“I ran the trail at Whispering Lake.”
My eyes almost bug out of my head. “You ran all the way from here to the lake, did a lap, and then back again? That’s got to be five or six miles.”
“Eight point four actually.” He waggles his brows.
“Wow. That’s a lot.”
He shrugs. “Didn’t feel like it.” He combs his fingers through his hair, scattering damp, dark-brown strands across his brow. “I’m gonna grab some water, shower, and change, and I’ll come out then.”
“Great,” his mom says, coming through the door carrying a tray. “We’ll finish much quicker with the additional help.” Roni kisses his cheek as he passes.
“Ma, don’t. I reek.”
She laughs. “You’re not wrong, son. Go clean up.”
Roni and I chat casually as we resume painting the new handrail and deck Tony installed yesterday. Tony has already painted the steps, so when Callan joins us fifteen minutes later, he starts on the floor, concentrating on the farthest point so he’s not interfering with our work. Roni peppers us with questions about school as we work, and we discuss some additional ideas I’ve had for the downstairs layout, and the conversation flows easily.
“Here comes my mom,” I say when I spot her leaving our house with a box in hand.
Roni lifts her hand in a wave, setting her brush down and flying down the steps to greet her new best friend. They hug like long-lost friends, and Callan chuckles. “They’re as bad as our sisters.”
“I think it’s great everyone gets along. We’re not close with any of the other neighbors.”
“Have you made a decision yet?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at me from his position on the floor.
“I’m still thinking about it, but I’ll let you know tonight.”
“I’ll call over later.” He sits back on his heels. “No matter what you decide, we still need to agree on how to play it at school tomorrow.”
“Okay. But don’t drop by before nine. I won’t be home until eight, and I’ll need to shower and eat.”
“I could drop you to work and pick you up after if you like. We could discuss the pros and cons on the drive?”
My mouth opens to turn him down because I have my own car and I don’t need a ride. But maybe it’d be easier to discuss it in the car, en route to work, and make the decision there and then. Less of an intimate setting than my bedroom. “Sure, that sounds like a plan.”
“You’re making good progress,” Mom says, climbing the steps with Roni.
“Many hands make light work,” Roni replies.
“It looks great,” Mom adds. “It makes such a difference to the front of the house.”
“The new front door is being delivered tomorrow, and the porch furniture Astrid helped me to choose is due on Wednesday. I was thinking I might go to the garden center this week to pick up some potted plants and a couple of hanging baskets.”
Behind Roni, her son rolls his eyes. I grin. Men just don’t get it. I swear, every time Mom mentions renovating the house or buying something new to complement the current look, Dad zones out. He’s happy to let her decide and just go with the flow.
“It’s going to look fabulous,” I proclaim. “I’ll swing by the store I mentioned this week to grab those accessories we agreed on, and I’ll have the full mood board and drawings to you by the end of the week,” I add.
“I’m so excited to see them.”
“I think it’s time the workers had a tea break,” Mom proclaims, holding up a cake box. “I have cupcakes from the bakery to go with that lovely Irish tea.”
“Did someone say cake?” I joke, instantly putting my brush down.
“Come on, Callan. Astrid and I have been known to demolish everything in sight. If you want one, you’d best hurry.”
“Mom, Callan doesn’t eat cake. Remember?”
The mothers share a look I can’t decipher.
