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But his dad didn’t need to hear about his female woes.
“Thanks, Dad,” he said. “That means a lot. Really.”
On day three, it took the men longer than expected to dry fit the new white quartz countertop onto the lower shelves. As they glued the quartz into place, Sully told his father about a house he’d put an offer on two days ago. It was the house of Sheba’s original owner.
“Everything’s about 50 years out of date,” he explained. “At least I think so. Hard to tell under the foot of garbage. The woman was a hoarder. The place is a nightmare, but a nightmare with good bones.”
“You think you’ll get it?” his dad asked, running a finger down the smooth quartz.
“Yeah, I think so,” Sully replied. “I agreed to take the place ‘as is,’ no inspection, and I made a cash offer. It was a lowball offer, but they’re desperate to get it off their hands.” He tried to squelch the pride in his voice. Sure, it was a risk to waive the inspection, but he was sure he’d have the strip the place down to its studs anyway. He’d assumed as much when he’d created his initial spreadsheet for the property he’d already nicknamedDiamond, as in diamond in rough. Make that diamond hidden beneath a metric ton of rough.
“Sounds like a good challenge for you, then,” his dad said, then wagged a finger. “No work, no reward.”
True enough.
Disaster almost struck toward the end of the afternoon. In spite of all of Sully’s careful calculations, the space for the fridge was tighter than anticipated, and the heavy appliance barely moved as they struggled to push it into place. Sully was afraid his father would stroke out as they shoved the fridge with all their might.
When the fridge begrudgingly scooted the final inch, Sully and his father crumpled to the floor together.
“Well, that fridge isn’t going anywhere,” his dad muttered between breaths.
“Shit!” Sully groaned. “I forgot to plug it in.”
Had his precious SDSU Aztecs lost the NCAA basketball championship in overtime, John wouldn’t have looked so devastated.
“Kidding,” Sully said and gave his dad a grin.
A flummoxed expression crossed John’s face, then he burst out laughing. “You asshole. If you’re responsible for my heart attack, you don’t get anything in the will.”
Sully joined his father in laughter. As they caught their breath, Sully dragged himself to his feet and readjusted his glasses. His shoulders and back ached, and his shirt was damp with sweat. It’d been a tough three days, but, somehow, the time had flown by. He felt physically stronger, able to lift the cabinets and quartz countertop more easily. And maybe it was his imagination, but the sleeves of his t-shirt felt tighter around his biceps. Those weightlifting sessions at Junkyard Dogs with Cam and Hue were apparently paying off.
Now he looked around the kitchen at what they’d accomplished. The cabinets were up, the countertops were in place, and the kitchen looked like a whole new room. Lighter and brighter.
“What do you think?” Sully asked, a hitch of uncertainty in his voice. After years of dropping footballs and throwing basketballs well shy of the hoop, he was all too prepared to shoulder his father’s disappointment.
With a groan, his father stood and wiped down his jeans. Then he clapped his son on the back. “Your mother is going to cry. A lot. In a good way.”
Okay, now Sully felt like he’d won a ticket to slide down a rainbow.
His dad disappeared into the garage and came back with two warm beers. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask. In that picture of your living room you showed me yesterday, what was that big thing in the corner?” He held out a beer to his son.
Sully accepted the beer and took a big breath. Well, while he and his father were bonding for the first time in… well, ever, he might as well press his luck.
“I, uh, adopted a cat.”
John laughed, shook his head, and handed Sully his worn, much-loved bottle opener.
*
The men were frantically replacing Nora’s dishware in the new cabinets and restocking the fridge an hour later when the front door flew open.
Sully’s mom paraded in, preening with her perfectly done nails and freshly highlighted hair. “You are NEVER going to guess what Brenda’s youngest changed his major to this time,” she called from the foyer. “He’s been at that ridiculously expensive college for five years, and he’s only a soph—”
She ground to a halt as she entered the kitchen.
“Surprise?” Sully asked, his arms full of matching margarita glasses.
His mom cried.
