All That Really Matters, Nicole Deese [best detective novels of all time .TXT] 📗

a budget.’” Silas lifted his eyes to me again, as if waiting for me to expound.

“I know where every sale rack and consignment store is located within a fifty-mile radius. My idea is to teach the residents about appropriate work attire in the first Tuesday session and to match apparel options with job descriptions. Then maybe I can bring a variety of clothing options for the practical steps of choosing outfits on a budget while also demonstrating how nearly every ensemble can be multifunctional with a little tweaking and attention to detail. This idea can be as flexible as you need it to be for the program.”

The Viking propped his arm on Silas’s shoulder, making him appear much shorter than the five or six inches he had on me. “Wow, that sounds like a winning idea to me. I’m Jake Whittaker. Molly, was it?” Jake held out his mitt of a hand, and I shook it, acknowledging that, yes, he had my name correct.

Jake studied the syllabus in Silas’s hands. “I like this one here, too.” He pointed at the paper. “‘Talk Like a Pro: How to trade the ums and uhs for confident speech.’” Jake peered down at me again. “These are all super creative. Usually the Tuesday night classes are titled things like ‘Baking with Gene.’”

Jake laughed; Silas did not.

Jake read on despite his brother’s lack of shared amusement. “‘Food Flair: How to assemble a meal for one, two, or a dozen or more.’” Jake smiled and asked, “Are you a chef?”

I shook my head, aware that Silas was tuned in to us, though his eyes still scanned the pages I’d given him. “I do really like to cook, but I actually enjoy assembling food even more. It’s a lost art, really—how to arrange food to be an experience and not just a five-minute shovel and go.”

“Shovel and go?” Jake chuckled again. “That’s probably how my fiancée would categorize my eating style. Maybe I need to take your class—I’m sure Clara would appreciate it.”

I was grateful for his interest and flattery, but the growing sinkhole between Silas and me seemed to be expanding.

“There’s also ‘Decor 101,’” I said, jumping aboard the moving train Jake was conducting. “Which is less about decorating and more about how to orient a space to make it homey, which I define as both functional and aesthetically pleasing.” I glanced back at the girls’ cottage. “I noticed a few minor changes that could be made to the cottage that could be a hands-on application component to this class.”

Jake looked down at Silas and then back at me. “Honestly, that sounds right up Silas’s alley. He’s an organizational freak of nature, and—”

Silas shot him a narrowed side-eye glance that quickly shut him up.

“What does this asterisk mean at the bottom of the syllabus?” Silas asked.

“Well, I wasn’t sure what the financial or physical needs are at The Bridge, but I’m guessing since you mostly rely on donations and sponsors, all of these classes could culminate with a fundraising event I’d be happy to host at the end of the summer. I’ve fundraised for many of my brother’s mission trips—for him and the teams he travels with—and I grew up in a home where fundraising was a necessary evil to put food on the table.” I stopped there, unwilling to unpack any more personal details regarding my parents or childhood. “I could do the same thing here. For The Bridge. And the residents could all participate by managing specific jobs for the event.”

Jake’s eyes grew rounder and rounder as I spoke, and even Silas’s silence seemed to shift into something of a more stunned nature.

And then out of Jake’s mouth came a whispered phrase I had zero reference for: “Um, Silas, does this mean I’m prophetic?”

9

Silas

Molly had returned to Fir Crest Manor with a typed syllabus. A part of me was still trying to wrap my brain around that fact alone. The effort she’d put into the formatting, font, and bulleted list following each bolded class title proved it hadn’t been thrown together. It had clearly taken her hours to analyze the feedback I’d given her in order to create five specific classes that fit five specific skills she possessed.

It was impressive to say the least.

Which, of course, I hadn’t been able to say, since Jake had filled every breath break with small talk.

“I’m not sure what Silas has told you about the other volunteers here,” Jake began on yet another change of subject. “But they’re all great. I met my fiancée during a Tuesday night class a few years back, actually. I was here tearing out a wall in the fireside room, and Clara was here to teach a class on how to open a bank account. She’s a manager at a credit union downtown and a total math wizard.” He looked at Molly appraisingly. “What do you do for work?”

Molly glanced my way, as if waiting for me to butt in with my two cents. But I wouldn’t. “I’m an online fashion and beauty influencer.”

“Wow, like on YouTube? I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who’s made a career that way—although I’m guessing there must be a lot of you since so many people subscribe to social media channels.”

Molly remained quiet for a beat, and I discerned from her reticent expression that it wasn’t the first time a comment like this had been made regarding her chosen profession. Far from it, I gathered. But just as I was about to remind Jake of his awaiting garbage disposal duties, she answered him. “While I can’t speak for every vlogger personality on the internet, I can say that often the people who start uploading videos because they think they can turn a quick buck without a strategic marketing plan are almost never the same people who stick it out for the long haul. As my manager says, ‘If your numbers aren’t growing, somebody else’s are.’”

“You have a manager, too? Is that a requirement?”

“No,