Everything was still. For the past year, there were no sightings of Christopher and things had returned to how they used to be: normal.
The sun beat down through the glass windows of Tillbury’s, casting a direct spotlight against the freshly painted wall. Sawyer set down his roller and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand before smearing it onto his jeans.
“Ya know I run a restaurant, right?” said Darren, reaching into his back pocket. His clothes were covered in teal paint and his temples dripped of sweat. “I have tons of these guys lyin’ around.” He flipped a cloth from behind his back and handed it to Sawyer.
Sawyer extended his hand and took the cloth from Darren, running it across his forehead. “Well, if you got the air conditioner fixed, we wouldn’t be dying from heat stroke.”
Darren waved his hand, dismissing Sawyer’s comments. “We’ll deal with that once the renovations are done. Now pick up your roller and get to workin’.”