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“I’m sorry I broke your lamp, Just Meg,” he said with a little less enthusiasm than the first two times.

“No, just Meg,” I corrected, grinning at him.

Merry scrunched up his face in a sweet imitation of his father’s quizzical expression. “That’s what I said.”

“No, you said ‘Just Meg,’” I explained.

He turned his head and cocked it to the side, peering at me like he was trying to decide if I was pulling his leg, then shot the same look at his father, who laughed.

“Language is silly, isn’t it Merry? How about you call her Ms. Meg for now, and we’ll see where that takes us, okay?”

I frowned slightly when Merry shrugged as if it was all the same to him. His imaginary horse reared, and he was off again.

Shaking off the twinge of discomfort from having my preference dismissed, I smiled up at Art. “Maybe he’ll do us all a favor and break the other one,” I said as Merry went back to circumnavigating the room at breakneck speed.

The lamp had been one of a pair that should have been hauled off to the dump and put out of its misery a few decades ago.

“Give it a few weeks and you might be singing a different tune when it comes to broken things,” Art said, shooting an exasperated look at his son.

“Eh, it’s just stuff,” I said, shrugging.

When I pulled on the cord that Peggy had shown me, the ancient ladder to the upper level let out a hideous shriek that stopped Merry in his tracks and made Viv throw her hands over her ears with a scream of protest.

Art laughed. “We should probably put some WD-40 on the shopping list.”

“Do you think they even have that here?” I asked, glancing at him with a frown.

“Maybe they call it XZ-75 or something,” Art said.

“Probably more like R2-D2 or something equally silly,” I deadpanned.

“Oh! Points to the lady for making a Star Wars joke!” he cried.

“Star what?” I asked, pretending to look confused.

“Funny. Very funny,” he drawled before turning his attention to the ladder staircase that had come down from the ceiling when I’d pulled on the cord. “Now, where exactly does this lead?”

“The attic. That’s where siblings sleep, right?” I asked, imitating his eyebrow arch.

His answering laugh, rumbling up from deep inside his gut, was impossible to resist, and I grinned goofily as he turned to wink at me. “A Flowers in the Attic joke? Amazing,” he said, shaking his head with an admiring look.

“Just kidding. It’s a fully finished second story. I’m not sure how we’re going to get all that luggage up there,” I said, frowning at the pile of suitcases, duffel bags, and backpacks stacked by the couch.

“Leave that to me, fair lady,” Art said, dropping into the same low bow Merry had shown off earlier.

He grabbed a bag in each hand and told the kids to grab their backpacks. By the time they’d stopped grumbling and put them on, he was back down, empty-handed, ready to grab Viv’s bulky suitcase.

“This one might be a bit more of a challenge, but I think I’m up to the task,” he said, grinning mischievously at me. I wasn’t sure he’d noticed the way I watched his backside as he took the stairs two at a time until he winked at me.

My face warmed, which only widened his smile.

“You guys are going to looooove it up there,” he sing-songed to the kids as he turned to head back up the stairs.

Whether it was because they suspected that Art had tried too hard to sell it, or because it was one new thing too many, neither sibling wanted to be the first to go up the stairs, and a slight scuffle broke out as they tried to shove each other in front.

“Hey, Viv, can you follow Merry up? I’m worried he might fall off the side,” I said, keeping my tone light and disinterested.

Both shot me horrified looks, Viv because I’d addressed her directly, Merry because I’d dared doubt his balance and climbing abilities. Art grinned at me over their heads as Viv stormed up the stairs ahead of her little brother, who darted up in her wake, the head of his little turtle-shaped backpack bobbing up and down with each bounding step.