One of the blue heelers named Oliver has decided the paint bucket I was using for the paint chips isn’t normal and finds it suspicious. He’s taken to eyeing it like he is waiting for something to happen. I hate to break it to him, but the bucket won't do anything unless he is the catalyst, which is highly likely. The other blue bro, a 1-year-old pup-in-training named Atlas, was out with Hank, getting into who knows what trouble.
I had been scraping paint for over half an hour, and I've been thinking about Bo Gates for the past twenty minutes.
Not thinking about him, exactly. More like replaying. The way he looked at the feed store. He was guarded, andmaybe a little haunted. The way his voice softened when he said my name, like he was checking to see if I was real.
I scraped harder, reminding myself to keep it together.
I used to daydream about being with Bo back when we were kids, but Tyler was funny about that.
The white paint scrapes off the old glass in flakes, coating the floor and my jeans, and a few overzealous flakes land in my hair. I brush them away and keep working.
I'd been at this for an hour when my phone rang, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I glance at the screen. Mom.
I could let it go to voicemail. Maybe I could at least finish this little section first, make it look like I'd actually gotten somewhere, and not look like a renovation disaster covered in paint dust.
But it's Mom.
I wipe my hands on my jeans and answer. "Hey."
"Good morning, honey! How's the farmhouse coming along?"
"Slowly." I wedge the phone between my shoulder and ear and grab the scraper again. "I'm working on the windows right now. Mrs. Anderson left a lot of half-finished projects."
"Bless her heart. She tried so hard with that place." Mom's voice shifts into chatty gear, the one you knew to buckle up for because it was going to be a long haul. Mom was in gossip mode this morning. "Did I tell you Mabel's grandson is coming to visit next week? All the way from Seattle. She's beside herself. Apparently, David has been promoted at the pharmacy to assistant manager. Pearl must be so proud."
I scrape another section of paint. "That's great."
"And speaking of Pearl," Mom continues without missing a beat, "she's still seeing David, you know. They'vebeen together for months now, but apparently, things are getting a bit complicated. Pearl said Bo feels a bit intrusive, of course, he would never say it, but Bo's been walking the block during their dinner dates at home, just circling until David leaves. Movies on the couch aren't exactly romantic when your nephew is sitting three feet away." Mom tsks, and I can picture her shaking her head. "Bo's trying to give them space, but where's the poor man going to go? Half the town rolls up the sidewalks at eight. Can you imagine? That poor man."
My chest tightens.
Bo, walking the block in the cold. Killing time so his aunt can have privacy with her boyfriend. Trying to be considerate while also being... in the way.
"He could stay in my guest house."
The words are out before I can stop them.
There's a beat of silence on the other end.
"Really?" Mom's voice lifts with hope. "Falon, that's so sweet of you."
Wait.
Did I just say that out loud?
My heart hammers in my chest, but I force my voice to stay casual. "I mean, yeah. It's just sitting there. And it's got a bed and a shower. It's not fancy, but it's better than walking the block in April, right?"
"Oh, honey, that would be perfect. I'm sure Pearl would be so relieved. And Bo, well, I think he'd really appreciate it."
I swallow hard. "It's just common courtesy. Country manners."
"Of course." Mom's tone is warm, but I can hear the smile in it. "I'll let Pearl know. Thank you, Falon."
"Yeah. No problem."
We chat for a few more minutes about groceries and Dad's physical therapy schedule, but I'm only half-listening.
