Whiskey and Country

27

DAHLIA

Jack ran toward Buddy, a plastic firefighter truck in his hand, the moment his feet landed on Nick’s doorstep.

“Thank you,” I said after Nick lifted the bag from my arms.

He rubbed his jaw and turned to face me. “I’ve been thinking about remodeling the upstairs bathroom because there’s a leak in the shower and getting rid of the wallpaper in the master bathroom. I was wondering if your offer to gimme a hand still stands? I might request your help to pick tiles, taps, and paint. That sort of things.”

“Yes. Sure. I’d like that. Told ya, I used to be a master fixer-upper. Back in the days.” My throat closed as images of Jeff and me fixing the old house he bought for us when I was seventeen resurfaced.

“You okay?” Nick asked.

I blinked and nodded.

“Yeah. Got lost in old memories.” I forced a smile and chased those flashbacks away. “Can I get a tour? To see what we’re dealing with?”

He leaned in, and his lips grazed mine.

“Sure, follow me. I can’t believe I never took the time to give you a proper tour. Guess we’ve been busy.”

I grinned at the teasing while Nick lifted my son, and I climbed the stairs after them.

The farmhouse was old, but it had a lot of charm. Since the first day I came over, I could imagine all its potential in my head. The tour cemented my vision. One wall down here, an opening there, changing the windows, a new banister, some black iron lightings, and a terrace in the master bedroom.

“It looks like your brain is racing,” Nick remarked after we exited the bathroom, and he explained his vision for the room.

“So fast. I can see it in my head. It’s a shame we can’t do it all. I love the bones of this house, but it could be so much more.”

“My mission is to make it look good for future buyers. But I agree, we could easily transform it into an incredible home with a bigger budget and some additions.”

“What’s this room for?” I asked as we passed a closed door.

Nick breathed out and straightened his back. He looked around for a few seconds as if debating with himself whether to tell me. “If I show you, promise me you’ll listen to what I have to say before freaking out, okay?”

I knitted my brows together. “Tell me you’re not a serial killer and this isn’t your trophy room.”

Nick relaxed at my words before offering me a devilish smirk. “Only the heads.”

“Then it’s fine. I would’ve run away if you’d said only the feet. Not a fan of toes. Heads are safe.”

He wiped imaginary sweat from his forehead, pretending to be relieved.

“Since I was hoping you’d embark on this remodeling journey with me, I did something. It’s no big deal. You hate it, and we don’t talk about it anymore. You love it, then great. Don’t feel obligated to anything—I feel stupid right now. I should’ve asked you first. I’m sure you’ll think I’m a weirdo—”

Before he could finish his sentence, I turned the knob, opening the door slowly. As if it could detonate somehow.

My hand flew to my mouth, and my heart did a three-sixty-degree rotation in my chest.

Jack squealed and wriggled in Nick’s arms, who lowered him to his feet. My child entered the room, a huge smile brightening his face.

“Is it what I think it is?” I asked, unable to move, my feet heavy.

Nick cleared his throat, avoiding my eyes, his head hanging low.

“Yeah. A playroom. It’s not much, but I thought Jack could use a safe place when we’re tearing the old bathroom apart. Assuming we do it together. Somewhere he could play or”—he pointed to a tiny plush sofa-bed in the corner—“nap if we work late. It’s silly. I get it. In my head, it sounded smart, but now I feel ridiculous for not asking your permission first.”

A street rug, a few plastic vehicles, and other toys were lined up against the wall. A shelf with half a dozen picture books was set up next to the royal-blue sofa-bed, decorated with two stuffed animals.

“You made this?” I asked. “For my son?”

Nick nodded, his fleeting gaze meeting mine.

Without thinking further, I jumped into his arms, my lips brushing his.

“It’s beautiful. And thoughtful. You didn’t have to, but I like it. A lot. You’re amazing.”

“Look, Mama. Vroommm. Vroommm,” Jack said, showing me an orange toy car in his fist.

“You like that, baby?”

He bobbed his head and grinned.

“Say thank you to Nick.”

“Thankliounick.” We both laughed as my son wrapped his arms around this incredible man’s leg.

Nick kneeled before him. “You’re welcome, little guy. I’m happy you like it. How about you and I go and get Buddy? I’m sure he misses you very much. He was looking for you earlier today.”

Jack bobbed his head and stepped back, holding out his hand to grab Nick’s finger.

“Cookie, pleaseiounick.”

Nick motioned his jaw back and forth as if he was thinking about it.

“Are you sure your Mama would be okay with that?”

Jack bobbed his head once more as I watched their exchange.

“Then let’s ask her.” Nick, still on his knees, raised his eyes toward me. “Dahlia, can Jack and I get a cookie? Pleeeease.” He glanced at Jack next and whispered, “You think she’ll let me have a cookie too?”

Jack nodded, giggling.

I rested one fist on my hip and tapped the side of my chin with a finger.

“Will you two eat your dinner later?”

They both said “Yes” at the same time.

“Will you brush your teeth before going to bed?”

They said “Yes” again.

“Cookie it is then.” I scrunched up my face. “Can I get one too?”

Nick jumped to his feet and winked. “Oh yes, I forgot how your Mama loves cookies.”

My face heated up, no doubt, as I remembered our innuendos the other day.

Jack lifted a finger. “Wait, Mama. Nickandme get cookies, okay? Wait.”

Five minutes later, we ate our snack in the playroom, and the boys left to get Buddy, Jack tugging Nick’s hand, as I attacked dinner.

We sat around the table as if we’d done it for years, and Jack perched himself on Nick’s thigh. They laughed together at something Nick said, and in that instant, I wished I could stop time and enjoy this moment of bliss for a little longer.

How did we get ourselves into this comfortable routine? No idea. Most days, I still believed it was all a dream.

* * *