“Aww! Come on. I love parties!” Evan exclaimed in almost a whine.
“It’s not that kind of party,” Cal replied as Evan moved the stepladder to the other side of the window. Evan paused before climbing up it, tossing Cal a scowl over his shoulder.
“It’s a kid’s party. I’ll be on my best behaviour.”
“I doubt it,” Cal snorted, and I laughed in agreement. Cal pushed his roller through the paint tray and arched a brow at the crestfallen expression on Evan’s face. “Obviously, you’re still coming. I told my kid he would get to meet his weird uncles.”
“Aww, we’re uncles, Dare!” Evan cackled. He shifted the ladder and climbed back up it, painter’s tape still in hand, and set to edge the molding around the other side of the window.
“Honourary—subject to revocation depending on how much you embarrass me.”
“Yeah, yeah. Best behaviour. Message received,” Evan said, taping around the edge of the window. “Where’s the party?”
“At the bookstore, next Saturday night. It starts at six thirty.” Evan shivered, as if something unpleasant had touched him. He despised reading, and as far as I knew…he hadn’t picked a book up since high school. Evan had ADHD and he was dyslexic. He’d struggled a lot in school before finding music. His mom enrolled him in drum lessons in the third grade, hoping it’d boost his confidence and hold his attention.
A bookstore was probably akin to a library to Evan.
“Are your parents going?” I asked.
Cal nodded, his jaw tightening. “Haven’t spoken to the old man since that fight yet, but I bet Mom won’t let him miss it—even if he’d prefer to—even if I’d prefer him to.”
“Do you really not want him there?” I asked, sending a prying look his way as I continued rolling paint on the wall.
When Cal wasn’t crashing at my mom’s house, he was at Harper’s. He hadn’t gone home since the fight and didn’t plan on it.
“I want to give him a chance to be there,” Cal said, leaving it at that. I nodded in understanding.
After Evan finished taping around the trim, he put on some music, and we got to painting.
* * *
The sun was settingwhen we finally took a break. The three of us had managed to get the first coat up on the main floor, and the result had brightened the space. I set my roller down, stretching my back to work out the kinks.
My muscles were stiff, but my spirit felt lifted. It’d been a while since the three of us had spent the day hanging out. We talked shop a little, joked around a lot, and got some shit crossed off Calum’s to-do list.
But my stomach was beginning to grumble. Lunch had been hours ago, and I’d barely eaten because I’d felt uneasy with the waitress’s cold gaze on us. Her apparent interest in us didn’t stem from wanting to bed one of us. She looked at us all with contempt, like our existence aggravated her in some way. Like having the three of us eat at her diner was a major inconvenience.
The front door swung open, and Calum’s mom’s voice followed. “Knock knock!” she called out before entering with Connor, both weighed down with multiple shopping bags.
Cal and I made our way over to help. I reached out and took several bags from Connor’s hands. She gave me a tight smile, averting her gaze, and moving around me as she took in the large rooms.
I followed Calum into the kitchen, setting the bags down on the counter and beside it, my gaze still tracking Connor’s movements as she walked into the living room.
Calum’s mom fussed over the place, and I zoned out…my attention on the redhead who was working extremely hard to avoid looking at me. She was upset about something, and I couldn’t help but feel like that upset was directed at me.
I finally caught Connor’s eye and arched a brow in question, but she pursed her lips and shook her head, averting her gaze once again.
“We picked up a few things. Necessities mostly, and some items for the house. I hope that’s okay.” Calum’s mom’s voice brought me back to the fact we weren’t alone, and pulling Connor aside to get in her head couldn’t happen.
My eyes followed her movements as if magnetized by her presence. Connor was dressed in a pair of paint-splattered coveralls, her hair pulled up in a messy bun as if she expected to get her hands dirty.
“Mom, you didn’t have to do this.”
Maeve smiled and shook her head. “I wanted to. It’s something I planned on doing for all my children,” she said. “Are you boys hungry? We brought dinner,” she added, lifting two brown paper bags and setting them down on the island countertop.
Connor came over, placing her delicate hands on the countertop, her eyes appraising the dated kitchen. She caught my eye and frowned, her brows furrowing before she looked away again. If I reached out, I could touch her and Lord knew that was all I wanted to do.
Even without her saying a word, I could sense she was angry about something. It felt like that anger was directed at me, but she could also be watching her movements because of her mother and brother.
