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Built to last
Over the next weeks, the bathroom took shape in fits and starts. They managed a handful of half-days — it wasn’t easy with her shifts and his commitment to Fischer Construction — and stolen evenings where they could.
The first night they argued layout.
“It’s your house. You decide.”
“I value your opinion.”
“I’m a cop, Ronan. Not an architect.”
“Come on, Felicity. Give it a try.”
She narrowed her eyes at the graph paper, the rough lines and measurements sketched in pencil. For a long moment she said nothing, just traced the space with her gaze, mentally walking it.
“Well … the door needs to move,” she said finally. “Anyone coming up the stairs gets a full view inside.”
“Good point. I didn’t think of that.” Ronan leaned back, studying the sketch, then reached for his pencil. “Shift it here.” He tapped the adjoining wall. “Opens into the hallway instead of the landing.”
She considered it, then nodded once. “Yeah. That works.”
Installing the bath nearly defeated them.
Halfway up the stairs, she laughed, breathless, disbelieving. “This is a mistake.”
“Too late now.”
“Who designs something this heavy?”
“People who don’t have to carry it.”
They shifted, boots scraping wood, the weight dragging at their arms. The edge clipped the wall with a dull thud.
“Watch it,” he said.
“I am watching it!” But she adjusted her grip, found better purchase. He took more of the load without comment, steady and unyielding, while she guided the angle through the narrow turn.
“If the door was in its original place…”
She shot him a quelling look. “Shut up.”
Somehow, they made it through the doorway. He held it suspended while she nudged it into place, inch by stubborn inch, until it settled with a solid, final weight.
They stepped back at the same time, both breathing hard.
She bent, hands on her knees, a laugh slipping out again.
He huffed out something close to a laugh himself.
Straightening, she pushed loose strands of hair back from her face, sweat trickling across her skin. For a second, they just stood there in the half-finished room — the bath finally where it belonged, the space beginning to make sense around it.
“Worth it?” he asked.
She looked at it, then at him. “Ask me when I can feel my arms again.”
He grinned. “Fair enough.”
They redid the shower base. Twice.
