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“Noted.” Shane grins, holding out a hand. “I’m Shane Maddox. Teeny’s told me a lot about you.”
“Alfred Sutter,” Al responds with a friendly smile. “Great to meet the man who saved my Teeny.” He nods toward the couch. “And over there sleeping is my dog, Pip.”
Shane’s smile grows. “I’ve heard a lot about Pip too. It’s nice to meet you both.”
Alfred’s knees bend slightly as he turns, waving over his shoulder for us to follow toward the Scrabble setup. “Come, come. Let’s get this game going before I fall asleep in my sweet tea, shall we?”
We settle in around the table, me sitting cross-legged on the rug, Alfred in his armchair, and Shane sitting across from me, sleeves pushed up, forearms braced on his knees.
Alfred opens with a seven-letter word that I’m pretty sure isn’t real, and while Shane is too polite to question it, I’m not.
“You sure about this, Al?” I challenge, which cues a shocked look on Shane’s face I’d bottle if I could.
Alfred, being Alfred, produces a yellowed pocket dictionary from 1974 and proves the existence of aileron by reading off the definition for a small airplane wing part used to control the roll. “Still counts,” he says proudly.
I concede with a roll of my eyes and settle into another hour of getting demolished by Alfred’s luck. Laughter and longing looks between Shane and me come far too easily for my own good, and the conversation between the three of us flows with an ease and simplicity that excites me.
When Shane excuses himself to the restroom and comes back holding a hand towel over the wet front of his jeans, I burst out laughing—apologetically, of course. “Ah, whoops. I forgot to tell you that faucet is currently having a little issue with the direction of its spray.”
Shane chortles. “Don’t worry. I took off the filter and dropped it in a cap of lime-and-rust stuff I found under the sink.” Alfred and I look at him like he has two heads, but he just grins. “I see I may need to do it with the filters on the rest of the sinks as well.”
Alfred’s eyes catch mine, but I look away fast. I know for a fact the things he’ll see are way, way too telling.
“Is that a picture of a turtle wearing a top hat in there?” Shane asks from the kitchen, taking it upon himself to unscrew the filter—so that’s what he means—from the bottom of the kitchen faucet and put it in a cup of solvent.
I know he does handyman stuff to fill his time, but seeing him in action makes it seem all the more real.
“My late wife, Avalyn, found it in an antique mall,” Alfred says fondly. “Said it was the most dignified reptile she’d ever seen. She had a thing for rescuing strange art.”
Shane grins. “Clearly, she had taste. It might be my favorite thing I’ve ever found in a bathroom.”
“Avalyn had a flair for rescuing the unique of this world and putting it on a pedestal.” Alfred’s gaze drifts toward a photo of her on the mantel. It’s his favorite photo of Avalyn, the one with her oversize sun hat and laugh lines that look like they were carved by joy. “Furniture. Stray cats. Me.”
“Oh, Al.” Instantly, I’m teary. It’s self-deprecating as hell, but it’s so sweet, it’s rich too. Their love was the kind in fairy tales. “You make it sound like you were some kind of charity case and Avalyn kept you in a basket by the door.”
He chuckles. “Wouldn’t have minded. That woman was my whole world. There’s not a day that goes by I don’t miss her.” He looks at me then. “You deserve that, Teeny. The real thing. Someone who makes life feel easier just by being in it.”
Both of us look to the kitchen sink, where Shane works underneath, fixing a leak we’ve had dripping into a bucket for months—effortlessly, quietly, thanklessly making my and Alfred’s lives easier.
Before I can say anything else—perhaps saving me from having to—both our phones buzz at once. It’s the familiar, dreaded ping of the Magnolia Connect app, and while Shane finishes in the kitchen, I glance at my screen and read the message aloud.
Rita Fortune: Friendly reminder that monthly chores must be completed by midnight. No exceptions except 1707. She’s been given a free pass from chores this month and next month because of the incident.
“Chores?” Shane questions, walking into the living room, leaning into the doorjamb, and crossing his arms over his chest.
“Chores from the chore board,” I explain. “Pretty sure I told you about it the other day. And I’m certain Rita gave you a whole rundown on it when you first moved in.”
“Rita gave rundowns on a lot of shit,” he responds on a sigh. “Hell, she gave me a binder that’s thicker than a damn dictionary.”
I laugh. “So, I take it you didn’t do your chores this month?”
Shane shakes his head slowly. “I don’t even know what my chores are.”
“Oh boy,” I say, my voice edging toward panic. “That’s not good, Shane.”
“Why? Is it really that big of a deal?”
“Well, I don’t know, do you think getting kicked out of the building is a big deal?” I ask, which makes Alfred laugh. “How many violations do you have?”
