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As Darren returned home from working at the Gilded Lily, he finally felt that he made the right decision coming to Sacramento. Being as quiet as possible, the doorman made his way up to his room and got into bed, sleeping through past dawn, a rarity for him. When he awoke, Darren felt as fresh as a daisy and after a nice shower, he made his way downstairs for breakfast and to start the work he promised Miss Claire.
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Miss Claire looked up from cooking breakfast and gave Darren a large smile.
"Well, good morning dear. I hope you're hungry. Most of the boys had early classes this morning, so it will only be you and I. But they didn't tell me this until after I had already cooked all this food and I would hate to see it go to waste. So, have a seat then and let's eat."
She brought over two large plates of food and set one in front of Darren. She sat next to him at the table, said grace, and motioned for him to dig in.
"Now, I think the first thing that needs to be fixed is the garage door. It keeps getting stuck. I think the motor on it is going bad. Can you replace a garage door motor dear?'
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Taking a huge (and satisfying) mouthful of bacon and eggs, Darren chewed like he hadn't eaten for some time before answering.
"If its anything like a car's, Miss Claire, then we should be fine. If not, then I'll take a look anyway and find a way to fix it using some simple ingenuity." He grins before continuing. "And I promise that doesn't involve just hitting it with a hammer and hoping for the best."
After a few more mouthfuls, Darren feels that he has been a bit rude since moving in a decides to find out some more about Miss Claire, feeling it only polite.
"Have you always lived in Sacramento, Miss Claire?"
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She nods. "Oh yes, I was born and raised here. Never considered moving. My family has all moved away though. My husband was the last one I had left and now I have his house. Our children live in DC and New York, so they don't come to visit very opften. But I like it here."
She takes a few more mouthfuls before asking him a question in return. "And where were you born, Darren?"
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"Honestly, Miss Claire? In the back of a caravan next to the Twelve Bells pub in East London during the great storm of '87." Darren drops his eyes to his plate as he thinks back. "My family were Irish travellers, living wherever they could before being persecuted or spat on." Looking back up towards his landlady, he asks, "I understand if you don't want me here knowing that, some people don't really like us."
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Miss Claire quirks an eyebrow. "I don't understand why you would say that. People are people, whatever your family was or is, is nothing to me. I just care about who you are, sir. So far, you've done just fine here."
She finishes her breakfast and stands, picking up her plate. "But I do understand if you're not wanting to talk about it. Are you done there, dear?"
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Standing a tad too quickly, Darren catches his legs on the table and knocking some cutlery to the floor. Scurrying to pick them up, he holds them in his meaty hands, replying, "Its no offence, ma'am, its nice to talk to someone decent for a change," before taking them through to the kitchen.
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Miss Claire nods as she takes the dishes. "Well thats good. Some of the boys are awful curious about you but I told them not to ask too many questions. It's rude to pry you know. All right, why don't you go into the garage and take a look at that motor while I do the dishes."
If Darren goes into the garage and looks at the motor he will see that one of the belts needs to be replaced and it needs a very good and thorough dusting. Other then that, there is nothing wrong with it.
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After ceaning up with Miss Claire, Darren heads out to the garage and takes a look at the door motor, happily noting that it is only in need of a replacement belt as well as a good clean. Putting all his concentration into it in an attempt to help Miss Claire, Darren's tongue unconciously pokes out in the effort of doing a good job.
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Darren gets the motor working smoothly before Miss Clair is even done with the dishes.
(Invisible Hands) Grasp
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