“Thanks for lunch,” Roman said.
“Roman!” Constance called out, holding up his money. “You know you don’t have to pay,” she said.
“’Course I do,” he said from the front door just before he stepped through it. “You cooked it and fed me. It’s only right that I pay. I’ll see ya’ll later,” he said, and flashed her a smile.
Constance turned around and looked at Richie. “I tell you, that boy has more morals and more values than just about any I’ve ever met. He’s a good person — heart and soul.”
“Yep, he sure is,” Richie agreed.
Roman walked back toward the trailer park and went straight to Lucas’s home. He knocked and waited a few minutes until Lucas finally answered the door with a beer in his hand. “Hey,” Lucas greeted.
“Hey. You gonna need the truck for a while?” he asked.
“No, man. You go ahead and take it. I don’t have anywhere to be and Richie’s working. It’s yours,” Lucas answered.
“Alright. If you need it before I come back, call and I’ll cut my trip short,” Roman said.
“No problem,” Lucas answered, before closing the door and going back inside his house.
Roman walked over to the work truck they all shared and got inside. He started the engine and turned the truck toward Travis’s house. Travis had been his friend long before he’d joined Riley’s Pride. And if Travis was under the gun from a deadline to have his place ready for Christmas tree buying people by the weekend, Roman was going to help. Besides, it would keep his mind off Talie, or so he hoped.
Chapter 10
Travis took his safety goggles off and hung them on the peg beside the table his scroll saw sat on. He looked around his work shop and smiled to himself. It was filled with wooden cutouts, and paints, and Christmas lights. It looked busy, and alive — which was exactly the way he felt. It’d been a long time since he’d felt alive. Taking off his leather gloves and laying them on the table, he turned and made his way out of the work shop, heading toward the house to see what Libby had put together for lunch.
Travis opened the front door and stepped inside his home. The smell of beef hit him. His nostrils flared as he took in the deep, rich scent of brown gravy, too. “Smells wonderful!” he called out.
Libby’s voice answered him from the kitchen. “Thanks! I made hamburger steaks, fries and brown gravy.”
“Oh, man. I cannot wait to sink my teeth into that,” Travis said.
“Get washed up and by the time you’re done, it’ll be on the table waiting for you,” Libby said.
Libby served their meals and set their plates on Travis’s table, then filled both their glasses with sweet tea before placing napkins and silverware beside their meals. She was finishing up when Travis came back into the living room.
“Thank you for lunch, Libby. I’d have been happy with a simple sandwich. Thanks for making a hot meal instead,” Travis said.
“You’re welcome. It’s cold out. You need a hot meal in you,” she answered, taking her seat and waiting for Travis to sit down.
She watched as Travis eased himself into his chair, doing his best to hide a grimace that crossed his face as he bent his bad leg.
Travis took a deep breath, and wasn’t even aware that he’d reached down to massage his thigh in an effort to release the usually clenched muscles there. He reached for his fork and dug in. The first bite had him raising his eyes to Libby’s. “Oh my god. This is the best thing I’ve eaten since…” he paused, trying to think of the last thing he’d eaten that was on this level, “well, since the last time you cooked for me.”
“That’s been a while,” Libby said, smiling at Travis.
“It has. Too long,” Travis said, taking another bite and chewing appreciatively.
“You can make this, or anything else you want to make, anytime you feel like it. I will always be appreciative,” he said, grinning around another mouthful.
“Hint taken,” Libby said, laughing.
“So, how much more do we have left to do?” she asked.
“Well, I think I’ve got everything cut out. Everything on your table has been finished and is ready to paint. The other items still on my work table need to be sanded, and I need to drill a hole in them for the kids to put a ribbon through when they paint them. We need to assemble the arch and the candy canes on either side of it, and we need to go out and shape the trees, taking off any really low hanging branches for use at the wreath making station.”
“Okay, I’ll cut the ribbons for the ornaments. They’re all going to be the same length, and when someone pays to be able to paint an ornament, we give them a ribbon to string through the hole at the top. It’ll let us know it’s been paid for. I have to cut the orange twine, too. That’ll be attached to the back of the wreath for hanging. And it will let us know the same thing as people leave, they’ve paid for making the wreath. I think we should leave the wide decorative ribbons for the wreaths intact, though. That way whoever is making a wreath can cut their own to whatever length they want.”
“I agree,” Travis said.
“Once the arch dries, I want to paint the back of it, too. I’m thinking maybe a Christmas tree with a happy face on it and little arms and legs, and it’ll say, ‘Come back and see us for the fall festival!’ with a little pumpkin at the end of it.”
“Perfect!” Travis said.
“I was thinking I’ll make up some fliers to put up all over town, and I’ll make a different flier that we’ll hand out to each family that comes to get a tree telling them about our fall celebrations with the pumpkins, and anything else we can think of to add to the flier for that celebration.”
“We could tell them we’ll have swing sets for the kids, and maybe we could manage a hayride through the trees,” Travis said.
“That’s a great idea. Maybe apple bobbing, and pumpkin carving and hot apple cider. Oh, and we could do face painting for the kids!” Libby added excitedly.
“I don’t know how to face paint. Do you?” Travis asked.
“Well, I’ll have plenty of time to learn between now and next fall,” she said.
“Who you planning on practicing on?” Travis asked, grinning at her.
“You,” she didn’t hesitate to retort.
Travis laughed. “Maybe, we’ll see.”
“Do you want my help or not?” Libby asked sassily.
Travis put his fork down on the edge of the plate. “Yeah, I do. In all things, Libby. If that means you paint my face every day for a year, then consider me painted,” he said, smiling gently at her.
Libby smiled and shyly looked down at her plate.
“Is that okay?” Travis asked.
Libby looked up at Travis. She gave a slight nod. “Yeah. It is. I’m just not used to being able to enjoy you. It’s nice,” she said.
“It is nice. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed us,” Travis admitted.
“I convinced myself it was over. I’m not quite sure how to move forward,” Libby said, still poking at the food on her plate.