“That’s life, sweetheart.” He opened her door and jerked his chin. “Come on. We need bossin’ around, and who better to do that than three pretty Blums?”
Jo shook her head at him as we climbed out of the truck. “Thank God you didn’t wear a Speedo.”
One of his brows rose, and he hooked a thumb in his waistband, tugging just enough to reveal a sliver of bright red spandex. “Best not count your chickens, Jojo.”
“Sweet lord,” Poppy said with the shake of her head. “You’re gonna give the quilting circle heart attacks if you keep on like that.”
“Good thing I know CPR.”
I gave him a look. “You know that would only encourage them.”
“Anything for the cause, Daisy.” With a wink, he hopped into the truck and pulled it around closer to the water hose.
Jo led us in Grant’s direction, offering him a brief kiss before directing us to the groups of men. She would manage Grant’s group, Poppy would handle Evan’s group, which included Sebastian and a couple other guys from town, and I would, of course, be with the Meyer brothers all day.
My smile as I approached them was unstoppable. Keaton had been watching and waiting since we pulled up, and when I approached he stepped into me and gave me a kiss that was somehow both tender and deeply sexual. How he managed all that without even a whisper of tongue was beyond me.
When we parted, it was to stunned silence. Twenty of our closest friends and townsfolk stared at us in utter shock. Wyatt had stopped in the middle of moving the hose, streaming water midair to slap onto the pavement, wasted.
I flushed and shrank into Keaton, who tucked me into his side.
And then they all broke out in congratulations.
You’d think we’d gotten engaged the way they mobbed us, reaching to take turns pumping Keaton’s hand and offering their well wishes and happy surprise.
It was, perhaps, the most bizarrely joyful moment of my admittedly sheltered life.
After a little bit, cars began to file in, dispersing the crowd. This included ninety-year-old Bettie, who had tied her coveralls around her waist, exposing her pink polka dot bikini top. She was, of course, in charge of holding up signs at the street with our cousin Presley and a few other girls. Bettie was the only one showing off the goods, though.
No one was surprised.
The line was long most of the day, and mostly full of women, though not all. Plenty of men came to show their support, and in an effort to protect their manhood against the suggestion of male objectification, they made sure to spend the time they waited for their cars talking to the women. They paid the men with powerful clasps of hands and made sure to avoid direct eye contact with any nipples they came across.
The women, however, enjoyed themselves thoroughly, and though they’d never admit it, so did the men. A few of the more judgmental women of our town circled the block and tried to look disdainful. They only managed to look thirsty.
At the Meyers Construction stall, the brothers were all smiles, goofing around and spraying each other in the face at close range, laughing and singing along to the music blasting from the speakers someone had set up outside Abuela’s.
Fortunately, my job did not require concentration. There was no executive function happening with Keaton on full display, every glorious inch of him, save that small bit of fabric that kept him decent. His physique was easy enough to imagine when he wore a T-shirt and jeans, but when I said imagination was nothing compared to the real thing, I meant it.
How a body could have that many muscles, I couldn’t comprehend. I could have taken a pointer and asked what twenty different curves on him were for. What did he do with the little muscles on his ribs? Or the ones on his back that sprang from a place I always thought of as smooth? I’d seen him carry stacks of lumber on his shoulder like they weighed nothing, and it made me curious as to how many of those rarely seen muscles contributed to such effortless strength.
The physics of it fascinated me. For scientific purposes, of course.
There were times when I couldn’t avoid a good long look, and now that the whole town knew we were kissing, I didn’t have to. Like when the brothers got in a bubble fight—it was as ridiculous as it sounded—and Keaton ended up with foamy clusters of soap over his nipples. In retaliation, Cade got squirted straight in the ear.
By the late afternoon, we’d earned a shocking amount of money, further proof that women were as piggish as men, given the opportunity.
The sun had started to dip and the flow of cars ebbed the closer we got to supper. Poppy had me and Jo in a huddle to decide if we should call it or hang on for a little while when she paused mid-sentence, her eyes shifting to a point behind me.
Frowning, I turned to follow her gaze and found a vagrant teetering into the parking lot.
One of his legs moved slower than the other, his age unknowable beneath his dirty hair and beard. I knew him from around town, one of the handful of homeless that wasn’t interested in our help beyond the occasional meal. I wasn’t sure what he’d been through, as he didn’t trust us well enough to say, despite our outreach. At town hall meetings, he was one who was brought up nearly every time. Doug Windley loved to use him as an example for the whole of them rather than the exception that he was.
Although the man had wandered into allies, everyone stilled, trying to go about their business without drawing any attention from him. Well, with the exception of Keaton, who had already approached the man as he peered into the pink plastic bucket where we’d put the money.
“Hey, friend—” Keaton started.
“Ain’t your friend,” the man answered with surprising ambivalence.
Keaton paused. “Can I do something for you?”
The man sniffed, ran his hand across the back of his nose, and headed for one of the cars. Until he saw my sisters and me.
He’d only taken two steps in our direction before Keaton put himself between us. “If you’d like to help out, we’d gladly give you a portion of the money.”
“Work for you? No thanks.” He tried to sidestep Keaton without luck.
“Can I get you somethin’ to eat?”
The man stopped, turned icy eyes on Keaton. “I don’t need your fucking help.”
“Fair enough. But I’m afraid you can’t be here if I can’t help you with something.”
Those eyes flashed. “Who are you to tell me where I can be and where I can’t? Looks like a parkin’ lot to me. Don’t think you own those, do you?”
“No, sir. But—”
“Then kindly fuck off,” he raved in an unexpected escalation. “You don’t wanna help me—you’re locking up whoever doesn’t agree with you. You’re gonna put me in jail, ship me off to the FBI, and I’m supposed to eat your shit?”
Keaton straightened up, his face drawn. The men present began to move in his direction the second the man came unhinged.
“No, sir, but I’m afraid you’re gonna have to leave.”
“Fuck you. I don’t have to do shit.” He looked around at the advancing men. “You can’t tell me what to do. Who the fuck are you?”
When he didn’t stop rambling, Keaton spoke over him, told him again he needed to leave. Made the mistake of putting his hand on the man’s arm.