“Are you going to record everything?” he wonders as I zoom in on his face.
I lower the camera, frowning. “Sorry. Is it bothering you?”
He shakes his head, seeming genuine. “No, I just want to know. That’s all.”
“Oh.” I raise the camera back up and he appears on the screen again. “I’ll stop in a little while. I just want to remember all this… and recording makes me feel better.”
“Well, then record away while I give you the grand tour,” he says, releasing the beam, then proceeds to lead me around the home, introducing me to people here and there. He smiles so much as he points out everything, telling me which pieces he’s put together. He’s proud of his accomplishment and he should be. It makes me want to accomplish more myself.
“You look so happy,” I dare to say as we head up the stairs to the second floor.
His forehead creases. “I do?”
I nod, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “It makes me want to do stuff like this,” I say. “Well, not like this, since I can’t build, but help people in some way.”
“You help people more than you think,” he says, trailing off as we arrive on the top floor.
There’s a thirtysomething guy with a scruffy jaw, wearing a plaid coat, banging a hammer against a piece of wood. Country music plays on a stereo in the corner and a small light is perched in the center of things, illuminating the darkness night has brought on.
“And this is Wilson,” Quinton says as he approaches the guy with a sort of uneasy look on his face.
Wilson glances up at Quinton, seeming startled. “Holy shit, I didn’t see you even come in here.” His eyes drift to me and he lowers the hammer to his side. “Who’s this?” He asks it, but it sounds like he already knows who I am.
“This is Nova,” Quinton tells him, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
Recognition crosses Wilson’s face as he sets the hammer down on the floor, then brushes his hands off on the sides of his pants. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, approaching me with his hand extended.
I grasp it and shake it. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Wilson glances over at Quinton with a cocky look on his face and Quinton rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Well, I hope good things,” Wilson says, returning his attention to me.
I nod, letting go of his hand. “Yes, always good things.”
Smiling, Wilson leans over to pick a bottle of water up off the floor. “Okay, so I just have to say that I love your name.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, glancing over at Quinton, wondering if he told Wilson the story behind it. “I was named after my father’s car.”
“I know,” Wilson says, taking a drink before setting the bottle back down on the ground beside a blue lunchbox. “Quinton told me, and I have to say that your dad had excellent taste in cars.”
He said had, which means he knows my father has passed away, which means Quinton’s been telling him stuff about me. I like the idea for some reason, that he would take the time to talk about me with Wilson, someone I know he looks up to, even though he hasn’t flat-out said it.
After we chat a little bit, Wilson asks if we want to help him for a while. Quinton starts to shake his head, but I say yes, loving the idea of doing something that helps others. Although I don’t really help out that much, since I have no idea how to build a house or anything, but I get tools for them when they need them. I start to notice a lot of things as I observe the two of them putting a house together, like how happy Quinton seems to be here. He keeps making jokes and every once in a while he comes over and gives me a kiss on the forehead or cheek, like he’s afraid that if he doesn’t he’ll miss his chance. It feels like we really might be boyfriend and girlfriend or at least close. The last time I was at this place was with Landon and I never thought I’d have that again, but I think I was wrong. I think I want what I had with Landon with Quinton, only better. I want us to be able to talk about stuff no matter what, even if it’s difficult.
“What?” Quinton asks at one point, his face masked with curiosity, and I realize that I’m staring at him with a big grin on my face.
I shake my head, unable to erase my smile. “It’s nothing. I’m just feeling better. That’s all.”
“Good. I’m glad.” He smiles back and starts hammering a nail while I return to watching him move, because I’m finding it fascinating. After he gets the board nailed into place he glances around confusedly. “Where’s Wilson go?” he asks.
I point at the stairway. “He muttered something about going to check up on the guys below and then wandered in that direction.”
“Shit, I didn’t even see him walk away.”
“That’s because you’re in the zone.”
He smiles at me, then turns to go back to hammering as the song on the radio switches to a slower one.
“It’s really pretty up here,” I say, looking up at the sky through a small section of the home where the roof isn’t up yet. “You can see so many stars.”
“You know, I remember the last time you and I looked up at the stars,” Quinton says, walking up to me. “In Vegas… we played twenty questions and then we danced.”
I look up at him. “Yeah, and you promised me a redo. You know, I’ve really been dying to see your stellar dancing skills again. The ones your grandma taught you.”
“Yeah, I would never have told you that if I hadn’t been high,” he says, seeming a little embarrassed. “But anyway.” He extends his hand. “You want to dance?”
I glance around at the home with no walls, the sound of power tools filling the air. “Right here?”
He nods as I slip my hand into his and he pulls me toward him. Then he backs to the stereo in the corner and turns up the music so loudly that I can barely hear anything but the beat and lyrics.
“You know, I’ve never been a fan of country music,” I admit as he walks back to me.
“Ha, well, now I know something about music that you don’t,” he says, placing his hands on my hips. “Because I listen to it all the time.”
I wrap my arms around his neck. “Are you a fan?”
He shakes his head. “No, but I know the lyrics to this song.”
“I wouldn’t be too proud of that,” I joke.