A grin spread across his face. “I will.” He yanked the starter cord. The mower sputtered twice, then roared to life.
I spent the next hour unpacking boxes while that steady hum drifted in through the open windows. Every time I glanced outside, Chase was working — no phone, no earbuds, no vanishing for breaks. Just straight, careful rows slowly turning the yard into something else entirely. By the time he finished, it looked like a completely different property.
I handed him the money. He counted it once, then looked back up at me.
“You’re far too generous. I only asked for twenty-five.”
“And you earned fifty.”
He just stared at the bills for a second. “Thank you.”
As he tucked the money into his wallet, something struck me again — his face seemed strangely familiar. I couldn’t place it, and it nagged at me. As he pushed the mower down the sidewalk, I kept watching until he turned the corner and disappeared. Where had I seen him before? The grocery store? Some neighbor’s barbecue? An old photo somewhere? None of it clicked.
By the following Saturday, Chase was back, exactly at eight o’clock — not a minute early, not a minute late.
“Morning, Mr. Rick.”
“Morning.”
