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“Thanks.”
“That’s the first time a woman has ever thanked me for not buying her a drink,” he muses.
“So, how does it feel to be going home to your new house tonight?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Fucking fantastic. Don’t get me wrong. I was grateful Langford had the extra room, and it was fun, hanging out with him and Tucker for a while, but a grown man needs his space,” he says.
“Translation: he couldn’t bring any chicks home, and it cut into his macking,” Morris says as he pulls the chair out for Brandee.
“Macking?”
“You know, macking on the ladies.”
Brandee and I look at each other in confusion.
“He’s watching too much Nick at Nite. He speaks fluentFresh Prince of Bel-Air,” Weston accuses.
“Oh, well, I get that. I’m sure you like the privacy,” I say.
“I do. Mainly because I like to sleep naked, and running into Langford in the hall on the way to the bathroom at night was all kinds of awkward.”
Brandee spits beer across the table.
“I bet it was,” I say as I laugh.
“Honestly, it’s just nice to have a home that’s me. The other house was on the property when I bought the land. It never really suited me. It was big and drafty. But the new one is just right. Graham built it, knowing what I like and dislike.”
“I get that. I love my cottage. It’s small, but I always dreamed of raising a family in a little house,” I say.
“Why a little house?” he asks.
“When I was a girl, we lived in a three-bedroom, one-bath millhouse right outside of the city limits. My parents had a room, my brothers had bunk beds in their shared bedroom, and I had a twin bed in a room that had been the back porch until my dad and uncle enclosed it. We tripped over one another, going to the bathroom. Mom stayed at home, and my dad worked at the dye plant. When he got home at night, we ate together at the table in the tiny kitchen. We talked to each other. They knew everything that me and my brothers were up to, and we could hear everything. Every laugh, every, ‘Hi, honey. I’m home,’ and even every fight. Nothing was hidden. We saw them argue and make up. They always fought fair. They taught us that it was a natural part of relationships, and we learned the art of compromise and apologizing. Love grew there because we ate and slept so close to each other that there was no room for avoidance.
“Nowadays, families barely speak to one another. They text each other from different levels of the house. Kids no longer see what healthy relationships look like. They learn from television or movies or social media. It makes me sad. As the song says, ‘Love grows the best in tiny houses.’”
Weston’s eyes come to mine, and I can see that he understands what I mean.
“I, for one, plan to grow love in a great, big mansion one day,” Morris interjects.
“You’re going to have to find a job and a girlfriend first there, Romeo,” Weston cracks.
“I’m working on it,” he says as he lays his arm over the back of Brandee’s chair.
She glances over her shoulder and back to him. “Oh, Morris, honey, you couldn’t handle me. I’d chew you up and spit you out.” She places a hand on his cheek. “I wouldn’t want to do that to you, you sweet, handsome devil,” she coos before standing.
She reaches a hand out to him. “Come on. Brandee’s gonna help you pick up an age-appropriate companion for the night.”
He stands, and we watch as he lets her lead him to a cute brunette sitting alone at the bar.
The girl moves over to make room for them to sit, and then she shakes each of their hands before Morris calls the bartender over and buys the girl a drink.
“She’s a great wingwoman,” Weston says.
“Yeah, and thank goodness she’s set her talents on helping Morris instead of me,” I state.
“You?”
I sigh. “Yeah, she was determined to make me have a good time tonight. I think she was worried about me being alone on Valentine’s Day.”
