Page 30 of The Banker and the Blue Collar Man

With a tap to the brim of his own hat, he headed to the barn.

At work’s end, I went to my bunkhouse and relished the quiet privacy as I took a shower and washed off the sweat and dirt. Only to replace it, as I dried myself and shaved, with worry. Anxiety, maybe. I dabbed on cologne, as I usually did when cleaning up for dinner.

If Dalton’s bid to stay was successful, which it surely would be, then he’d be spending his days in the office, in the staff building. Going through the accounts. Studious. His head bent over his desk. Fair hair drifting across his forehead. Blue eyes focused.

If it turned out he wore glasses when he worked, I’d melt from the inside out.

I put on a clean t-shirt and blue jeans, tugged my dusty boots back on, and made my way to the dining hall. The room contained the usual buzz and good smells from the kitchen. When I reached the front of the line, I filled my plate with meatloaf and garlic green beans. Two rolls with butter. A pile of fried potatoes on their own plate.

Then, as I reached the end of the buffet, I saw dessert: strawberry rhubarb pie. On little white plates, arranged on a layer of ice cubes.

My tray was already full. Should I grab two slices and balance my way to the nearest table? Or should I find a spot and eat my dinner, then come back? Or would they be all gone by then, and taking two now would be the more sensible thing to do?

“Hey, Jake.”

I looked up, and all thoughts of pie, strawberry rhubarb or otherwise, fled my mind with the speed of a thousand galloping horses.

Dalton was wearing the cotton trousers he’d had on when he’d arrived, and those citified shoes with the tassels on them. His beige-on-white button-down shirt looked like it had beenrinsed in the sink and scrubbed with a bar of soap to get the stain out, unsuccessfully. But if he was wearing those clothes, it meant that Lucas and he had exchanged handshakes. He’d gotten the job.

He’d showered and shaved, as I had. His hair was dark gold with damp, some splayed across his forehead, where the two butterfly bandages were still intact.

“I see you looking at the pie,” he said. “Is it any good?”

“Like heaven,” I said. “Heaven on a plate.”

He looked at my tray, full to bursting, and then at his own. His portions were half the size of mine—meat, vegetables, no gravy—making me feel rather like a giant intent on stuffing his face until he exploded.

“Do you want me to grab you one?” he asked, gesturing at me with his tray. “I’ve got room.”

“Two,” I said in a single breath. “Please.”

Dutifully, he gathered two plates and secured them on his tray. I followed him to the table he liked near the window and sat down across from him.

“I picked the two prettiest, as you can see,” he said as he dutifully placed those slices of pie in front of my tray.

“You don’t like dessert.” I was doing my best to remain calm, though my heart was thumping against my breastbone at the thought of having dinner with him.Yes. Yes. Yes.

“I’ll have a bite of yours,” he said. “If you’ll let me.”

Let him? I’d hand-feed him an entire pie and take none for myself if he wanted that.

“Sure,” I said.

The food could have been sawdust for all of Ruth’s experience in the kitchen.

Lucas came by to ask Dalton about accrual spreadsheets and double entry, and could Dalton read Grandpa’s handwriting? AllI could think about was that I had more time with him. But how much more?.

I had no idea how long an audit took. How many meals I’d be able to sit across the table from Dalton and come up with dumb ideas for ways to reach out. A skill I was none too good at.

Let me take you to the creek. Let me drive you to see a sunset over Greyrock Mountain. Let me take your hand and show you the stars. Let me?—

I wanted too much for words. It was all too quick, and my heart felt jarred and uncertain. It could only be friendship, and for a short time. That would have to be enough.

Chapter 12

Dalton

After dinner, I didn’t join the group around the bonfire. Instead, I went to bunkhouse four and made a mental list of things I needed. Maybe I’d drive home on the weekend to pick up more clothes. Sturdier shoes. Chargers. My laptop.