He had folded the $500 check and shoved it into the back of his sock drawer. It felt radioactive. It felt like a mistake. He was a carpenter, a dad. He bought his groceries at the discount market on Tuesdays because they marked down the meat.
Caroline Reed was a ghost from a magazine cover. He had half convinced himself that the entire interaction was a stress-induced hallucination fueled by cheap scotch. He shut off the saw. The heavy silence of the shop settled back in. Crunch.
Crunch. Tires on the gravel outside. heavy tires. Caleb wiped his hands on his canvas apron and walked toward the rolling bay doors. A black Mercedes Maybach was parked precisely between his rusted Ford and a pile of discarded shipping pallets. The engine idled silently.
The rear door opened. Caroline stepped out. She wasn't wearing a suit today. She wore dark fitted jeans, Chelsea boots, and a thick oversized cashmere sweater that looked effortless, but undoubtedly cost a month of Caleb's rent. She held two cardboard coffee cups in her hands.
She walked into the shop, stepping carefully over a coiled extension cord. She paused, looking around the chaotic mess of tools, sawdust, and half-finished cabinets. She took a deep breath. I haven't smelled fresh-cut cherrywood in a decade, she said. Caleb stood frozen by the workbench.
What are you doing here? Tuesday is 2 days away, Caroline said, walking toward him and offering one of the cups. I decided I didn't want to wait. Black, no sugar, just a guess. Caleb took the cup.
His hands were covered in fine sawdust. He felt profoundly self-conscious. His t-shirt was stained with grease. His jeans were frayed. and he hadn't showered since the previous night. "You brought a Maybach to a lumber yard," Caleb noted, taking a sip.
"The coffee was incredible, smooth, dark, punishingly strong." "My driver insisted. I told him he'd pop a tire on a stray nail, but he's stubborn." Caroline leaned against his workbench. She ran a finger over the smooth, sanded surface of the cherry wood he had just cut.
"Beautiful grain. It's for a custom kitchen in the Heights," Caleb said, watching her carefully. She didn't look disgusted by the dirt. She looked at home. My house is in the heights.
Caroline said, turning to face. Maybe you're building my neighbor's cabinets. "Maybe." Caleb set his coffee down. Caroline.
Seriously. What is this? You drop a $500 check on me, disappear, and then show up at my job site on a Monday morning. I have work to do. I have a schedule.
I know. She said, I respect schedules. I only came to confirm Tuesday. I didn't agree to Tuesday. You didn't tear up the check, she countered smoothly.