“Wow,” I murmured, craning my neck to study the new floor joists. I hadn’t been to the Turlan property in the ten days since returning from Arizona, and it was obvious Riley had taken my instructions to heart. “You were busy.”
“The subtext,” Riley said, gesturing to Magnolia, “is that I’m a slacker, and Sam’s impressed we accomplished anything without his beautiful mind to guide us.”
They tossed quips back and forth while I studied the completed work, noting the rapid progress on resolving the plumbing issues without ruining that unique penny drop tile, tearing off the roof and building the framework for a highly efficient exterior, and fixing the missing hardwood planks in the dining room. The bones of the home were being shored up with new beams—some wood, some steel—and every window was new.
“We haven’t mentioned the electrical issue, though,” she whispered. Her hands were shoved deep in the pockets of her fleece jacket, and she was standing closer to Riley than me, and I was content with that scenario.
“Fuuuuuck,” Riley groaned. “You tell him.”
“There was some latent water damage in here. It had been painted over, but when we busted into the ceiling to fix the hot and cold water returns, we found some rot. We followed it down, and then we found this.” Magnolia led the way to the front parlor and pointed to the bare studs. “It’s all black.”
Confused, I knelt down, expecting to find mold or fire damage, but I was faced with electrical wires. “Shit,” I murmured. No white, no red. Just black. “Everywhere?”
“Yeah,” Riley said.
This system dated back to the earliest days of electricity in homes, before codes were fully standardized, regulated, and delineated with color. “We need to trace it all back,” I said, sighing. “Replace it all.”
“Yep,” Riley said. “Let me add that to my list of fun conversations to have with my trades.”
I paged through the plans while touching base with the general contractor about his timeline for the roof. We were battling the weather, and though January was no treat in terms of building in Boston, Magnolia’s timeline was already tight. If she wasn’t able to dive in, we’d be looking at several months of delays.
“So it looks good?” Riley asked. “Aside from the major fire hazard?”
“Excellent,” I said. “You handled this well, and I should have paid closer attention to the electrical from the start.”
He mumbled something under his breath and went off in search of the electrician. I still didn’t understand his inability to acknowledge that he was competent. Riley preferred being the family failure who barely graduated high school, but he was secretly smart in plenty of areas. Somewhere along the line, it’d become easier for him to fuck up than succeed, and he’d claimed that as his niche.
Matt knew that Riley was capable of far more than he let on, but he also provided Riley with the cover necessary to learn, practice, screw up, and then grow from his mistakes. I didn’t know how to bring out the best in others the way Matt did, but I was determined to edge Riley out of the nest soon. He needed to find his footing and grow on his own, and as soon as I found the right project for him, he’d be going at it solo.
“Do you guys want to get a drink?” Magnolia asked. “There’s no football on tonight, and I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“That really depends on where you’d like to go,” Riley said. “Your preferences might be a little down-market for the boss.”
He nodded toward me but I ignored it. Magnolia was still casually affectionate—there was no dodging her hugs—but she wasn’t overtly flirting with me. If anything, she was flirting with Riley and if I wasn’t mistaken, he was reciprocating.
Interception completed.
“The Salty Pig,” she suggested. “They have some insane drinks. You have to try their Bear Skin Rug.”
“That sounds pleasantly homoerotic,” he said. “Seems like something I’d enjoy.”
“Obviously,” she said. “That’s why I mentioned it.”
Maybe this didn’t have to be difficult or tentative, at least not for me. I stepped away to text Tiel, knowing she’d love seeing these two going back and forth with each other.
17:41 Sam:hey my sunshine. what’s on the agenda tonight?
Life was good. Really good, but not without its own set of challenges. We were talking about her living at the firehouse, and she admitted it was difficult to give up her space and independence, but was warming up to the idea. We had a hearty debate about the right way to load a dishwasher last weekend, and though it didn’t meet the strict definition of a fight, we enjoyed an evening of make-up sex nonetheless.
We stayed together most nights, and though I wanted to spend every moment of every day by her side, I was also working on giving her the space she craved.
The (potential) baby situation lingered on the back burner and I couldn’t find the appropriate forum to open that discussion. It was her body and I respected her privacy and choices, but I also wanted to know what was going on. I didn’t think it was a good idea to show up at her apartment with a pregnancy test and an awkward smile, and I didn’t know whether it was acceptable for me to request status updates on her menstrual cycle. We were together enough for me to have a general idea, but coming out and asking seemed rather forward.
She’d tell me one way or another, I didn’t doubt that, but I was inwardly quivering for more information. I was trying to find a smooth way to suggest she start taking prenatal vitamins or swapping out some coffee for juice, but as of yet, I hadn’t located one. Every time we held each other in bed or snuggled on the sofa to watch a movie, my hand went straight to her belly. I could barely contain the excitement I experienced at the prospect of our child growing inside her, and it was completely overwhelming, too.
I didn’t hear Angus’s voice as much these days—Tiel babbled too much for me to hear much else—but part of me worried about replicating my DNA. I was born with a full slate of issues, and I didn’t want to see my kid suffering through any of that.
By all accounts, I hadn’t been an easy baby. The diabetes came first and then it was breathing problems and food allergies, and by the time I was two, I was a bundle of nerves and neuroses. I spent my entire childhood with my stress hormones on blast, and I was afraid of my own damn shadow.
