Page 3 of The Holiday Exchange
Her response is gentle but confident. “Nobody is a lost cause. I’ll do it. You help me build a set for my play and I’ll help you learn how to talk to people. Deal?”
She extends her hand and I take it briefly, noticing how small it feels in mine.
“Deal.”
“My name is Kayla, by the way. Kayla Wright. And you are…” She leans in and squints at my name badge, trying to decipher the worn lettering. “Trevon?”
“Trevor,” I correct.
“Nice to meet you, Trevor.” Kayla looks around and I notice for the first time that the store is beginning to hum with other customers as the busiest part of our week kicks into gear. “I need to think some more about what I want to build and you probably need to get back to work, but maybe we can set up a time later to talk about this deal. How can I get in touch with you?” She holds her phone up, ready to type.
I recite my number and my phone buzzes a few seconds later with an incoming text.
Hi, this is Kayla.
“Got it. I’ll text you when I get off this afternoon.”
“Perfect. Thanks again, Trevor.”
With a little wave and one more mega-watt smile, she walks away. I watch her go until a throat clears beside me, jerking me back to reality.
“Excuse me, young man, where can I find plumbing tape?”
3
KAYLA
Achilly breeze makes me zip my jacket up to my chin as I exit the hardware store in a state of pleased perplexity. I feel like I am simultaneously no closer to having a finished set and also like I made a lot of progress.
Even though I made no purchases, I did walk away with the phone number of someone who seems both able and willing to help me build some stuff.
Trevor.
I don’t date a lot. Or really at all. I promised my mom before I started college that I would focus on school and work for a while and it’s a promise I’ve been happy to keep because it’s smart. Finding solid footing as a person with your own career and life before bringing in a significant other makes a lot of sense. But that doesn’t mean I don’t notice when an objectively attractive man crosses my path.
I definitely noticed Trevor.
He’s what I’d call boy-next-door handsome, with an athletic but not bulky build, medium brown hair, and a slight scruff on his chin. Black plastic glasses frame hazel eyes that seemed like they missed nothing, even though he didn’t say much.
Trevor is cute enough that I was surprised by his bashfulness. Usually, the cute onesknowthey’re cute. It was refreshing, in some respects. I really have no knowledge of any level of construction so he could have mansplained me with impunity.
Instead, I felt like he genuinely wanted to help me with my project. He absolutely went above and beyond in terms of service when he gave me his personal number to go with his offer of help. I actually feel a little bad about making that deal with him. I mean, I’m not sure that ‘talking to people’ is A) something I’m an authority on or B) something that can be taught.
But it’s what he asked for in exchange for building help, so I’m going to do my best. The teacher in me is already creating mental lesson plans.
I get in my car and consider what to do next. Yesterday I chose a script and sent home notes about auditions to be held next week. Today I checked ‘hardware store recon’ off my list. Now I’m at a standstill as far as prepping for the play until I can assign roles and get more information from Trevor. The good news is that I always have things to do. I picture my to-do list.
- Grab some groceries.
- Choose a new book for book club before we meet this evening.
- Get an oil change.
- Reply to the public library director’s email with times I’m available to volunteer.
- Call my mom.
I huff out a breath when the last one crosses my mind. I love my mom, but checking in with her feels like a chore sometimes. Starting my car, I decide to go ahead and call her while I drive to the grocery store. Two birds with one stone, as they say. I tap the button to call her through the car speaker system and she picks up after two rings.