The Gratitude Guarantee (Boyfriend in the Bargain #4)

3. Zach

3

ZACH

I swipe a bandana across my brow and glance at my watch before loading up the last of my equipment. Looks like I got finished a little earlier than expected today, so I’ll have plenty of time to run home and shower before hitting the gym. Most people would think it’s weird to take a shower before working out, but my job as a lawn-care professional means that I’m not the same kind of dirty at the end of the day as, say, an officer manager or a sales clerk. I come home coated in brown and green layers of dust, mulch, and grass clippings, and bearing the aroma of eau de very-sweaty-man mixed with gasoline.

Sure, the gym is full of other sweaty, stinky people, but I don’t like the idea of getting any of my yard mess on the equipment. And I feel better and get a superior workout when I’m not already grungy to start with.

As I latch the back of my trailer, the homeowner comes out onto his porch and waves me over. Ralph George is a favorite of mine. He’s kind and friendly but likes his landscaping to be meticulous. A kindred spirit.

“Hey Mr. George, how’s it going?” I take off my gloves and offer a slightly soiled hand to him.

He shakes it firmly, with a strength and confidence that belies his stooped form. “Nothing to complain about.” He looks past me and surveys the yard. “Winter mulch looks good. Should keep Nancy’s roses nice and cozy.”

I nod, glad he’s pleased. I took extra care around the roses, knowing how much they mean to him. He told me his wife prized her pink roses up until she passed a few years ago, at which point Mr. George hired me to take over their care, claiming he never had any aptitude for gardening. I suspect it was just too painful for him to be among the blooms without her. Once he trusted that I knew what I was doing, he gave me the reins for the rest of the yard which was becoming difficult for him to handle on his own. So now I show up weekly during the summer to mow, weed-eat, and spray, and twice a month the rest of the year to rake leaves, spread mulch, prune, and whatever else he can think of.

“Anything else you need from me today?” I ask.

“No, son, I think that covers it.” He slides a hand into his pants pocket and withdraws a check, handing it to me with a droll smile. “Here you go. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

“I won’t,” I promise with an answering smile. “See you in two weeks.”

He raises a hand in goodbye as I climb into my truck and pull away from the curb, thinking about Nancy George, whom I never had the pleasure of meeting. The love Mr. George still has for his wife is inspiring—until I remember that I’m not dating right now.

“No romance,” I remind myself out loud. The search is so deeply ingrained in me at this point that I think it might take a few days for me to change my thinking habits and fill my mind with something else.

When I arrive at my townhouse, I back my trailer into the garage and unhitch it, parking my truck in the driveway. One day, I plan to build my own house and include a side building that’s deep enough to park the truck and trailer in without unhitching. But for now, I’m just grateful to be my own boss. It makes the extra effort each day seem worth it.

It only takes me about fifteen minutes to chug a glass of water, rinse off, and throw on my running clothes. Another fifteen minutes and I’m at the gym, stretching beside a treadmill. I glance around, looking for my gym buddy, Brenna. She often arrives around the same time I do in the evenings, but I don’t see her tonight. I used to work out with Grant and another friend, Trevor, until they got married and switched to gyms that are closer to the homes they now share with their wives.

I hop on and start out with a slow jog to warm up, listening to my favorite playlist through my earbuds. After a few minutes, I increase my pace and feel my heartrate starting to climb as I find my rhythm. I’m so in the zone, I almost miss Brenna stepping onto the treadmill to my right, but she gives me a little wave of greeting, and I respond with a smile before facing forward again. The last thing I need is to fall and go shooting backward off this treadmill onto the sweaty gym floor. I saw that happen to a guy once. His shorts got caught as he went down and everyone around him saw things we couldn’t unsee.

I hit three miles and punch the down button until I’ve returned to a jog to cool off, finally slowing to a walk. I glance over at Brenna and notice that she seems to be going faster than normal. In fact, she’s nearly sprinting and she’s wearing an intense scowl on her face, which is unusual because she’s usually quite pleasant and friendly.

I wonder what’s going on.

Brenna and I don’t know each other very well. In fact, I don’t even know her last name. We met when we accidentally swapped water bottles after a run one evening. Our acquaintanceship begins and ends at the gym where we often run side-by- side like we did tonight, occasionally standing in line for a smoothie together at the health food café in the lobby before going our separate ways. We exchange pleasantries and compare performance notes on our workouts, but that’s about it.

Brenna slows to a walk, panting. Her long, strawberry-blonde hair hangs in a thick braid down her back, swinging as she moves. She’s still frowning, a deep wrinkle creasing her forehead between her hazel eyes. Would she think I was overstepping if I asked her what’s wrong? Are we good enough friends for that? Maybe the better question is, do you really have to be good friends with someone to care about their problems and make sure they’re alright?

