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“Hello?”
“Is your couch supposed to be purple?” I stumble a little bit as I come to a stop.
“Excuse me?”
“Purple,” she repeats. “Your couch, I’m okay with purple, but I must say I picture you being more of a neutral kind of pattern. Brown or gray, even black, but definitely not purple. But again, if I’m wrong and it is in fact supposed to be purple, well, I love it.”
“It’s supposed to be dark gray, suede.”
“It’s most definitely not gray.” I hang my head and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“I’m on the way.” I look around the empty waiting area. Turning around, I find Marcy sitting behind the desk and immediately she looks down. Of course I hear Georgia snicker, and I choose to ignore it.
“I shouldn’t be long, call me if you need me.” Marcy nods, and I leave the office and drive over to my house.
As I enter, the first thing I see is a couch still wrapped in clear plastic in the middle of the living room. It is without a doubt purple and not gray.
“I’ve already called the warehouse.” A dark-haired man stepped up next to me. “They will be bringing over the correct couch in about an hour. We will load this one back up. Someone tagged them wrong and this one needs to go somewhere else.”
“There was no need to rush over.” Grams enters from the kitchen. “I made a call and had it handled before you pulled into the driveway.” She is pleased with herself, smiling from ear to ear. “You Lincoln men think the little lady can’t take charge but I assure you I have no problem getting my hands dirty.”
Reaching out I wrap my arms over her shoulder and pull her in close. “I knew you had it, I just wanted to witness the beatdown, Grams.”
She nudges my side. “Well, you were too late.” She laughs. “But while you’re here, do you want to explain to me why they took two matching beds upstairs to the bedroom on the left?”
The smile on her lips tells me she’s already got it all figured out, but I decide why not make the woman happy by offering up some details. Leaving out all the dirty of course, I join her in the kitchen for a cup of coffee. She smiles when I tell her about bringing Zoey and the girls here. Her eyes shine with joy when I offer her a little details on the day I spent with them where the girls and I made chocolate chips pancakes. And I ended it telling her I bought the beds in hopes that maybe Zoey and the girls would stay over on occasion.
Grams hangs on every word, clapping excitedly and laughing when I share stories about the three of them.
No more than an hour later, I had a gray couch instead of a purple and my bedroom just needed to be organized upstairs. I wasn’t sure I’d sleep here tonight, but it was starting to feel more like a home.
There’s a knock at the door and the closer I get the louder the little giggles become. I’d invited Zoey and the girls over for dinner and have been pacing waiting for them to show.
I pull open the door, and Riley and Regan waste no time rushing in and running toward the living room. They squeal with excitement jumping up onto the couch as Zoey hurries after them.
“No jumping on the couch.” She tries to gather them up, and I wave it off.
‘They’re okay,” I assure her and she doesn’t seem convinced.
“It’s new, and,” she glances around the living room, “everything is so clean.”
“I didn’t invite you here so they could sit on the floor and not touch anything.” I lean in and kiss her cheek. “Let them enjoy themselves, let them play, and stop worrying so much. They aren’t going to hurt anything.”
Zoey doesn’t seemed convinced, but as she releases her hold on them, I take her hand in mine linking our fingers and leading her toward the kitchen.
Stepping up to the oven, I begin stirring the spaghetti sauce and Zoey moves in at my side. Leaning in closer she breathes in the aroma and smiles. “Grams’s recipe?”
“The only way I know how to make it.” One of the many things I was taught when I was at my grandparents’ house.
“Spaghetti sauce and two four-year-olds,” she arches her brow, “I see disaster in the making.”
“Nothing that can’t be cleaned up.”
“Oh Jay, you truly have no idea what you are in for,” she laughs. “I once found a spaghetti O stuck to my ceiling. Right in the middle, like it was strategically placed there. I have no idea how they did it, but they did. And don’t get me started on the stash of M&Ms and Reece’s I find in the oddest places throughout the house. Do not underestimate them; they may be four, but they are masterminds, no joke.”
“Nah, not those two,” I look toward the living room but can’t see the girls. I can hear them laughing and talking away. “They’re angel’s,” as I say this, I turn back to find Zoey eyeing me, doing her very best not to laugh.
“They’ve got you brainwashed.” She pats my arms and walk around me to the refrigerator opening it up and taking out a water. “When you least expect it, pow, they will strike. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
