Labor of Love Read online

  He glanced over at me. “Yeah, she’s fine. There are two girls, actually. They’re with their mom.”

  “How old are they?” I asked.

  “Four and six, I think.”

  “I guess they have new dolls now.”

  “Yeah, but little girls can never have too many, right?”

  I smiled at him, wondering how he knew what I was thinking. “Right. If I bought something for them, would you be able to get it to them?”

  “You could give it to them yourself. When we’re finished, we’ll welcome them home. You’ll get to meet them then.”

  “Oh, cool.”

  I hadn’t realized we’d be doing that. I went back to work, picking things up. I was carefully placing the remains of a clay jar in the wheelbarrow when I heard, “Smile!”

  I looked up. Jenna snapped a picture and then laughed.

  “You look like someone doing something she shouldn’t,” she said. “Let’s try this again.”

  “Why do you need a picture? I’m all scruffy looking.”

  “For one—my MySpace page. But I also want to send a pic to your mom so she can see you’re hard at work and it’ll calm her worries. So smile.”

  “I’m wearing a mask. You can’t even see my mouth.”

  “So smile, anyway.”

  Smiling while picking up trash was kind of like those people who smiled in commercials selling exercise machines. It wasn’t natural. Still, I pulled down my mask, gave a big fake smile, and a huge thumbs-up.

  “That’ll do it,” Jenna said. “I’m going to see what else I can document.”

  She walked away. I pulled up my mask and returned to my task. I was reaching down, wrapping my hands around what looked to be a massive table leg attached to a small section of dining table, when I heard a deep voice I recognized say, “Need help with that?”

  I jerked up, stepped back. My foot landed on an old board that wobbled. I teetered and would have fallen, except strong hands wrapped around my arms, steadying me.

  “Careful,” Brady said in a voice that fell between concerned and amused.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  He was wearing sunglasses so I couldn’t read his eyes. Some sort of white powder was sprinkled over his burgundy T-shirt. Maybe that’s his flaw, I thought. Maybe he does drugs.

  And how had he even realized it was me, with all my gear on? Had he noticed me when I’d posed for the camera?

  “I told you yesterday. I came to volunteer,” he said.

  “But this site?”

  He shrugged. “It’s where they sent me.”

  “So you’re into snow?” Wasn’t that what they called it? Or was it blow?

  “Love snow. Went skiing over spring break.”

  “I was referring to the powder.” I pointed to his chest, trying not to remember how nice it had looked last night without a shirt covering it.

  Glancing down, he started dusting off his shirt. “Oh, that. Powdered sugar. We went to Café Du Monde for beignets. Place was packed. It’s the reason we’re late.” He looked up. “You thought it was drugs?”

  I felt so silly. Talking to him through the mask. Looking at him through the goggles. Accusing him of dumb stuff.

  “I was teasing.”

  And if you believe that, I have some swampland I could sell you.

  He grinned, like he knew I was out of control, but he was willing to tolerate it.

  “You eaten there yet?” he asked, taking the conversation back to his breakfast.

  “No.”

  “It’s a must-do.”

  “They feed us breakfast in the dorm.”

  “Doesn’t mean you have to eat there.”

  Why was I discouraging a hot guy from showing interest in me?

  And why was he interested in me?

  Why not?

  I felt like the before-Drew me and the after-Drew me were on the debate team. And doing a pretty lousy job at substantiating arguments.

  “Are you staying at the dorm?” I asked. It would be totally weird if he was, that everything—fate, the dating gods, whatever—was putting him in my path.

  “Nah, we’ve got some cheap rooms in a small hotel in the French Quarter. Tank knew some people who knew some people.” He shrugged.

  “Is he in charge of your group?”

  “We’re not official, not really organized. As a matter of fact, very unorganized. Tank asked if I wanted to come to New Orleans for the summer and do some volunteer work, said he’d secured some beds, and since I had nothing better to do—here I am.” He made a grand sweeping gesture. “At your service. So let me help you with this.”

  “But you’re not geared up.”

  “I’ll gear up in a minute. Let’s get this done.”

  Squatting, he grabbed the end of the table leg that was still attached to part of the table.

  I bent over—

  “It’s better for your back if you use your legs to lift stuff,” he said.

  “My toes don’t hold things well.”

  He laughed. “Funny. You grab with your hands, but lift with your legs. See?”

  He demonstrated, his legs doing a smooth pumping action, like a piston. He had really nice thighs. Even covered in jeans, they looked firm. Very firm.

  “So, you’re what? A lifting coach?” I asked.

  “Nah. I worked for an overnight package deliverer over winter break. Had to watch safety videos.” He shifted the table leg so he was able to carry it by himself and drop it in the wheelbarrow.

  It was only then that I noticed Tank and Jenna working together to remove a screen from a window. How it had managed to remain attached, I couldn’t imagine. Most were gone, or hanging lopsided.

  “Where’s Amber?” I called out to Jenna.

  “She went to talk to Sara/Saraphina. I think she wants another psychic reading.”

  “Now?” I asked.

  Jenna shrugged as she walked over to me. “She’s still bummed about what Saraphina told her yesterday.”

  “You had a psychic reading?” Brady asked.

  Now it was my turn to shrug. “It’s like eating at Café Du Monde. Something you have to do when you’re in New Orleans.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “Nothing that made any sense. Do you believe in that sort of thing?”

  “Not really.” He reached down, picked up a brick, and dropped it in the wheelbarrow.

  Apparently, I had a new partner for the day—whether I wanted him or not.

  Chapter 8

  “Okay, so her real name is Sara, and Saraphina is, like, her stage name or something. She said it all has to do with marketing,” Amber said.

  It was a little past noon, and we were all sitting on the curb, eating deli sandwiches called po’boys that one of the local eateries had sent over. Apparently some of the restaurants provided food for the volunteers, which made it really nice on our budgets. It also gave us such a sense of being appreciated—not that we were doing any of this for kudos, but still, it was nice.

  “So, did she give you another reading?” I asked.

  “No. She doesn’t give freebies, and she doesn’t do readings when she’s outside the shop. She’s just a normal person today—or as normal as she can be with two different colored eyes, but whatever. She said I’m trying too hard to interpret what she saw. I don’t know how I can not interpret”—she darted a quick glance at Sean, who was attacking his ham sandwich—“what she told me.”

  I wondered if she thought that since Sean was in college, he had the potential to be the better love.

  “It’s not like psychic-ism—or whatever you call it—is an exact science,” I reassured Amber. “She puts a thought in your mind and then when something similar—”

  “Similar? Red Kansas City Chiefs hat is pretty specific,” she interrupted.

  “What?” Brady asked, taking off his cap and looking at the logo on the front, like he was trying to confirm that it was there.

  Befo