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“Just one, thanks.”
“That’s sad, but your choice.”
By the time he’d piled everything on one big platter, Cleo joined them. He shot her a look.
“Do you wake up looking like that?”
She just smiled. “Now, that’s a Sunday breakfast.”
“I made extra in case you decided to show up.”
“It’s Sunday,” she said, and made Trey laugh.
As they ate, Sonya turned to Owen. “So, Trey tells me you build doghouses.”
“Not really. A couple.”
“You did that duplex for Lucy.”
“A few,” Owen corrected.
“Yoda really needs his own house. I mean like right now, he has guests. Maybe they all want to hang out, watch some ESPN. OrPaw Patrol.”
Owen scooped up some eggs, eyed her as she smiled at him.
“What’ll it take?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t thought about it. Right off, you need a design, dimensions.”
“It just so happens.” She popped up, retrieved the sketchbook she’d brought in with her. “I have that.”
“Did you get this going?” he asked Trey.
“Inadvertently.”
Owen continued to eat as he studied Sonya’s sketches. Ones she’d carefully drawn to scale.
“Mansard roof, a turret, arched windows.”
“It needs to honor the Victorian style of the manor. It’s Yoda’s manor.”
“Uh-huh. Interior, tray ceiling, with a fan, heated floor. A freaking trundle bed.”
“For sleepovers.”
“An electric fireplace.”
“Between that—I found a really small one—and the heated floors, it would be warm in the winter. What do you think?”
“She wants a boat.” He pointed his fork at Cleo. “And we already made the deal. But I can think about it. If I do, you’re slave labor,” he told Trey.
“No problem. Speaking of dogs, I’ll let them in, feed them.”
“I’ll handle the dishes.” Cleo rose. “I suppose we need to get started. Why don’t we take the downstairs?”
Within the hour, they were deep into it, removing more dustcovers, hunting through the warren of rooms. When she uncovered a big rolltop desk, Sonya searched through drawers and pigeonholes.
“Needs oiling.” Owen ran a hand over it. “Solid mahogany, got the S-shaped tambour front, original carved handles. Late Victorian probably.”
