“A package came in the mail,” Adrian says, walking through though the front door and over to where I’m caulking a window. He plants a kiss on my neck, sending shivers down my spine.
I glance at the thick envelope. “That’s probably from Monica—the realtor. She said she was sending over the paperwork.”
“You think the house is ready?”
I look around at all our hard work over the past few weeks. We’ve sanded, primed, and painted. The wood floors are shiny, the carpets clean. All the boxes and items for storage or charity are in the garage or shipped off. Dexter still needs to come get his things, but beyond that, the house is in good shape.
Although we should all be pleased--proud, really--of the hard work we accomplished this summer, the moment is bittersweet. I still haven’t decided where I’m going from here. Back to Lee Vines? Somewhere else? I’ve been so busy with the house and falling for the three handsome Rangers that overtook my life, that I haven’t made a decision.
I keep wanting to talk to them about it, but I keep putting if off. Even if I didn’t sell the house, even if I asked them to stay…this thing we have going on? There’s no way it can last forever.
“Yeah, I think I’ll call Dexter to let him know I have the papers and make sure all of that is squared away.”
“I’ve been thinking,” he says, leaning against the doorframe that leads to the kitchen, “what if—”
Heavy boots on the front steps interrupt him, and we both look at the door. Holden and Smith both appear, sweaty and dusty from work.
“Hey,” Holden says, eyeing the two of us. Smith hangs his hat on the hook by the door, before walking over and kissing me on the cheek. “Brent caught us on the way out of the park.”
“Oh yeah?” Adrian’s eyebrow raises.
“He says our housing will be ready to move into this weekend. The building passed inspection today."
“This weekend? Wow, okay, last I heard there were plumbing hold-ups.”
Smith shrugs. “I guess they resolved them.”
No one looks very happy about this good news. An ache has developed in my stomach.
I gesture to the paperwork and swallow past the lump in my throat. “This is from Monica. Looks like everything is falling
into place.”
Carrying the caulk gun, I walk past them, heading to the laundry room work sink. I turn it on and start scrubbing my hands, working to get the dried caulk off. I hear a tap and look over my shoulder. Holden stands in the doorway.
“You okay?” he asks, voice concerned.
“I’m fine.”
I lather my hands with soap, burning them under the hot water. I’m fighting panicked tears when I feel Holden behind me and his arms wrap around my waist.
“We’ll figure this out, okay?”
I nod, not believing him, no matter how much I want to. It’s hard not to take a little comfort when feel the tickle of his beard on my neck.
“Come on,” he says, handing me a towel. My hands are red. “Smith promised to make dinner tonight, and you promised we could play the Supernatural drinking game.”
I laugh. It’s something I could never do with the guys and also the only way I could get Smith to watch the show. “I did, didn’t I.”
“Yep. Adrian’s making some kind of theme punch.”
He links his fingers with mine, and I follow him out of the room, ready to spend the night with my guys. I may not have many left.
“Everyone have their card?” I ask, holding up mine. I’d bought them at a conference. Supernatural Bingo. I’ve been dying to play. “Each square has a scene, like, 'the boys have a heartfelt bro talk', and you cross it off. If you don’t have it, you have to drink.”
“How about we make this more interesting,” Adrian proposes. Smith made spaghetti with the most divine sauce for dinner, and now we’re sitting in the living room, the three boys on the couch. I’m standing in front of the paused TV, drink in hand.
“I’m listening.”