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“I am friendly,” I answered, completely affronted.
“You’re passably warm to our customers when necessary, but I do the lion’s share of the customer service, and don’t pretend otherwise, Cameron Wilder.”
It was a good thing she couldn’t see my frown, because she’d know she was right, and my sisters never let me forget it when I admitted they were right.
“Scout’s honor,” I said. “I will be the nicest version of myself.”
She snorted. “Make sure you take Ian.”
“Why? He’s even worse than me.”
“True,” she said, “but you hate renovation jobs. Truthfully, I didn’t talk to her long. She was so excited we had an immediate opening in our schedule that we booked a meeting right away. This way if we can still manage to pull in a new build, then Ian can run a smaller crew on the house—whatever it is she wants done with it—and you can stay freed up for anything else we get lined up.”
I grunted. “Fine. But if he’s a jerk, you have no one to blame but yourself.”
“I’ll take the risk.” She pulled the phone away from her mouth and said something to Olive. “I gotta go. I’ll text you the info for the meeting. Don’t be late.”
“Okay, Mom. Tell the munchkin I hope she feels better.”
“I will,” she said. “Give Ian a kiss for me.”
“Absolutely not.”
Greer was laughing when I hung up.
When I walked back into the house, Ian and Poppy were cleaning up in the kitchen while Sheila got my dad rearranged back into his chair, covering him with a blanket and then smoothing the wispy gray hair over his head.
My heart clenched.
He looked so small. So tired all the time.
Ian chucked a dish towel in my direction, and I caught it against my chest. “Get your ass in here to help,” he said.
I tossed the towel back. “Can’t. You and I need to go make ourselves presentable.”
His brows furrowed. “Why?”
“Ready for your first client meeting for Wilder Homes?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said, nudging Poppy with his hip. She nudged him back, but he didn’t budge.
Dad hummed. “I knew Greer would find something. She always was smarter than the two of you.”
Sheila chuckled as I rolled my eyes.
“Dad, the day you stop giving us shit is the day I’ll finally start worrying about you,” I said, walking over to drop a kiss on the top of his head. He patted my arm.
An hour and a half later, Ian and I were both showered and wearing jeans and Wilder Homes shirts. He’d pulled his dark hair back into a low bun, and he caught me staring at it while we walked to my truck.
“What?” he asked.
“What does the long hair prove? Is it like, an ego thing?”
I tried to poke at it, and he swatted my hand away.
“Fuck off,” he said without any heat.
As I climbed into my truck, I was grinning. So was he.
