Being the runt of the family sucked. Being theonlyrunt? Even worse. Rowan was six-two and a pediatrician—Saint Rowan, who still somehow found time to run marathons for charity. Gage was six-three, an ER doc, and could charm anyone from age two to a hundred and two. Vaughn was six feet and worked in finance, which basically meant he moved numbers around until they behaved and then bought another watch. Dad was six-one and still jogged like he had something to prove. Me? I was short like Mom, had green eyes, curly-ish blond hair, and the general vibe of someone they found under a bush and decided to keep.
Mom died in a car accident before I hit preschool. I didn’t remember her voice or her laugh, but sometimes I wished I did. Mostly, she was a couple of framed photos in Dad’s office and the occasional “You get that from your mother” when it came to being flighty. Dad was who’d done the raising, and he’d done it well. Which made every time I flopped even harder to swallow. Three tall, respectable, productive kids…and me, with a pipe dream about running a B&B.
After way too much overthinking, I’d settled on a wildflower theme for the bedrooms. Fingers crossed the muted colors and small personal touches landed as cozy charm instead of “grandma’s guest room.” Downstairs would be a Texas-ranch lodge, all warm woods and a little worn-in character. If I nailed it, guests would step inside and breathe a little deeper. That was a B&B owner kind of thing to do. Go me.
The big, scary project still looming was creating the walkway to Cypress Creek. Right now, there was a rock wall at the drop-off, but nothing to get you down to the water. And that was a shame because under the cypress trees, it was all shade, soft grass, and the sound of the creek moving. Perfect for picnics, small weddings, or whatever else made this place feel like a destination.
Sissy told me that when she bought this place, everyone said to cut down the trees. Thank god she hadn’t. The cedars by the road and the pecan trees scattered throughout the property made the air cooler and the light softer. Pecan pie made with my very own nuts would obviously be superior—and they’d look amazing with solar-powered twinkly lights.
Achoo!These allergies might kill me before my arms get the chance to fall off. At this point, it might be a fair trade.
Finish the room, then take a break. On that break, I could Google whether it was possible to remove my brain and give it a rinse.Achoo!
Painting was so much easierwhen youreyes weren’t threatening to swell shut during the cutting-in part.The fumes made me lightheaded, but I was determined to finish. The bathrooms were going to remain their current crisp white so that standard white towels would be interchangeable throughout. In Sissy’s revamp, she’d had all of them repainted, and I hadn’t needed to spend the extra time redoing all that work. With the pieces I’d picked up and ordered, they’d still look unique in each room.
One more. Last one. Make it happen, Jasper.Achoo!
I trudged into the last room bedroom that remained to be finished. It was the double suite at one end of the hall. The client would step into a sitting area, then proceed through an interior door to the bedroom and an en suite bathroom. I’d kept it for last because I knew it would be my favorite. My dad once said that Mom’s favorite flower had been Sweet William, and Sissy had mentioned it was also hers.
The raspberry-pink walls in the bedroom were a choice…like a seriously bold color choice, but it was beautiful and deep. In the sitting area, it’d be reversed by mid-green walls with raspberry and white accents. It was feminine, gorgeous, and perfect. I hoped that if they could’ve seen it, Mom and Sissy would’ve loved it.Achoo!
But if I didn’t get my butt in gear, it wasn’t going to happen.
Move it, Jasper.
And…done! It took another two hours, but my room was finished. If nothing else, the last three days had taught me to paint with the precision of someone with delusions of grandeur. I finally gave myself permission to collapse into a puddle and, naturally, my phone buzzed immediately. Gah.
Daddy
Up for company?
Hello?
Everything okay?
Jasper
p, dumw
Daddy
I’m coming over.
“Anyone here?” Hank’s voice carried up from downstairs, followed by the sound of boots on the stairs.
It took more effort than I had to answer. My head was seconds from exploding, but I’d finished painting the last room. We were officially ready for the furniture phase…assuming I still had a head. If not, all bets were off.
I was flat on the floor of the Sweet William Room, staring at the ceiling. If it was my time to go, this wasn’t a bad place to expire. Whoever painted it did a hell of a job. Oh, right. That was me. Yay me. The joke wasn’t worth the brain pain it took to think it up.
“What the hell happened?” Hank barked from the doorway before dropping down beside me.
“Shh. You’re yelling.”
“Hell yes, I’m yelling. You sent me nothing but gibberish.”
“I said I was fine.”
“You texted mep, dumw. That’s not fine. That’s a cry for help.”
