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“They didn’t get near the tips I did,” he answered with a wicked grin.
Tatum hid her smile behind her cup. “What will they do? Back to the restaurant? Or build?”
“I think Mal would rather build.” Charlie stepped closer to the east wall and smoothed his fingers over the head of a drywall screw. “Not sure about Sev.”
“What’s his real name?”
Charlie snorted. “Seven.”
“Really?”
“He’s the seventh kid born to my parents.” Charlie shook his head. “Don’t ask him. You don’t wanna know all the theories surrounding his name.”
“I don’t know anyone else with seven kids in their family.” She explored the area as she spoke. Scuffed the toe of her running shoes on the floor. Trailed her fingertips over the walls. Set her cup on one of the sawhorses across the room from Charlie.
“I know families with ten or more,” he mumbled. “It’s not always fun and games. Especially with three girls. Fighting over one bathroom.”
“You only had one bathroom?”
“Three, but one was in the master suite. We weren’t allowed in there, unless we were sick, and Mom was taking care of us. One was just a half bath. So, seven kids sharing the main bathroom with a shower.”
“Yikes.” Eyes on the parking lot through the window on the west wall, Tatum thought back to mornings when she and Sutton shared a bathroom getting ready for school. Some days were gold; some were coal. That wasn’t how the saying went, but it was close enough.
“Do you have siblings?”
“Little sister,” she answered.
Sutton had been strung out on the phone. Tatum’s first clue that things weren’t good was the fact that phone call came in around three a.m. And then talking to Sutton—Tatum suspected she was using again. Bryony got on the phone which waved all sorts of red flags. What the hell was a six-year-old doing awake at three a.m.?
“Are you close?”
Tatum stirred from her thoughts and looked at Charlie over her shoulder. His question seemed simple, but there was nothing simple about her relationship with her sister.
“No.”
Part white lie. Part cold truth.
“Thanks for the coffee.” She picked her cup up and turned back to him. “And the tour.”
Charlie stood rooted to the spot as she crossed the room to stand in front of him again. Too late, she realized she was standing too close to him. She could see flecks of lighter blue in his deep blue eyes. His masculine scent—evergreen and soap—gave her bad ideas.
“I should go.”
When he only nodded, Tatum took a deep breath and backed up a step.
“Did you get it?” he asked, his voice gruff. “The puppy you asked Santa for?”
The knife of memory tore through her, leaving a trail of fire through her middle.
“Yeah. I did.”
Her fingers felt twitchy. When she realized she wanted to touch him, maybe just stroke her fingers over his cheek or cup his chin in her hand, she turned away and headed toward the door.
“What’d you name it?”
“We named her Rosie.” She swallowed back the knot of emotion the memories brought and nodded at the door. “See ya.”
13
