“My wife is thirty-eight weeks pregnant with triplets,” I said. “We need this done in three weeks.”
“We know,” Gavin said. He was the youngest, with curly hair and an easy smile. “That’s why we cleared our schedule. We’re all yours for the next three weeks.”
All yours. Why does that sound vaguely threatening?
“That’s... good,” I said carefully. “I have a detailed timeline.”
“We saw,” Mason said. “Very comprehensive. We’ll stick to it.”
“And if there are any delays.”
“There won’t be,” Jasper assured me.
“But if there are.”
“We’ll handle it,” Clint said.
“I have contingency plans.”
“We saw those too,” Bo said, grinning. “All seventeen of them.”
“Eighteen,” I corrected. “I added one this morning.”
They all laughed. Not mocking laughter. Genuine, warm laughter that suggested they found me amusing rather than neurotic.
I don’t trust it.
“So,” Mason said, pulling out a tablet. “Should we do a walkthrough? Get a sense of the space?”
“Yes. I have a checklist.”
“Of course you do,” Gavin said, still smiling.
We walked through the house, me pointing out each renovation priority while they took notes, asked questions, and made suggestions that were—annoyingly—actually good.
“The kitchen layout is solid,” Jasper said, studying the space. “But if we move the island six inches to the left, you’ll have better traffic flow.”
“Six inches?”
“Trust me. With three kids, you’ll want the extra clearance.”
He was right.
Damn it!
“The nursery needs better lighting,” Clint observed, looking at the ceiling. “We can add recessed lights here, here, and here. Dimmable, so you can adjust for nighttime feedings.”
Also right.
Stop being right.
“This bathroom,” Bo said, examining the fixtures. “The shower’s too small. You’re going to want something bigger. Trustme, after three babies, your wife is going to want a spa-quality shower.”
“How do you know that?”
“My sister has twins. I helped renovate her house. The shower was the first thing she requested.”
Fine. They’re competent.