“Hey, you up for a smoothie tonight?” I ask before I can second guess my instincts.

Her gaze snaps over to me where I’m still strolling on my treadmill. She gives me a preoccupied smile and shrugs. “Sure.”

Silently, we gather up our water bottles, keys, and her sweatshirt from the cubbies mounted in front of the treadmills and walk out into the lobby. No one else is in line, so we get our smoothies quickly. “Want to sit over there?” I point to an empty café table, and she shrugs again, then follows me over. I pull out her chair, and she looks at me strangely, her face showing a hint of amusement.

“Such excellent manners for a snack at the gym,” she quips.

“Any time is the right time to be a gentleman,” I respond with a smile as I slide into my own chair. I open my mouth to ask her what’s bothering her tonight, but she speaks first.

“What do you do for a living, Zach?”

“I own a lawn care business.”

She eyes me over her green smoothie, gaze curious. “That’s a pretty physical job, right? How come I see you at the gym almost every day? Seems like you’d be tired.”

I lean back in my chair. “It’s physically demanding in some ways, but not in others. Most days my arms and back are tired, but I don’t get a lot of cardio, so I come here to run. Got to keep your heart healthy.” I pat my chest lightly. “Both my parents died of heart-related issues, so I’m doing what I can to beat my genetics.”

This gets her attention. “You lost both your parents? I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, my dad died right after I graduated college, and my mom passed three years ago.” I give her a small smile. “I try to just be grateful that I had both of them until I was an adult. They both got to see me grow up and graduate. I do wish they’d been able to see me find the right girl and get married. My mom was very eager for me to tie the knot.”

The crease between her eyebrows returns, and she slumps forward slightly. “I definitely identify with that.”

I get the sense that her comment has something to do with her strange mood. “Brenna, is everything okay? I could be way off base but…you don’t seem like yourself tonight.”

Brenna crosses her arms and puffs out a breath that ruffles the flyaway curls escaping her headband and framing her face, still pink from exertion. “I got an email from my mom yesterday with Thanksgiving plans and I’m still stewing about it. Apparently, she’s concocted this scheme to pair everyone up for a holiday couples competition, and since I don’t have a boyfriend, she took it upon herself to invite her best friend’s son to be my partner.”

My eyebrows inch up. “Wow. That sounds…”

“Intrusive? Awkward? Infuriating?”

I chuckle. “Yes, actually.”

“So of course, I told her to cancel the hired date because I will be bringing my own date.” She lifts her chin.

“Of course.”

“Except I don’t have a date, and I don’t know how I’m going to find one in a week. I mean, it can’t just be some random guy.” She presses her fingers to her forehead and stares unseeingly at the floor as her speech picks up speed. “He’s going to meet my family and be around them pretty much constantly for a couple days. That’s a big commitment, especially since it’s all for show. I’m not interested in a relationship right now, but I can’t let my mom set me up with Vincent the Birdwatcher. Right?”

She looks up at me with desperate eyes.

“Right.” I might not know Brenna well, but I think I understand what she’s saying. “You have to set some boundaries and show her that you can make your own decisions.”

“Exactly.” She nods firmly. “You get it.”

We sit quietly, sipping our smoothies. An internal battle is raging within me after hearing her conundrum. My gut reaction is to offer to help, to solve her problem by being her Thanksgiving date, but I just swore off dating less than twenty-four hours ago. On the other hand, it’s not really a date , is it? This is something entirely different. She made it clear that she’s not in the market for a boyfriend, so it would be completely platonic, utterly void of romance. A no-pressure way to help a friend over the holiday and a great distraction for me for a few days.

“Do you consider me to be a ‘random guy’?” I ask.

She blinks once, twice, a puzzled look on her face. “What do you mean?”

“You said you needed a date for Thanksgiving, but not just some random guy.”

Understanding dawns, and she huffs a disbelieving chuckle. “Are you volunteering? Surely a nice, good-looking guy like you has better things to do on Thanksgiving than pretend to be into me in front of my family.”

“You might be surprised.” I give her a rueful smile. “Holidays are usually pretty quiet for me.”

Her smile fades. “No other family besides your parents?”

I shake my head. “Just an aunt and uncle and a few cousins I’ve never met. I have friends, though.” I awkwardly tag on that last part thinking that if she chooses to accept my offer, I don’t want it to be because she feels sorry for me. “Sometimes I spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with my friend Grant and his family. But this year I’d like to do something different. I was thinking about getting out of town for a few days. Where does your family live?”

“Knoxville.”

“I’ve never been there. So, what do you say?”

