As the evening winds down, my gaze drifts to Greg’s face. He’s laughing at something Kit said, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and I feel a surge of love so strong it takes my breath away. This man is my everything. Under the table, I reach for his hand, lacing my fingers through his. He squeezes back and shoots me a grin.
A short while later, we step out into the night, the laughter and chatter from inside Fox’s Restaurant fading into the background. The stars twinkle overhead in a vast dark sky. I take a deep breath of crisp air that’s scented with pine and the faint hint of smoke from a nearby chimney.
“Well, that was another awesome evening,” Felix says, his arm linked with Kit’s. “I know I say it every time, but I’m so glad we could all get together like this.”
“Absolutely,” Greg agrees, his hand finding mine and enclosing it in warmth. “But next time, we’ll have you over to ours for dinner.”
Felix grins. “Maybe we shouldn’t wait for you to finish the kitchen reno? I mean, I’d like to see you again in the not too distant future.”
“Hey!” I laugh. “Ye of little faith. We’ll have a fully functioning kitchen by Christmas, mark my words.”
“Oh, I will,” Felix says then turns to Kit and whispers, “I’m not holding my breath.”
Greg chuckles at my side and I join in, happy to be the receiving end of the friendly teasing. These guys are more than friends, they’re part of my family, and I’m glad we have them in our lives.
Chapter Six
Greg
I grip the tilecutter in my hand as I watch Simon meticulously measure and score the gleaming white square. He’s crouched, brow furrowed in concentration.
“See, you want to make sure it’s lined up just right before you mark it,” he explains, glancing up at me. “Then a firm press with the snap cutter… like this.”
The tile makes a crisp cracking sound as he breaks it cleanly along the scored line. I nod, trying to absorb his instructions, but based on my last effort, I’m out of my depth.
Simon stands. “Now for the fun part,” he says, grabbing a tub of tile adhesive. “You want to use the notched trowel to spread an even layer. But be careful, not too thick.”
I watch as he demonstrates the technique, impressed by his precise, fluid motions. He makes it look so easy.
“Your turn.” He hands me the trowel with an encouraging smile. “Remember, slow and steady, and keep the layer smooth.”
I take a deep breath, hoping I get it right. I want to make this bathroom perfect, and I want to do as much of it myself as I can.Plus I don’t want to give Simon the satisfaction of teasing me mercilessly if I screw it up.
Doing my best to mimic Simon’s actions, I carefully spread the gluey mixture onto the cement board, trying to keep my lines straight and even.
Mine doesn’t look anywhere near as even as Simon’s, however he doesn’t call me out on it. “Not bad,” he says. “Now for the tile. Line it up and press into the adhesive.”
As he peers over my shoulder, I position the tile, holding my breath as I push it into place. It adheres with a satisfying squish, excess adhesive oozing from the sides.
“Hey, look at that—you’re a natural!” Simon claps me on the back, ignoring the fact I’ve used too much product, and dabbing at the overflow with a damp cloth.
“Maybe I’ll use a little less next time.” I grin despite my mistake. It’s great to learn something new and I’m one step closer to getting the bathroom finished. I tap the tile with my knuckle and chuckle. “Take that, force of gravity.”
I reach for the next tile and huff a laugh. I don’t think I can give Simon a run for his money, but I’ll give it my best shot. By the time I have a row under my belt, I feel a lot more confident. Of course, then a big blob of adhesive drops from the trowel onto the floor.
Simon chuckles as he looks at the blob. “Remember that time in high school when we did the blood splatter experiment for the science fair?”
The memory comes flooding back, and I laugh as I bend to scoop the mess from the floor. “Oh man! Who’d have thought correlating the size of blood stains to the distance they fell would end up being such a disaster?”
“We were young and optimistic,” Simon says, shaking his head.
“And apparently, one of us thought it was a good idea not to share the fact they had a blood phobia,” I add.
Simon snorts. “Hey, I was a teenager. As if I was going to admit to that.”
“You didn’t think the fact you nearly passed out at the first splattering of the blood was going to give it away?”
“Hey! In my defense, I didn’t think the fake blood was going to look so realistic!”
