I couldn’t figure out where I’d seen him before, but the feeling stayed with me long after he disappeared around the corner.
The following Saturday, Chase returned at exactly eight in the morning. He went straight to work. About an hour later, I brought him a bottle of water.
“You’ve earned a break.”
“Thanks, Mr. Rick.”
While he drank, his gaze drifted toward the garage.
“You ever been inside there?”
“Not yet.”
He seemed surprised.
“Really?”
“I’m still unpacking.”
He nodded, but something about his expression changed. The following week, I caught him standing beside the garage before he’d even started mowing, his fingertips resting lightly against the old wooden siding.
“Everything okay?”
He jerked his hand away.
“Yeah.”
“What were you looking at?”
“The garage.”
“What about it?”
He hesitated, then simply walked back toward his mower.
That became our routine. Chase arrived every Saturday, mowed the lawn perfectly, and argued whenever I paid him extra. The more time I spent around him, the more convinced I became that I’d seen his face somewhere before.
Then, about a month after I hired him, my boss canceled an afternoon meeting and I arrived home earlier than expected.
