The next morning, Megan’s up before the sun.
Her alarm goes off at six, and less than five minutes later she’s already moving through the house, curling her hair with one hand and sipping coffee with the other. She’s got a teacher workday—some kind of meeting before the kids come back tomorrow—and I don’t have to be in until later.
She kisses me goodbye on her way out, and when the door shuts, it’s quiet and the faint smell of her perfume lingers in the air. And then my eyes land on that pink rug in the middle of the living room. The thing practically glows in the early morning light.
By eight thirty, I’m pulling into Jesse’s driveway. He’s got the hood up on his truck, a rachet in one hand, frustration written all over his face.
“Morning,” I call, climbing out of my truck.
He straightens, squinting against the sun. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Interior Design himself.”
I stop midstep. “What?”
He smirks. “That rug, man. Megan sent Ella a picture last night.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Of course she did.”
“She said she was ‘making the cabin cozy.’” Jesse grins.
I groan. “Yeah, whatever. It’s not that bad.”
“It’spink, Mason.”
“Not all pink. Just…enough to ruin my masculinity.”
Jesse throws his head back, laughing. “Welcome to marriage. Whatever’s yours is hers now.”
I shrug. “I just wish it wasn’t costing us three hundred dollars.”
“Three hundred?” He chokes on the words.
I choose not to repeat myself.
“Anyway,” I say, stepping closer to the truck, “what’s wrong this time?”
“She cranks, won’t turn over,” he says. “Fuel filter or pump.”
“Well, did you check them?”
“Nope. That’s why you’re here.”
I laugh, stepping up on a bucket to get a better look.
A few minutes later, Cody’s truck rumbles in. He hops out looking like he’s ready to rescue us from our own stupidity—standard older-brother energy.
“Alright, I can’t stay long, both girls have doctor’s appointments I’m going along to.” He walks closer, nodding at me. “Mase, saw the rug. I picked you for a duller pink kinda guy.”
Jesse barks out a laugh.
I punch Cody in the arm. “Shut up, man.”
“Probably doesn’t even bother you,” he teases.
“I mean, she redecorated quite a bit. A little more than I thought. Moved the bear, which…I gotta talk to Dad. He helped with that one.”
Both of them laugh, because of course Dad helped.
“Well, you either deal with it or say something,” Cody says.
