Jack
“You have to do this,” Dad said over the workbench as I remeasured the batten I was about to cut for a stud wall. It was an odd height because of the roofline, and I forgot what the measurement was supposed to be by the time I’d extended the tape, so I glared at him before going back to the wall.
The big job was kicking off, and we’d had a change order come in for the flooring. So instead of getting to focus on the job I was actually supposed to be finishing, I would have to spend the afternoon doinghisjob.
“Dad, you know I hate paperwork.”Ninety-three. Got it.“Can’t we get someone else to do it? God knows I’ll be hiring someone to handle it when I do have to take over.”Ninety-three, ninety-three, ninety-three.“A lot of contractors don’t do their own paperwork. Or emailing, or scheduling, any of the admin stuff.” I lined up the measuring tape and made sure it was straight, then readied my pencil for the mark.Ninety— Fuck.
“Ninety-three,” Dad said, his voice deep and sharp.
“I know,” I said, too sharp in return. The glare he levelled at me made sure I recognised that. “Sorry,” I muttered as I marked the cut.
“I know you can hire someone,” he said, following me as I lowered the saw onto the batten. “But if you don’t know how to do it, you won’t know how to manage it.”
I rolled my eyes, but he was right. I just didn’t know how to articulate that I wasn’t particularly interested in managing it, either. I’d never fought Dad on the stuff he’d asked me to do, and maybe it was just that Morgan had got in my head a bit. But I had to admit the work was getting to me.
“I’m on it,” I promised, and as thanks, Dad dropped a new folder on the workbench to add to the ones I already had back at home.
* * *
I wrappedup work a couple of hours early so I could go home and start on the cursed paperwork Dad was on my case about. I had to drive past Morgan’s on the way, and it took a Herculean amount of effort to keep my eyes on the road, even in the rain. I held my breath without even thinking, as if she might pop out into the road in the middle of a workday. I let it out as I turned onto the main road at the end, almost disappointed that Ihadn’tcaught a glimpse of her.
But I did see someone I wasn’t expecting on my journey; Phil’s car was parked out front as I pulled up to my house, the sides splashed with mud from my driveway. I could hear shouting as I approached the house, and as I opened the front door and shed my raincoat and my now-muddy boots, the shouting formed into words.
“The man had been baking for all of five seconds,” Amy said, quite passionately. “And yet he was still a finalist.”
“But he couldn’t make it happen when it counted, which is all that mattered!” Phil sat on a barstool opposite Amy, who was standing at the sink. An untouched pan of brownies sat between them.
“If you gave Chigs a time machine and quadrupled his experience, he’d be way better than Giuseppe. So proportionately he’s the best.”
“And yet,” Phil taunted, leaning across the kitchen island, a smile on his face, “Giuseppe took home the win. You can’t argue with that.”
“That’s not even what we were arguing about. You said Giuseppe was the best, not that he won.”
“Don’t be pedantic,” Phil said. “That’s obviously what I meant.”
Amy threw her hands up. “Obviously it wasn’t obvious!”
“Hello, you two,” I interjected, and they both turned to look at me like I was the least welcome interruption ever. “Phil, what the hell are you doing in my house?”
“Just educating your sister onBake Offroyalty, apparently.” When I didn’t respond, just holding his gaze until I got a real answer, he sighed. “I was dropping off your outfit so you could pack it. I was just gonna leave it outside, but the kid here was out by your pond.” He jabbed his thumb in Amy’s direction.
“I’m not ‘the kid’, dickhead,” she said, swatting at him from across the island.
“You are until I decide otherwise,” Phil retorted, sticking his tongue out.
“Who’s the kid now?” I asked, risking life and limb to reach between them for a brownie. “Also, as thrilled as I am to see you, I’ve got loads of paperwork to do. Dad will end my life if I don’t get it done today.”
Phil held his hands up as if I’d pulled a gun on him. “Definitely don’t wanna be pissing off Papa Evans,” he said, standing up and grabbing his car keys off the worktop.
I watched in amusement as Amy said goodbye by flipping him the bird. He blew her a kiss, which made her even more furious, glaring at him until he shut the front door behind him.
“You realise you’re the one letting him wind you up like that,” I said, taking his place at the island. I took a bite of the brownie, which was heavenly, of course.
“I know,” Amy said, hanging her head in her hands with her elbows propped up on the edge of the sink. “I don’t know why he gets under my skin so badly.”
“I can think of a reason,” I said under my breath, but she heard me anyway, snapping her head up to scowl at me.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