She studies me, her fingers tapping a rhythm on the table. “You’re serious about this. But why? You barely know me.”

“You need someone to be your partner for this competition thing, and I happen to be available. You seem cool, so I figured I’d offer to help. And because…” I hesitate and then decide to level with her. “I’ve decided to take a break from dating for the rest of the year, but I don’t want to be alone for the holidays. So you’d be doing me a favor by keeping me company with no strings attached.”

She looks incredulous. “Don’t you think you need to hear the details before you say you’re in?”

I incline my head with a smile. “That would probably be a good idea.” I won’t tell her that I’ve already decided, no matter what the details are. If she wants me to come, I’ll come. How terrible could it be to hang out with her for a couple days? The timing seems too fortuitous to ignore after my big decision last night. “What are we looking at?”

Brenna sits up straighter. “Thanksgiving with the Hartfords is a big deal—almost as big of a deal as Christmas.”

“How big of a deal is Christmas?”

She gives me a look. “Big. Really big.”

I incline my head. “Noted, and Thanksgiving is only slightly less big. What does that look like?”

She leans forward and rests her clasped hands on the table in front of her. “It starts first thing in the morning with the annual Turkey Trot 5k, followed by a pancake breakfast at my parents’ house. Then we head to church to help with the dinner they provide for homeless and underprivileged families. Then it’s back to my parents’ house for dinner prep. We have our big meal at six o’clock and then usually the rest of the evening is free. The day after includes Black Friday shopping in the morning, although the men usually opt out of that one. We have Thanksgiving leftovers for lunch and then help Mom start decorating for Christmas.” She frowns. “I think there will be a few extra activities this year since they want to make it a competition, but I don’t know what they are yet.”

I can feel my eyebrows climbing as she talks. “That’s it, huh? Y’all don’t believe in relaxed holidays, I take it.”

“We have a little free time,” Brenna defends. “But yes, in general, we’re a pretty structured bunch.”

I take this in. It sounds nothing like the holidays I remember celebrating with my family as a kid. Those days generally included some version of sleeping in, slowly cooking a meal that we’d eat around lunchtime, and then spending the afternoon in the living room playing games or watching movies. What she described certainly sounds different—but not necessarily bad. A little intense, maybe, but if everyone is enjoying their time together, then mission accomplished. That’s what holidays are about.

“I’m in,” I say simply. “If you want me to be your partner for the Thanksgiving competition, I’m in.”

“Seriously?” She looks skeptical like she can’t believe what she’s hearing.

“Seriously. Do you need references?” I offer. “I could give you a few people to call and confirm that I’m not a creep. You can call them right now, so you know I didn’t prep them ahead of time. I wouldn’t blame you.”

Brenna narrows her eyes and nods slowly. “That…would probably be a good idea.”

“Hang on.” I pull out my phone and open up my contacts. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

She swipes open her phone. “Ready.”

I read off a number that she transcribes into her phone app. Before she hits the green button, she asks, “Who am I calling?”

“Grant Lockwood. He manages the finance department of Lockwood Properties and is my oldest friend.”

“Okay, let’s see what he has to say.” She taps her screen to dial and switches to speakerphone, then waits as it rings.

“Hello?” I hear Grant’s familiar voice.

“Hi, is this Grant Lockwood?” Brenna asks.

“It is.”

“Hi, Grant, my name is Brenna. I’m calling in regards to Zach…” She pauses and taps the mute button, looking up at me. “What’s your last name?”

“Dawson.”

She turns the mic back on. “Zach Dawson. He named you as a character reference. Do you have a moment?”

“Sure, what do you want to know? I’ve known Zach for over a decade and he’s a stand-up guy. Very dependable and loyal. He’s the kind of guy you’d want in your corner.”

I can’t help but smile as I hear Grant’s words. I want to say “Right back at you, buddy,” but that would blow Brenna’s cover.

“I see. So you would recommend him for this position with no reservations?”

Grant hesitates. “I’m not sure what the position is, but Zach’s a smart guy. If he applied, that means he thinks he’s a good fit, and I trust his instincts. He’ll work hard and do his best for you.”

“That’s good to hear. I think that’s all the questions I have. Thanks so much for your time.”

“No problem. Have a good evening.”

Brenna taps the end button and looks up at me with a small smile and one eyebrow raised. “Well, that was a glowing recommendation.”

It certainly was. I hope Grant knows I hold him in equally high regard. My phone buzzes with a text.

Just talked to somebody named Brenna who needed a character reference for you. Shortest reference call I’ve ever been on, but hopefully she was satisfied?

I smile to myself. I’ll text him back later and explain. For now, I stuff my phone in my pocket and refocus on Brenna. “Would you like to call someone else?”