“But that could take a week or more. I thought you wanted to get this done?”
That was before she mentioned the app.
“I can help you get started, yeah. Besides, these painting projects usually take longer than you think. Whenever I didn’t hire it out back home, it could take me days to do a few rooms.”
She puts her fist on her hip like she’s gearing up for a fight.
“I’ve painted a bedroom before, you know.” Her voice is teasing, but I just stare at her.
“Never said you couldn’t. I think it’s a bad idea to go bolder like this without an expert weighing in, that’s all.”
“Well, okay. I guess.” Her hand falls back to her side and her posture softens.
Like my lack of humor has knocked the wind out of her sails.
I’m sure she expected something more constructive or maybe for me to join in with her teasing, considering the almost-flirting last night, but the app soured the mood.
If she knew who owned that technology, she’d understand.
“The metal detectors are back this way. Think I even spotted a thermal tool for seeing behind walls,” I say, nodding at the kids to follow us.
“Can we rent them both? That would be super helpful.” She jams her phone back in her pocket and follows me.
Relief cools my blood, knowing we’ve moved on from AI bullshit.
“I think so. If there’s anything behind the walls to worry about, we’ll find it.” I play it cool, not saying much more in front of the kids.
If they get one whiff about hidden treasure in the house, they’ll howl until I start knocking holes in the walls.
Margot looks at me but doesn’t comment on thewepart.
Just like she doesn’t say anything else about shooting down the app consultation. I’m sure it comes off as weird and old-school.
Whoisn’tembracing AI-powered everything with wide-open arms to make their lives better?
I need to do better.
Keep it the fuck together, man.
She insists on paying for the tools, and I allow it.
Technically, she’s the homeowner, after all.
The sun feels warmer as we step outside, burning away the last of the morning mist by the time we head back to the vehicle.
The kids rush back to our SUV. Margot sees a poster on the side of the hardware store before we leave.
“Farmers and crafts market today?” Her expression lights up. “Okay, now we have to make another stop. It’s just a couple blocks away.”
Her eyes shine like she’s one with the sun.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” she echoes. “It’ll be fun. Don’t you like a little spontaneity, Kane Saint?”
I grit my teeth.
“If you think spontaneity means tromping around a farmers market when you’re already struggling to eat up half a ton of blueberries, you should redefine fun,” I growl, but I’m already following her, waving Dan and Sophie over.
