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“I’m excited about the story,” she said. “And that’s half the battle.”
“That’s great.” I stood with a groan, stretching my arms over my head. “Leftovers tonight?”
“I sure as hell didn’t make anything.”
I smiled. “You know what I was thinking about earlier?”
“I honestly couldn’t guess.”
“That time in high school when we argued about which movie to watch, and you got so pissed at me, you stormed out of the house and called me?—”
She held up a hand. “I remember. But in fairness, you never, ever let me pick my favorite movies without a giant battle. A girl can only take so much.”
“Remind me, though. What did you call me again?”
“A giant horse’s ass with shit taste in movies.”
“Yup.” I sighed. “Good times.”
Harlow shook her head, studying my face with a slight furrow in her brow. “What made you think about that?”
“I don’t know,” I lied. “Just how we used to be, I guess. How it’s always been easy between us.”
Her facial expression stayed the same as she nodded. “Yeah, it has.” Then she leaned forward, and that thoughtful furrow in her brow turned into a grimace. “Good Lord, your feet stink.”
“It’s the boots. They probably need replacing,” I conceded. “They’re not that bad, though.”
She gave me a look. “Trust me, they are.”
I rolled my eyes but leaned down to tug off my socks. “Fine, I’ll put on fresh socks and go buy new boots tomorrow so I don’t offend your delicate sensibilities.”
“Everyone within twenty feet of you will owe me a tremendous debt of gratitude.”
I gave her a look before disappearing into my bedroom to change. When I came out, she had her headphones back in, her focus lasered in on her computer screen. Occasionally, she’d stop and scrawl a few notes on the notebook next to her.
The air was crisp outside, and I busied myself with yard work, clearing out sticks and branches that had fallen in the windstorm over the weekend. After working for about thirty minutes, I pulled my jacket off and tossed it into the grass, lifting the pile of sticks and walking them back farther into the dense trees that lined the back of the yard.
I used the back of my arm to wipe my forehead and stared at the back of the house. There was a concrete patio where I’d set a couple of Adirondack chairs, but that was it. It could use a deck. A nice big one for a grill and maybe a hot tub, big planters flanking the corners. A long table for meals in the spring and summer. Plans unfolded in the next heartbeat. Something with long benches on either side and chairs on the ends. Big enough to seat eight or more if it came to that.
Not that that would happen often. Most nights, it would just be the three of us.
The three of us.
The thought snagged, stumbling at the unconscious way I pictured us sharing a summer meal. My eyes slammed shut, and I forced it out. There’d been no discussion of what would come next, and I was fine with that. But it made it impossible to look into the future and not factor them into whatever choices I seemed to be making.
Some day they’d be gone.
They’d have their own place. They’d want their own place.
Why did that cause a tremor at the base of all those pointless walls I’d been erecting? Shake the foundations until I could hardly catch my breath.
I blew out a sharp exhale and got back to work. By the time I went back into the house, Sage was home. Harlow was cross-legged on the floor, her dark hair down around her shoulders, and Sage was sitting behind her, her eyes wide and her hands holding chunks of her mom’s hair.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Sage said.
Harlow patted the top of her head. “I think you’re holding them too loose, and you need to pull this top part over first. You’re starting with the wrong chunk of hair.” Her hands felt around Sage’s. “I think. It’s all backward for me.”
Sage looked over at me hopefully. “Do you know how to do this?”
