There I go again. I must be tired.
“Well, what do you think?” She sets her hands on her hips, raising that crop top just a hike more.
I blink. Am I supposed to know what she’s referring to? By some grace of God, she gestures around the space and I snap out of it, looking around the room—becauseof coursethat’s what she’s talking about.
There’s fewer boxes now and more .?.?.room. Most of them are now empty and broken down, lined up against the wall.
Ellie’s bookshelf is stacked with colorful hardcovers, bookends, and pottery. The dresser is now topped with a few of her things. Her bed’s made up with fresh linens. Come to think of it, the whole house smells like fabric softener and pine rather than sawdust and paint.
Willow even attached the veil to the canopy crown, which now rests neatly on the bed. She adjusts it evenly, flattening out a few creases.
“Just need a few screws and a drill, but I’ve already marked the center of the bed.” She points to a few pencil marks on the wall.
“Thank you,” I finally say, feeling like shit for making her feel like I was doingherthe favor this morning.
She dusts her hands along her sides, concern lining her forehead. “It’s a bit chilly here .?.?. especially after sundown.”
“I know,” I say on an exhale. “Heater’s going in Monday, couldn’t get anyone out here this weekend.”
“Monday?”
“That’s what I said. Come on. I got us some takeout. Hope you like Thai.”
She frowns, narrowing her eyes at me. “What if I don’t?”
“Well, it’s what you’re eatin’. Come on.”
Willow’s quiet on the way down but I can sense there’s something brewing, something unspoken.
I get the feeling she’s upset with me. Or maybe disappointed. But I don’t pry. I don’tcare.
Instead, I unload cartons onto the counter while Willow grabs two glasses from a cabinet. “Got any filtered water here?” she asks dryly.
“I got beer.”
She cocks her head at me like I’m joking. “No water, really? But you thought of beer.”
“Calm your feathers. The kitchen tap water is filtered. I dotryto think of everything, you know.”
“Except how to keep a kid warm,” she mutters.
“What do you want me to do, drag the guy over here on a Sunday?”
“No, I’m saying that maybe you think twice about rushin’ her over here when the place is clearly not ready.”
I give her an exhausted glare. “I’ll make sure she’s warm for the one night. There a chance you get feisty when you’re hungry too? Or is it just a morning-coffee thing?”
She deadpans me. “Did ya get anything spicy?”
I point to a set of cartons. “These two.”
Looking nearly satisfied, she smirks and settles onto a bar stool, pulling the two cartons toward her plate. “I’ll be the judge of that.” She tears open a pair of chopsticks and digs into the chicken dish first.
A small, breathy moan slips out as she chews. “There’s a kick, but I’ve had better.”
I perk a brow. “Is that right? Well, why don’t you try the spicy tofu? It’s a favorite of mine. Might need that glass of water though.”
She narrows her eyes. “I wash down spicy food with a spicy margarita. But I’ll be happy to pouryoua glass.”
