met at her home and set a date for Seth to pick her up so they could go the nursery together and pick out the exact plants she needed. Mrs. Anderson seemed a little lonely, and Seth looked forward to spending time with her. He knew she wouldn’t be able to stay inside while he worked on her flower beds.

“Will, Mr. Anderson, passed away three years ago,” she said when she saw him glance toward the photograph on the mantel. It was a black-and-white wedding picture from the late fifties, if the dress was any indication.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It’s part of life, but I would be lying if I told you I didn’t miss him every day.”

“My aunt, who raised me, died a few years ago. I still miss her.” Sometimes it was almost unbearable. He figured it was because she had been the one certainty in his life, and when she died he had no one to act as his center. The grief had dulled but hadn’t disappeared. He supposed it never would. Marnie wouldn’t want him to grieve so hard, but he couldn’t help it. Missing her felt like a splinter he couldn’t quite remove; a little of it was left behind to fester.

Mrs. Anderson was very astute; she cocked her head at him. “Is your aunt the one who taught you to garden?”

“She was.” He smiled. Marnie had brought home several packets of seeds. Together they had planted them in tiny pots, watered them, and waited for the first seedlings to poke through the soil. She had taught him how to water, to gently separate the plants. Seth hadn’t wanted to go to school, worried that something would happen to the seedlings while he was gone.

“What a wonderful way to honor her memory.”

As he was leaving, she tried to give him a check, but he refused to take any money until the work was done. As he drove away he set an internal note to ask Micah who else, if anyone, spent time with her.

His second—or third, depending on how he was counting—appointment of the day was outside of town. A little farther than he would like, but he couldn’t complain when he needed the work. So here he was out in the east county following his GPS to gods knew where. Finally, the female voice directed him to take a right, and Seth parked in the driveway of a slightly disheveled mid-century two-story home with an unkempt yard. Seth’s mental hands were rubbing together with excitement; this kind of yard was a blank slate and a moneymaker. He grabbed his notebook and headed for the door.

A youngish guy met him on the porch. “Hi, you must be Seth. I’m Greg. Would you like something to drink?” Greg was cute: big brown eyes, stick-straight brown hair longer on one side and currently tucked behind his ear. Seth would have had a pretty good idea which team he played for even if he hadn’t been wearing a pink T-shirt with PRIDE imprinted in huge letters on the chest.

“No, thanks, I’m excited to take a look at your yard. Take me on a walk.”

“Cool.” Greg shut the door behind himself and motioned for Seth to follow him.

They walked around the property, a great deal of which was covered with invasive blackberry; they found two rhododendron bushes Greg hadn’t known about and generally got an idea of what it would take to clear it out.

“So, you think you can pound it into shape?”

Seth shook his head and smiled. Did the guy have these lines written up beforehand? He quickly sketched out a map of Greg’s yard and added some notes so he wouldn’t forget. “I think so. How about I send you an estimate with three levels of work, and then we talk again.” He looked up from his notepad, smiling at Greg’s appraising glance.

“Still nothing to drink? I’ve got iced tea or beer.” Definitely a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

Seth thought about it for a second, but Sacha, with his salt-and-pepper hair, broad shoulders, and wary eyes popped into his head. No, he thought better of a quick afternoon delight with a stranger and possible client. Ethics and all that. “I better not; I have one more appointment waiting. No rest for the wicked.”

By the next day he had two possible jobs—but he was pretty sure about Greg—and one potential customer trying to get work done for free. Seth valued himself more than that. No amount of hinting that she would “spread the word” had him offering several days of free labor. Next on his list was a visit to the Warrick building: if the coffee date wasn’t going to come to him, he would take himself and coffee to Sacha.

 

Pushing open the door of the Booking Room, he half-waved to a few regulars he recognized. Thankfully Ed Schultz wasn’t there, or he would have been stuck gossiping for hours.

“Hey, Sara.” Sara, Ed’s daughter, owned the place. As usual she was behind the counter making the world turn, churning out coffees and plating pastries.

There was a new kid behind the cash register. Sara tended to hire lost souls, and Seth wondered where she had found this adorable limpet. He couldn’t be more than eighteen, with jet-black hair that hung across one eye and porcelain skin goths would kill for. His eyes were a striking ice blue with a darker ring around the iris, set in an elfin face. The name tag hanging from his apron said “Rich.”

“Hi, Seth. How’s it going? What can we get you? Why don’t you take this one, Rich?” She indicated Rich, who seemingly turned to stone at the request, his mouth opening and closing before he was able to reply.

“Um, hi. How can I help you?” Rich managed to ask.

“Don’t worry, Seth doesn’t bite.” She looked at Seth. “Rich had an encounter with Mrs. Behn, and before that Jack Summers was in here with one of his sycophants.”

Seth nodded in sympathy. Mrs. Behn was very particular about her pastries and the temperature of her coffee. She always repeated her orders to the staff several times, louder with each repetition, as if they were deaf. No matter that she always ordered the same thing and everyone had it memorized. Seth had seen her in action several times. Ed told him she had been a teacher for forty years, and that explained everything. As for Jack Summers, he was SkPD and unfortunately believed the world revolved around him.

Ten minutes later, Seth left with a bag of mouthwatering pastries and his thermos full of coffee. Let Operation Drop In Unannounced commence. He’d given Sacha a week to call for a coffee date, but who knew, maybe he hated texting or using the phone. Or was shy, but Seth didn’t think that was it. It was time for a direct approach. Seth didn’t want to come across as a stalker, but his curiosity had been piqued.

As he parked, the door of the Warrick opened and a blond man in a gray suit exited the building. Seth narrowed his eyes. Who was this guy? Seth had first dibs. Stopping short outside the entrance, the stranger turned back and frowned. Seth was pretty sure it wasn’t the building he was frustrated with. After a moment, the man shook his head and walked up the block.

From where he was parked, Seth could see Sacha’s shadow moving around inside. Sometime in the past week Sacha’d pulled much of the façade away from the first floor. Three enormous windows were now exposed, extending almost from floor to ceiling on the first floor.

The windowpanes were opaque from years of built-up soot and dust, but Seth could see where Sacha had managed to crack one of them open a little. The revealed granite of the original fascia was grimy from being stuck behind cheap veneer for so many years, but damn, the Warrick would be extraordinary when it was finished.

“Hey, you found the windows. I can’t believe someone covered them up like that.”

Sacha didn’t seem surprised to see him, offering a small smile before stepping back so Seth could come in. Seth wondered how often Sacha smiled, if it was something he wasn’t used to. “Spent all night doing it. It’s probably a good thing I don’t have any neighbors,” he grumbled.

Sacha looked exhausted, worn thin. There were bags under his eyes, and it was obvious he hadn’t shaved; his stubble had more salt and pepper than his hair and was sexy as hell. Seth wanted to run his fingers across it—was it soft, or rough? Not that it mattered; either way, Sacha was a living, breathing fantasy come true. His height, breadth of shoulders, muscles that weren’t from a gym. A little older than Seth, for sure, and that was icing on the cake. Or maybe Danish.

“It’s good to see you. What brings you by?”

Seth held up the bag, shaking it a little. “I brought treats.” He didn’t imagine the charge of attraction; it was practically a living thing, a downed electrical wire sparking between them, waiting for one of them to make a move.