Ash glanced my way, and I grinned.
“All right.” He shrugged and turned back to Dylan. “Hallie gets paid, but we will grant your request. Dad and I will be home by nine-thirty.”
“Uh—how much does she get?” Dylan asked quickly.
“That depends on what she’s doing,” I responded. “Tonight’s babysitting will include making sure Lily and Micah brush their teeth and are in bed by the time we get back, so that’s…” I weighed my response. Roughly three hours… “Ten dollars and a lip gloss or something.”
Makeup was expensive.
Hallie didn’t want to dip into her savings to buy makeup, something she loved. So that was our deal. A modest payment and some makeup. We encouraged our children both to help out for free and to know the value of their labor. We also encouraged saving. The more they saved, the more we helped. These were, unfortunately, lessons that Dylan had rejected outright before doing the opposite.
He jutted his chin. “Whatever. I stand by what I said. I will help out for free. It’s the right thing to do.”
Good lord, what was it he wanted? Way more than gas money, at least.
“Excellent.” Ash clapped Dylan on the shoulder and walked out on the front porch.
I squeezed Hallie’s hand briefly and answered her previous question. “You’ll be at the old house. If you can give Paws his dinner too, that would be great.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Following Ash out onto the porch, I ignored my shoes like he had. The porch was very nice. He’d probably repainted this one too. The white gleamed more than old paint would.
I did close the door after me, though.
Ash sat back against the railing and dug out his phone. “For the record, my folks never paid Theo and me for doing chores. That’s some modern bullshit we put up with.”
My mouth twitched. “You’re hoping that Lynda and Geoff will help you with the down payment for an RV, honey. I think they’ve paid you plenty.” And I hadn’t exactly forgotten the rest. A part of our wedding, tuition for the children one year, Dylan’s most expensive golf clubs, “some extra cash” for various vacations… The list went on.
“Now I regret telling you my master plan,” he muttered, eyes on his phone. “I texted James to come over and bring Jordan.”
Oh. Oh, okay. I was ready.
“What do you want with your chicken?” he asked next.
“If you order now, we gotta leave in the next five minutes.”
He waved that off. “I’m just makin’ a list. I’ll order when we get in the car.”
That made more sense. “Uh…get a mix of the brussels sprouts, the rice, and the corn for all of us.”
If we let the kids decide, we’d end up with a bunch of fries, garlic bread, and mac and cheese.
“And extra sauce for everyone that you and I will steal,” he finished. “Perfect. Done.”
I chuckled.
With that out of the way, I was curious about his thoughts on what Dylan might want from us—but those thoughts flew out the window when I saw a man leave the house next door. They had a porch similar to ours, but maybe a touch smaller.
Ash followed my gaze and scratched his bicep absently.
“James, I presume?” It was my guess anyway.
“Yeah.” Ash rose to his feet and trailed over to the short end. “James!”
James looked over here.
The door was still open, so Jordan was probably on his way out too.
