“It’s too cold to sleep outside, darling.” Delilah offered her a hand. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yes, see you tomorrow.” Emery stumbled to Cottage 7, feeling cold and out of sorts. She’d been sleeping so sweetly.
She’d was ready to tumble into bed when Joanna texted.
Emery, so sorry, I should’ve texted or called early.
But we’re so busy between the three cafés.
Elianna and I really need a home office, so we’re taking your old room.
I hope you don’t mind.
We’re installing a Murphy bed.
I slept on one at a hotel once and it was comfy!
So, when you come home, you’ll have your room and privacy. Just our desks along the wall.
They’re built-ins. Very nice. You would still have plenty of space in the room.
Guess that’s all for now.
We love and miss you. XOXO
Any thoughts on coming to the shower?
Emery slipped into bed, wishing for the peace and warmth of the music and fire.
CALEB
Monday afternoon, Caleb ducked out of his under-the-staircase office into the living room, seeing it as if for the first time. The clutter of moving boxes markedKitchenorBathroomremainedagainst the living room wall, waiting to be unpacked. Or maybe moved to another place altogether.
Also, there was evidence of Bentley—two pairs of sneakers plus socks on the floor and three before-bed cereal bowls growing fuzzy things on the coffee table.
Come on,Bent. You can do better.
Caleb could do better too. He’d not set much of an example with his unpacked boxes. He carried the dishes to the kitchen, gave them a good rinse, and set them in the dishwasher. He 409’d the counters and started a load of laundry, giving himself a bit of a pep talk.
“Come on, Ransom, you can do this. Build a business in your hometown and take care of your nephew. And unpack. What’s your hesitation?”
However, the morning had been slow. He’d finished the plans for Alderman’s refurbishment and met with Jenny’s contractor. No word from Simon on the Org. Homestead project, and the client looking to build in Preserve on the Bay had ghosted him. The Swansons weren’t ready to pull the plug on the Lake Lorraine home, and the Tallahassee project he’d bid on had emailed Friday afternoon.“Budget cuts. On hold.”
But what did he think would happen when he returned to Sea Blue Beach? Doors would fling open? He knew what he was up against with JIL and the West End. Yet he’d thought things through, considered his options, even tossed a prayer to God for guidance.
Then last night, while he posted on his Instagram account about the possible marriage of restoration and green architecture, he saw a buddy from Cornell had been listed byArchitectural Digestas an architect to follow on social media. Mitch Dawson? Really? The guy turned in every project late. Caleb pulled a couple of all-nighters just to help him out.
Comparison was the devil’s playground—Grandma’s mantra—but he still took a ride on the Why-Me Whirlybird and the Regret-o-Rama.
In the good news column, Lulu Chan, the muralist he’d contacted, happened to be free the first week of February. She quoted Caleb the friends-and-family rate, which Simon loved, especially since Duke’s contribution covered two-thirds of it.
Back in his office, he realized he’d not texted Emery lately. Which was surprising since he thought about her often. She’d gotten under his skin the day they met at the carnival. Making him ride the Ferris wheel—again—and wrapping her hand around his arm, leaning so close he could kiss her.
Yet he had doubts about taking up where they’d left off sixteen years ago. The summer of “then” was about two teens falling in love—at least for him—their first kiss, and making his troubles at home fade away.
Caleb:
Hey, Em. Can you put something in the paper about the next Main Street meeting on the 30th? The mural project is moving fast. We are lucky we caught Lulu between commissions. How’s your day?
