D. Graham - Put It Out There

“Gee. Thanks.” I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, then swatted his arm. “What’s wrong with wearing make-up?”

“Nothing.” He turned his back to peel back a corner of wallpaper. “You don’ need it, though.”

Oh. Generally speaking, I was more interested in being respected for intelligence, and I didn’t really buy into stereotypical definitions of beauty, but it was a solid compliment coming from a guy who had high standards and only dated stunning women. My self-esteem didn’t hinge on what others thought of me, but I had to admit it felt pretty good to know Trevor thought I was pretty when I was au naturel.

Murphy stepped in through the emergency exit with Trevor’s dad, Jim, following him. Behind them was a line of Search and Rescue guys who had come down for the barbecue, but took a detour to help the fire department volunteers and check out the damage. Jim inspected the ceiling and wood floorboards, then asked the guys to help Trevor pull down strips of the soggy wallpaper.

“Did your room get wet?” Jim asked me.

Shit. I hadn’t even thought to check. I didn’t have a lot of stuff, and almost none of it was expensive. But a few of my dad’s things were irreplaceable. I opened the door slowly and braced for the worst. To my complete relief it was perfectly dry, except for a little water that had seeped under the door seal.

Trevor smiled and winked in his I-told-you-everything-was-going-to-be-okay way. Jim and my granddad met at the end of the hall and discussed what should be done to prevent mold and to check the other pipes. When I heard the fire engines finally arrive outside, I stepped inside my room, closed the door behind me, removed my wet sweater, and hung it on the bathroom door to let it dry. My suede boots were ruined. My mom was going to be choked. I struggled to kick them off, then pushed the sopping skirt over my hips and down my thighs. I managed to inch it only as far as my knees when the door opened.

“Your grandpa wants you to —” Trevor stopped mid-sentence, still holding on to the doorknob. I froze mid-shimmy in an awkward semi-bent-over-knock-kneed stance. He stared at me for a second and grinned. I couldn’t move. Eventually, he blinked and shook his head, as if he were trying to wake himself up. “Sorry. I was. I didn’t know you were changing. Sorry. I should have knocked.” He spun around until his back faced me. “Your grandpa wants you to do damage control with the guests. When you’re finished changing.”

He chuckled before he closed the door behind him. It was hard to tell if it was a Ha ha, you look like such a dork chuckle, an Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed chuckle, or a Wow, Derian’s not a little tomboyish girl anymore chuckle. I glanced down at my worn baby-pink bra and plain white cotton Jockeys. Boring and mismatched. I groaned when I realized it was a Ha ha, you look like such a dork chuckle.

I flopped back on my bed and stared at the ceiling. As I lay there, a much bigger problem than the inadvertent peep show occurred to me. My granddad had asked me in July to mail the cheque to renew the insurance on the Inn. I couldn’t remember doing it. I bolted up, panicked.

After I changed into dry clothes, I rushed to the front desk and rifled through the outgoing mail. The envelope wasn’t there. I was relieved for a second until I remembered I had put it in my bag several weeks earlier to take it to the mailbox. I honestly couldn’t remember actually dropping it into the mailbox, but it wasn’t in my bag either. The company would have contacted us if it hadn’t been received, right? I collected the mail every day and hadn’t noticed any overdue notices. I bit at my fingernails, trying to visualize myself dropping it in the mailbox. I couldn’t remember, so I tried to convince myself I must have mailed it because it wasn’t in my bag, and they hadn’t contacted us. The convincing wasn’t working. My phone buzzed with a text from Sophie:

I heard Trevor and Murphy are having a Search and Rescue Party in Britannia tonight. You better get your ass next door and practice getting your flirt on.

Trevor saw me in my ginch. Too embarrassed to be anywhere near him.

I’m sure he was fine with the free show.

Doubt it. Old bra. Boy shorts. Soaking wet. Possibly see-through.

Wet? WTF?

Pipe burst. Inn flooded. Might have forgotten to renew the insurance for my GD. Can’t remember mailing the cheque. Might be royally screwed. Long story.

I called the insurance company, but they wouldn’t talk to me because my name wasn’t on the policy. After a long, sleepless night, I broke down and told my granddad that I potentially screwed up badly. He called the adjustor in a panic. Fortunately, the company confirmed that the cheque had been received, so I relaxed about everything. Other than the fact that the corporate retreat booking asked for their money back, things seemed to be working out fine.

Trevor’s dad lined up all the different trades to come in to do the repairs and renovations. Most of the plumbers, electricians, and framers were guys who volunteered for him at Search and Rescue. Only the plumbing had been worked on by the end of the week, though, because for the first four days, the industrial fans were set up day and night to dry out everything behind the plaster. I hadn’t really slept much since it happened.

Since the guys all helped with the cleanup after the flood, the barbecue at Trevor’s house had basically turned into a bunch of guys sitting around a bonfire drinking beer and eating hamburgers at midnight. I didn’t go because I would have been the only female and I needed to be up early to make breakfast for the few remaining guests. On the bright side, the flood meant that the meeting with the real-estate agent had to be postponed, indefinitely.

On Saturday, after working a long shift at the front desk while my granddad ran errands, I got dressed in jeans and a white sleeveless top. Sophie had come over on Friday night to help me pick out the outfit and straighten my hair. She was definitely more excited about my pseudo-date with Steve than I was. Nervous was a better word to describe what I was.

At eight o’clock, I grabbed my purse and a cardigan and headed down the hall. The plywood sheets that acted as temporary floorboards bounced under each of my footsteps. When I pushed aside the plastic sheeting Jim had hung to keep the renovation dust contained to the first-floor hallway, I saw Trevor leaning his elbows on the lobby desk, dressed for the party in black jeans, a black T-shirt, and motorcycle boots. He smiled and stood up straight when I walked in. “Hey. Do you need a ride?”

“Uh, Steve is picking me up. Thanks anyway.”

He narrowed his eyes, feigning a parental-type serious lecture face, which was obviously why he came by. “Steve Rawlings—the younger brother of Giselle Rawlings, third-string tennis player, and student council nerd—no offence.”

I shot him an irritated glare to make it clear I wasn’t in the mood for his ribbing, and he could spare me the impending lecture.

“You’ll be happy to know I couldn’t find any dirt on him. I tried, but he’s squeaky clean.”

“You didn’t seriously ask around, did you?”

“Yeah, I did.”

I shoved his shoulder as I walked past him. “You’re not my brother. Stop acting like you are.”

He seemed offended that I didn’t appreciate his surveillance work and his tone changed. “I’m just making sure you’re safe.”

I stopped and spun around. “You’re going to be at the party with us, remember? How much safer can I be?”

He smirked. “Well, unless you want me to tag along on all your dates, he’d better be a nice guy who treats you right.”