Although I’m the victim of an insufferable hangover from the consumption of whiskey shots and beer the night before, I manage to be like Jesus and help revamp Rutger’s foyer closet. Together, we work with the oak wood, which we measure, cut, and nail in place. An hour turns into two hours…almost three hours, and I’m about ready to drop dead from exhaustion, weak and almost unconscious.
Rutger says, “You need a break.”
“I won’t tell a lie. I do. I’m having fun, but last night was a little too much for me.”
“I like an honest man. Most men won’t admit that they have bad nights,” he chides and lights up his Marine handsome face with a wide grin: beaming, intoxicating, and worthy of my interest. His smile takes away part of my physical agony.
We drink bottled water in the shade, next to his
