When she turns a shade of pink as well, contrasting her bright-blue hair, I have to agree that it is most certainly not a stupid rule.
“Bye, squirt. High-five?” Bug holds up her hand and Amelia touches it.
Bug walks across the snowy yard to her house, turning at the door to look back at Christian, whose gaze hasn’t strayed from the cute, athletic, teen. She smiles at him then disappears inside.
“You’re not going back to work?” Christian asks Carter when he sees us all approaching the inside door of the garage.
“Not quite yet. I thought Amelia here might want a snack first.” He turns to her. “You like graham crackers?”
“Yes!” she squeals.
Carter obviously isn’t ready to explain the situation to his son. Maybe he’s afraid it will spoil his surprise if Christian thinks the basement is just an empty wasteland. Or maybe he’s not sure how to tell him he’s just invited two complete strangers to live with them for a week or more.
And for the hundredth time in the last hour, I wonder if this is a horrible idea, or just what my daughter and I need.
Chapter Seven
Carter
Will graham crackers and some milk be enough of a distraction while I give Kenna the tour? Here’s hoping. Christian looks like he’s about to go to his room and tackle his homework, so I catch him before he rounds the corner.
“Hey, bud. Do you mind sitting in the kitchen with Amelia for a minute while I show Kenna something downstairs?” I turn to Kenna. “If that’s okay with you.”
Kenna nods and walks over to the table, cupping Amelia’s chin in her hand. “Be sure to clean up your crumbs, okay?” Then she kisses her on the head. “I’ll be right back.”
I don’t miss how Christian studies me as I show Kenna to the basement door. I’m sure he’s wondering what’s going on. Usually the only time he sees me heading to the basement is to do laundry or get tools. Shit, am I about to ruin the surprise?
I shut the door to the basement once we’re through, and Kenna looks at it like she might already regret being here.
“So the kids can’t hear us talking,” I say. “I mean, I can open it if you want. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“It’s fine,” she says, even though I can sense her hesitation.
“Okay, well, let me give you the five-cent tour then.” I walk down the stairs ahead of her. At the bottom, I turn on all the lights and wave an arm around. “It’s not much, but it’s clean. And it’s safe.”
Her eyes sweep the room. “It’s… not what I expected.”
I shrug. “Sorry. It’s geared toward teenage boy.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She walks over to the kitchen area, which is more like a wet bar with a mini-fridge and microwave. Turning back, she surveys the living room, whichhas a couch, a gaming chair, a fifty-inch wall-mounted TV, and a coffee table I made out of random car parts. To the right are glass French doors leading to the back yard and side driveway. “I envisioned a dusty basement full of second-hand furniture.” She touches the coffee table. “This is… wow. Did you make this?”
I nod, happy that she seems impressed.
She points to a closed door. “Is the bedroom through there?”
“That’s the laundry room.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry,” I reassure her. “I won’t bother you. I can probably go a while without needing to do laundry.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to do that.” She eyes my Cruz-In Auto Repair Shop shirt. “I’m sure you get dirty doing what you do all day.”
“I have a lot more where this came from.”
“You have a teenage boy, Carter. Surely you’ll need to wash clothes. You said it could be up to ten days.”
“I’m sure we could work something out. I could do it when you’re out and about.”
