I wake up to the sound of my phone beeping. In my half-awake state, I lunge for it, wondering if it's a text from Evan. I texted him to let him know I got home last night. I didn't get a response, so I assumed he might have been asleep or showering.

It's not from Evan. It's from my landlord.

Go ahead with the flooring, Audrey. Just stick with stuff like the samples you showed me and keep the receipt. I'll divide the cost over six months of rent.

Glee fills me. Absolutely! Thank you so much!

I look around the room, once again imagining how much better it will look with this stupid carpet gone.

But here's the hard part. I have no idea where to begin. I doubt my ability to put the flooring in myself, and I'm wary of the idea of going to a contractor because countless experiences at car dealerships and hardware stores have taught me that the presence of a man can save me a lot of money and headache.

I look over at my alarm clock. It's nine o'clock. Evan should be eating breakfast at the Mission now.

I open up our messages. Would you be down to play pretend with me for something?

Within a couple moments, I get a call. It's quiet, like Evan stepped away from the dining hall so the noise wouldn't overwhelm his voice. "Good morning, Audrey. What do you mean, play pretend?" he asks, a chuckle in his voice.

"I've been trying to get the flooring in my studio replaced for months. My landlord just approved it but I don't want to go to a contractor by myself because... because I'm a girl," I sigh. "I was wondering if you'd be cool with pretending to be my husband so I don't get bullied."

"I think I have a better idea. I'll text you an address. Meet me there in a few."

"Intriguing," I laugh. "I'll be there."

I get dressed and decide to leave my hair down. I do my same routine with the cover-up, though. I'm not excited at the prospect of revealing to Evan that I'm still dealing with acne.

I know how to drive. I got my license when I turned sixteen. I actually own a car, a beautiful little Nissan Altima, but it's at my dad's house. Not much use for it here, with heavy traffic and rare parking spaces. Plus, the public transportation system in Portland is awesome. I can either catch the TriMet or walk wherever I need to.

The address he gave me is just a few blocks away. Easy walk. I take a moment to enjoy the fresh sunlight pouring over the city, giving the chill air a spike of warmth to it when I'm not in the shadows.

I see Evan in front of the address he gave me, which turns out to be a flooring showroom. He waves at me, unencumbered by his guitar case or backpack. I wonder where those things are and worry to myself that someone stole them again as I approach him.

Without even thinking about it, I walk directly into his arms for a hug. He returns the embrace easily, happily, and punctuates it with a long kiss.

"Thanks for meeting me," I say. "Where's your stuff?"

"Tia's been letting me lock it in the staff room," he replies.

I smile. "Tia's the best."

"Yeah, she is. I don't know if you saw how she linebacker-tackled Lenny the other night. She missed her calling. She would have been great in the NFL," he says, turning his attention to the showroom. "You own your place?"

"No. The cost is being deducted out of rent for the next few months," I say, wondering where his head is at.

He looks excited about something. "So... my idea. I have to talk to one of my friends here to see if I can pull it off."

"Are you going to tell me what it is?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't want to make promises I can't keep," he replies lightly. There's a mischievous glow on his smile that is highlighted by a look of contentment in his eyes. No matter what mood he's in, he's always so expressive.

"Mysterious," I say. "I'll look at samples."

We walk into the showroom. Evan smiles and greets the man behind the counter like an old friend, and the two of them discuss something in the corner while I wander around to look at the flooring available. It's immediately clear to me that interlocking vinyl planks are the way to go as they're just a fraction of the price of the cheapest ceramic tile. I peruse the wood-patterned options, disappointed that many of them are heavily tinted orange and red. I don't consider myself especially choosy in matters like this, but there's something extravagantly repulsive about those colors.

After a few moments, I find the perfect one. It's a faded, off-white that will age nicely, with light sand-colored graining. It looks natural but intentional and it reminds me of the beach. I think it would look perfect in my studio.

"Audrey, do you know the square footage you need?" Evan calls.

