Where You Are (35 page)

I glance over my shoulder and he hasn’t moved. Without slowing, I say, “Come with me, please,” and hope that he complies—because no one’s told me what I’m supposed to do if he doesn’t.

Releasing a breath as I hear the crunch of gravel under his boots, indicating that he’s at least following me inside, I tell myself that I can put up with anything for a few weeks. I wanted to scream when Roberta told me that his community service agreement was for a
month
. Meaning he’ll be my problem for the entire three and a half weeks before I leave for Ecuador.

As we pass through the small house, my fellow volunteers gape, star-struck. Even grown men stop what they’re doing, though the women are worse—straightening their clothes, patting hair into place—holy cow. You’d think they’ve never seen anything pretty before. That’s the first thing I must admit and get past—the sheer fact of how beautiful he is.

I’ve seen the magazine covers, the posters on girlfriends’ bedroom walls, his likeness on backpacks of
nine
-year-olds who attend our church’s after-school program, for Pete’s sake. I knew he’d be handsome. The fact of the matter, though, is “handsome” doesn’t do him justice. Mom would term his hair dirty blond, and Dad would say it’s a little too long. His eyes are a dark blue I’d always assumed was photoshopped. He’s so sensually attractive that I should add every girl on whom he’ll turn his attention to my prayer list, because they’re going to need all the divine intervention they can get to resist him. I’m thankful that he dismissed me so quickly.

“I was going to tile the bathroom shower today… but that’s a complicated procedure and you’d just end up watching me do it. So we’re going to paint the bedrooms instead.” We arrive in the master bedroom, the walls and ceiling of which are unfinished. I texturized and primed last week. Carpet hasn’t been installed, so at least I don’t have to worry about him ruining the floor. “I’ll do the ceiling, because it’s more—”

“Complicated?” he interjects, regarding me with an amused look.

I take a slow, deep breath. It’s going to be a long three and a half weeks.