“Great.” She followed him, climbing into the cab of the pickup. “This is a really cute truck.”
“Cute, eh?” He patted the dash. “Don’t take it personally, Harvey.”
“Harvey?”
“Yep. Harvey.” The sides of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Harvey’s a 1960 Chevy and his favorite job is to pull Helen.”
“Helen?”
“Helen’s my trailer. She’s a 1960 too. I named them after my grandparents, Harvey and Helen.”
“I can’t believe you actually have a vintage trailer.”
“Why not? I got Harvey first. Back in high school. But I’d wanted a trailer for quite a while. I guess I was inspired by Uncle Jack. Anyway, I found Helen shortly before I moved back home. She was a wreck. In need of TLC. It’s been fun fixing her up. I’m sure she was in worse shape than your Oasis. Lots of stuff had to be replaced.”
“Yeah, other than being dirty and old and neglected, the Oasis seemed pretty solid.” She wondered if she should name her trailer too. “So I mostly just painted and cleaned.”
“Well, my aunt and uncle took pretty good care of it. I remember as a kid, before Uncle Jack turned it into his hunting trailer, Aunt Rose kept everything in the Oasis in apple-pie order. It was like her little playhouse. Sometimes if she and my uncle got into a spat, she’d go sit in her trailer until he came out and apologized.”
Dillon laughed. “I can just imagine that.” She waved to where the Oasis was parked. “It’s kind of like a she shed. But way better than a shed. It feels like my tiny hideaway.”
“And thar she blows.” Jordan sighed deeply as they got out of the pickup. “Uncle Jack and Aunt Rose’s trailer. I can hardly believe it. It’s like meeting an old friend.” He patted the side of it.
“Well, the exterior, as you can see, is in need of serious help.”
“And help is here.” He ran his hand over the sanded metal. “Looks like you’ve been busy, Dillon. So, can I see inside first?”
“Of course.” She opened the door and then the screen, which she’d painted burnt orange to match the cheerful appliances.
“Wow!” he exclaimed as he climbed the steps. “This place looks better than ever. I can’t believe it’s the same trailer. I love the colors you picked out. My aunt would love them too. Rose’s kitchen had colors similar to this. She loved the Southwest.”
Dillon followed him inside, savoring his comments and compliments as he examined almost every inch of the small space. “So how long did it take for you to do all this?” he asked with an impressed expression that warmed her heart.
“Not that long really. Although I worked practically night and day on it at first. But I wasn’t teaching lessons at the pool yet. And, to be fair, I was very motivated.” She described her previous sleeping arrangement. “So it was well worth my efforts.” She patted the bed. “And I’ve slept like a baby ever since I moved in. I can’t believe how comfortable and quiet it is out here.”
“Have you tried out the appliances or the furnace?” He opened the propane oven and looked inside.
“Not yet. But it’s next on my to-do list. After the exterior painting. But I figured I’d probably need to get an expert to look at it.”
“Maybe not. I just happen to have a spare propane tank in the back of my pickup. Maybe later on, we can hook it up and give it a try. But we’ll have to blow out the gas lines first. They tend to fill up with tiny spider webs.”
“Really? But how do you blow them out?”
“Air compressor. I’ll bet your grandpa has one.”
“So, you know a lot about vintage trailers?”
“I doubt I know too much more than you do. Well, maybe mechanically. But it sounds like you’ve been doing your research. It’s a good way to learn . . . as you go.” He closed and fastened the fridge door. “What about towing? Ever done that before?”
“Towing?” She considered this. “You mean like on the road?”
His smile looked amused. “Yeah. Like camping.”
She cringed. “No, I’ve never towed . . . or camped.” She didn’t want to admit that her small car probably couldn’t pull anything bigger than a bicycle trailer. “Mostly I just wanted the trailer to live in . . . well, until I figure things out.”
“What kind of things?” He tilted his head to one side.
“You know, life . . . job . . . where I’m going to live.”
“I thought you were living here.”
“Yeah, well, I am . . . for now.”
He pointed upward. “Speaking of now, we’re burning daylight. Want to get started?”
“Absolutely.” She nodded. “I’ve got all the paint stuff outside, but I’ll warn you again, this is new to me. Other than painting the interior, I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Well, I painted my mom’s house last year. I doubt this is too different.”
“Just smaller.”
He nodded, surveying the trailer’s exterior. “Looks like you’ve got it good and ready to go. I watched a couple how-to tutorials last night.” He turned to her with a confident smile. “I’m sure we can do this, Dillon.”
Before long, he’d unloaded some drop cloths and a few other things he thought would be helpful from his pickup. Soon they were making good progress applying the first coat of paint. Like the tutorials recommended, they applied a thin coat that dried quickly. “It’s looking nice and smooth,” Jordan said as he stepped back to admire their work. “It might turn out to be almost as good as a professional job.”
“Almost?”
“Well, it’s hard to beat a pro spray job.” Using a paint rag, he gently wiped a fresh spot of paint off her chin. “For a beginner painter, you’ve managed to keep yourself fairly tidy.”
“That’s probably because I’m so much slower than you.” She pointed to the large section he’d just finished. “You got twice as much done as me.”
“Well, you were being more careful. And you had to use the stepladder.” He stretched his arm to show his height advantage. “I didn’t.” He checked his watch. “At this rate, we should have the first coat finished in a couple of hours. And with the sun hitting this side, it might even be ready for a second coat later today.”
“That reminds me.” Dillon pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket. “I promised to let Margot know when to serve lunch.”
“Serve lunch?” His eyes lit up.
“Well, don’t expect too much. My mom is kind of a whacky cook. I begged her to spare us from her health food obsession. Made her promise to grill some real meat. No tofu burgers.”
He grimaced. “Good for you.” He dipped his brush in the bucket and went back to work.
Dillon texted Margot that they would be ready for lunch at one, then joined Jordan, painting with a bit of conversation here and there. Dillon thought this was the most pleasant work she’d ever done. But she knew that had something to do with her painting partner.
“You say you’re trying to figure out your life,” he said as he turned a corner on the trailer. “What is it you think you want to do?”