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You’re fixing up her house, dumb butt. You think she’s going to want to leave, to follow you—a stranger—into the great unknown after that?
Cass did. She came with us. She followed Lennox.
Cass knew and loved Lennox for a long time before she made that decision. You’re just mellowing in Bloomington until Granny finds another mission. That could be months, or it could be days.
“Are you okay?” Victoria asks softly.
I realize I’ve drifted off into the great black void of my mind. I nod, even though my stomach is a bundle of nasty knots. What else am I supposed to do?
“Yeah,” I lie as smoothly as possible. “I’m all good.”
CHAPTER 6
Victoria
The house is more than taking shape and coming together. After just seven days, which have all been whirlwinds filled with tradespeople, fresh paint, new drywall, new porches, my yard being dug up and sod being laid down, brand new windows being installed, spanking new plumbing, and freshly serviced appliances, the house looks like a brand new place.
Literally.
I’ve stayed out of the way the best I could. Even though I wanted to help, everyone I asked told me it would be easier for them if I didn’t. Plus, there was the whole liability thing, which I really didn’t understand. It wasn’t like I was going to sue someone if I got hurt working on my own house, but I also didn’t want anyone to worry or be one of those fluttering moth-like people who are annoying and constantly underfoot.
When Friday evening rolls around, and the tradespeople start to roll out, all I can do is stand in the backyard, which actually looks like a backyard now—with soft grass, a big huge flower garden, a patch for vegetables, and three brand new trees—and gape at everything.
The photos Atlas wanted of the house are going to look spectacular. I wonder, with all the devil inside me, if I should send my parents the link to his website after he posts them. I haven’t mentioned any of this to them. I guess I didn’t want to do the whole counting chickens and eggs thing before the house was actually done.
Part of me is still in total disbelief over how quickly it came together and what it looks like now.
I guess it is very unrecognizable. It’s now yellow with a bright, cherry-red door. The front yard also has a lawn and two flower beds. There are two adorable porches at the front and back, both painted white, the windows are all spanking new with sparkly glass, and the old appliances are humming away in a shiny kitchen that is complete with a brand new double apron front sink and new black and white linoleum. The cupboards were replaced with new pink ones to keep the overall aura of the house, I guess, and the countertops are butcher’s block. The bathroom now has a toilet that isn’t harboring sewer monsters, and it has water that comes out crystal clear. The walls were patched and repainted, the electrical was checked, and some of it was updated, and the ceilings were also patched and redone. The roofers came yesterday and finished the whole thing in one day. It turned out the roof wasn’t rotten. It just needed some patches and new shingles. Also, the hardwood floors have all been polished, and the staircase has been fixed.
Basically, it’s a miracle.
All the tradespeople leave crew by crew, getting in their vans and trucks, which were parked more carefully away from my front yard now, and rolling out. I watch them go, a storm of butterflies fluttering in my stomach every single time I take in the wonderful house that is now a home.
Alright, so maybe the butterflies are jangling and tangoing in my belly for another reason, and the reason is more of a person. Atlas. The man who made this whole thing possible.
He waits until everyone has left, probably to get the best photos possible. I freeze when I catch sight of his wavy locks blowing and his T-shirt ruffling in the wind as he walks toward me. The wind does kind things for him—not that he needs any kindness in that department—and blows his T-shirt into his body, outlining chiseled abs of steel. His biceps practically ripple in the golden sunlight at his back, and he looks like a Greek god sent down here to earth.
My breath punches out of my lungs, and when I try to say hi, I squeak like I’m full of helium. “I…I mean, not hi. Thank you. It’s amazing.” I find my voice even though my palms are damp, and I have a boulder of nerves lodged in my throat. “I honestly can’t believe it’s the same place.”
“It’s all yours.”
I turn to him in a panic. “But what about…I can’t imagine my budget could even cover a fraction of this.”
