Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Ben shook his head and picked up the sandwich, and I could tell he was uncomfortable. I’d do my best to fix that. I just…wanted to know how or if we could help him.
As he bit into his food, he eyed the Ziploc kits next to his container of fries, and I figured it was a good start.
“So we run a soup kitchen here every Thursday and Sunday,” I said. I made a gesture to the pool table at the center of the room. “That’s when we cover the table and serve hot food from eleven to five for anyone who stops by.” I cleared my throat and nodded at the two kits. “When we’re able, we also hand out kits with hygiene products and energy bars.”
He watched me in silence as he chewed.
I couldn’t lie; he was fucking handsome, this man. His rugged silver years were taking over, but he was still cut.
“Since you lost your car, do you have any place to stay tonight?” I asked.
He swallowed hard and shook his head, and he averted his gaze to the food.
“Would you mind helping me prepare for tomorrow’s service if it gave you a safe spot to sleep?” I asked next.
That one elicited suspicion in his eyes. “What’s the catch?”
I showed my palms. “No catch. You just help out for a few hours tomorrow.”
He took another bite and chewed slowly.
“We pack more of those kits,” I said, nodding at the Ziplocs. “We make a fuck-ton of soup, coffee, and tea, and we divvy up bread. There are six of us, but we can always use extra help.”
He reached for his pop, and I noticed his fingertips were scratched up in places. “You usually don’t pay someone before they do the work. What if I’m gone in the morning?”
I shrugged. “It happens. But it doesn’t change anything—and I don’t consider a warm place to sleep payment. It’s a basic human need. The spot’s yours whether you help out or not. That said…it can be more than a one-time offer if you stick around and pitch in.”
Yeah, that didn’t help with the suspicion. The man was on edge. I couldn’t blame him for that.
“Where is this spot?” he asked.
I exhaled a chuckle and rubbed the back of my neck. I kinda hated this part, because though my option was better than his, I felt like a jagoff for not being willing to open up my home. “Well, it ain’t pretty, but I hope you’ll see my side—I gotta be careful.” I shifted in my seat. “I’m the only tenant upstairs, so it’s just me coming and going. In other words, you’re welcome to use the hallway. There’s an alcove right next to my front door, where I keep one of those foldable camping beds.”
He grew pensive and put down the sandwich, and he side-eyed the soup. “You’ve done this before?”
“More times than I can remember.”
It was absolutely nothing fancy, but it beat staying outside.
“And people don’t take advantage?”
I smirked. “More times than I can remember.”
The upstairs used to be an attic with storage space. Then some six or seven years ago, Murray Estate, which owned the building, turned the western half of it into a loft apartment and offered it to us since we rented the only other establishment in the building. The other half remained an attic with storage units accessed from their own entrance on the eastern side. The apartment was out of my price range, but I saved a lot on never needing a car or having to commute to work.
As long as I paid my rent on time, I was left alone, and that was how I’d managed to shelter dozens of homeless people over the years. Yeah, some took advantage—or tried. I had the scars to prove it. A few had attempted to break in, another few had tried to rob me when I’d walked by, and not a single one had succeeded.
More often than not, “taking advantage” was more about them being shit guests. Many were users, and I’d become a pro at cleaning up needles.
“Why do you keep doing it?”
I shrugged. “We all need a redeeming quality, don’t we?”
That was the best answer I was going to give.
Ben fell silent again and focused on the soup.
It appeared to be a winner.
He wasn’t shivering as much anymore either.
I killed a few minutes by keeping an eye on the rerun games running on the various flat-screens, but I had zero interest in curling, figure skating, and golf.
“I don’t like handouts,” Ben said quietly. “I’ll help you tomorrow.”
Perfect. It was settled.
I was dead on my feet when I finally killed the lights in the restaurant and bar. Ben shuffled after me, holding his to-go bag with leftovers, as we walked through the kitchen.
I’d found him dozing off in the booth when I’d returned to let him know we were closing, and no wonder. Who knew the last time he’d gotten a proper night’s sleep.