"Six hundred," I reply. That darned carpet is everywhere in the studio except for the kitchen and bathroom. I'll be so happy to see it go.

I run my finger along the sample of my choice. It's so gorgeous.

"Okay," Evan says after a few moments, walking up to me. "I help the guys here with contracts they're short-handed with, so they'll let me take this project under their name. You only pay the cost of the materials, but I'll sign a receipt saying that you paid the full price so you get the discount on rent."

My mind spins. "Wait, then that- no, Evan."

A cold, frightened curtain appears behind his blue eyes. "Oh, I mean... if you don't want me in your house, I get it. I just-"

"No, that's not the issue, Evan. I don't mind having you at my place," I say in a rush. "The issue is that with your master plan here, you don't get paid."

He grins. "It'll only take me a day, tops, to replace all that. It's fine."

I shake my head. "No."

"Audrey, don't be like that. It's fine, really. I wouldn't offer if I didn't want to do it," he says. His voice has an air of pleading to it, like he's begging me to let him do unpaid labor.

"And why do you want to do it so badly?" I ask. "Work for nothing?"

"Because... because I get to spend time with you," he replies shyly.

I can't stop myself from smiling as consider all of this. "What's your regular pay with them?"

"Fourteen an hour," he says quickly. Too quickly.

I glare at him and look over at the guy he was talking to. "How much does he make an hour when he works with you guys?" I ask, jerking my thumb at Evan.

"Twenty under the table," the guy replies.

I look back at Evan, who looks embarrassed to be have been caught in his fib. "I will take you up on this, but I will pay you the full twenty an hour."

"Audrey-" he starts, looking around exasperatedly.

"I've been saving part of my tuition reimbursement for like six terms. I have the money," I tell him.

Evan takes a breath. "Counter-offer. Sixteen an hour and you help me do it."

I cock my head at him. "Nineteen and I'll help you do it. Final offer."

He thinks for a moment, then holds out his hand. "Deal."

I shake his hand, then we both laugh at the idiocy of the moment.

I pay up front for the cost of the flooring and am amazed when Evan tells me they're letting him use one of their vans and all of the tools we'll need. I add a small sum to the amount I hand the cashier for the gas and mileage of the van, worried that Evan will try to cover the amount himself later.

I sit in the passenger's seat of the van while Evan takes the wheel. "I'm at 1189 Haynes street," I say, hoping he notices the flippant way I give him my address, hoping it conveys the confidence I have in him. "Thank you so much for this."

Evan waves to his friend as he backs out of the open garage behind the showroom. "Thank you for the job."

"Thank you for doing it at a discounted rate, and for trying to get away with doing it for free," I reply. "How do you know about all of this stuff?"

"Oh, my dad owns Byrd Flooring," he tells me. The name clicks into place of memories of vans similar to this one, emblazoned with that company title, driving around Roseburg. "I grew up on work sites learning how to install just about anything."

"Is that your last name?" I ask. "Byrd?"

He nods, glancing over at me as he stops at a red light. "Yeah."

"Evan Byrd. What a pretty name," I say loftily.

He laughs. "Thank you."

"It's the perfect name for a musician, too," I say. Then my brow furrows. "Byrd Flooring is still in business, right?"

He nods again as the light turns green.

"Then where is that money, and why isn't it being used to keep you from sleeping in a shelter?" I ask, appalled at the thought of anyone having enough money to own a business but letting their child live in the streets.

Evan is quiet for a few moments after this. "My dad doesn't talk to me anymore. He kicked me out when I was nineteen."

"Why?" I ask, startled. Then I hurry to cover my lapse in etiquette. "I mean, you don't need to tell me. It's not my business. I just... I can't imagine you doing anything worth getting kicked out over."

He stays quiet again. "Audrey... if I tell you why I got kicked out, I won't be allowed to stay at the Mission anymore."

This honesty means a great deal to me, but it also chills me. All of the offenses that could get someone banned from the Mission are violent ones.

Who is the man in the seat beside me? What is his story?

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