Ann Aguirre - As Long As You Love Me

“You like it?” he asked.

“Definitely, it’s great.” There were no drawers, only a lower shelf, but Rob didn’t have much clutter. The bookshelf held only a few magazines, along with a handful of change, receipts, bits and bobs he must’ve pulled out of his pockets.

His smile twisted me up. “That was the first thing I ever made. The bed’s mine, too. I put it together from salvage.”

Startled, I took a closer look; it was a slatted headboard, stained dark, attached to an impressive platform bed. But on closer inspection, I could see how he’d taken two railroad ties and covered them with plywood. Ingenious, really.

“Wow, you could seriously design furniture.”

“That’s the dream.” But he didn’t sound like he believed anyone would pay him for it. I totally would, though. It was solid and beautiful, just like Rob.

“How much to build me a bed like yours?”

I’d surprised him in the middle of a swig of beer. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, how much? My mom and I were just talking about redecorating my room.” We hadn’t mentioned a new bed, but it was my money.

“Twin or full?”

“Twin.” A pang of chagrin went through me because that was a kid’s bed, but I couldn’t afford a bigger one and a new mattress. At this rate he’d always see me as a little girl.

“A hundred bucks.”

I frowned at him. “That sounds low.”

Which he met with a melting smile. “You’re getting the friends-and-family discount...and hey, you’re giving me the satisfaction of serving my first customer.”

Somehow I didn’t flirt, didn’t say any of the cute things trembling on the tip my tongue. He has a girlfriend. That means he’s off-limits.

Rob building my bed was likely the closest I’d ever come to having him in it.

CHAPTER THREE

Monday, I saddled up the wild interwebs and sent my résumé to a dozen places.

I didn’t have high hopes for a day job, given my car situation, but it would drive me nuts to sit around waiting for summer session to start. I’d already decided against typical college enrollment. I hated sitting through lectures for many reasons, so University of Nebraska online fit the bill. I planned to apply for their information assurance program, transferring my general studies credits, so I needed the concentration courses...and maybe a few electives, depending on how things shook out. Their site promised that I could transfer up to sixty-four hours from Mount Albion, which was more than half of the 120-hour degree. Going part-time, it would take me three years or so to finish up, but it would be worth it, especially if I landed a job that let me stay in Sharon.

That took all of an hour. This chilly morning, my mom was at work, and I had no car. Buying one was a pipe dream, at least until I could afford gas and insurance. When Nadia was around, I never worried about it; in high school, I called her whenever I needed a ride, and it was the same in Michigan. My heart twisted when I thought about how sad she had been to learn I hated college, but the longer we went to Mount Albion, the clearer it became to me that it was her dream, not mine, and I was going through the motions. The more my grades dropped and dropped, the more I drank and partied, trying to hide my unhappiness.

Until I couldn’t anymore.

I had just over five hundred bucks in my checking account because I’d just deposited my last paycheck, but I owed half to my former roommate, Angus, in return for buying my plane ticket home. In a burst of financial genius, I’d promised another hundred to Rob to build me a bed. That left me relatively little to survive on until I found a job. The humiliation would kill me if my mom tried to give me an allowance. Though I was happy to be back in Sharon, sometimes it was hard to shrug off the stares and speculation.

With a faint sigh, I wrote out a check to Angus Starr. I’d often teased him that he totally had a porn star name. I miss you, dude. I wondered how my three former roomies were doing; they were all I missed about Michigan. I smooched the stamp when I stuck it on the envelope, then I wrote a card to go along with repayment. While Angus had a fat enough bank account not to miss a couple hundred bucks, I didn’t enjoy mooching off my friends. Sadly, walking out to the mailbox and raising the flag took care of my to-do list for the day.

I huddled deeper in my down jacket, turning back toward the house. Except a red truck slowed, then pulled into our gravel drive. I recognized Rob right away; I just had no idea what he was doing here at two on a Monday. The sky sputtered snow that drifted down in light, delicate flakes. If the ground wasn’t already frozen, this wouldn’t stick.

“I brought some stain samples,” he said in lieu of greeting.

Ah, so this was about the bed. “You should probably bring them inside. It’s really cold.”

“Thanks.” He followed me into the house while I tried to figure out how bad I looked on a scale of one to ten. Definitely better than when we ran in to each other at the Safeway, nowhere near as good as Saturday night.

Then I dismissed the question as absurd. “Do you want some coffee?”

“Sure, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“Not at all.”

After dumping the old stuff my mom made this morning, I brewed a fresh pot, then poured him a cup. He laid some small boards on the table, touching and naming each in turn. “Oak, pine, mahogany, maple, red chestnut, cherry, walnut.”

“The red chestnut is beautiful.”

“Okay.” Rob put away the samples and took a sip of his coffee, relaxing into his chair with a pleased expression.

“We might have some cake, too, if you want.”

“Like I’d say no to cake.”

I took that as an invitation to rummage in the fridge and I came out with a couple of slices of German chocolate, which was my absolute favorite. My mom made it a few days ago in honor of me moving back in. I should probably be ashamed that there were only two pieces left. Mentally I shrugged and served him on the good plates.

“How come you aren’t at work? I know why I’m not.” I pointed at myself and whispered, “Unemployed,” like it was a curse word.

“I don’t do a lot in the winter,” he said, seeming surprised. “Spring and summer are better for construction, and I have to make my money last the whole year. I’m...not awesome at it.”

Hmm. Rob wasn’t the first person I’d known to struggle with that, but most of my friends were like, Whee, there goes my textbook money, while ordering another round of shots.

“You just need to divide your total income by twelve and work out how much you can spend monthly. It helps if you track expenditures and figure out where your disposable income goes. I could put together a spreadsheet.”

“That sounds complicated.”

Not to a computer girl. In my secret nerdy heart, I loved spreadsheets, pie charts, line graphs and all kinds of numbers. Once I made up a sex flow chart of everyone I’d slept with, and their partners that I knew of but that started to get weird, so I deleted the file. I’d be taking that secret to my grave.

“I don’t mind helping,” I said, mostly because I didn’t want to admit it would be easy, at least not with Rob looking like I’d confessed to speaking ancient Greek.

“What would you need?”

“Bank statements, basically. And you’d have to help me classify your expenses.”

“If you do that, I can’t let you pay for the bed.”

Oh, look, an excuse to spend hours with Rob. High School Me shouted in elation, but she also bitched about what a stupid reason it was to hang out with him. There was nothing sexy about formulating a monthly budget.

“Then a trade definitely benefits me.”