“This is what it looked like.” Chris pulled out his phone and scrolled until he found his pictures.
“Holy...”
“More like hole-y. Mouse holes everywhere. Holes in the floor. Holes in the roof. It’s a slate roof now.”
“I have no idea what that is but it looks awesome. The whole place looks like my dream come true.”
Chris only nodded, proud of his handiwork. The work spoke for itself. He’d put in cedar paneling, diamond rectangle windows by either side of the fireplace, and replaced the old crumbling stone fireplace with red brick to match the windowsills and door. All lighting came from wall sconces he’d picked up at thrift stores and vintage shops and he’d bought the rug on the floor from a local weaver who called herself a “fiber artist,” whatever that was. She made damn good rugs.
“I’m glad you like it,” Chris said. It was all he could think to say. Joey made him feel all kinds of something—proud and speechless and embarrassed and in love all at once. The less he said, the better. Otherwise, he might let it slip that he was in love with her already.
“I love it. I just... I absolutely love it.”
“I’m glad. I wanted you to see it. Maybe you can stay in this cabin next time you’re in town.”
“That’s the second time in thirty minutes you mentioned me coming back to town.”
“Just saying...you should visit more often.”
“Or move back?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Chris, I can’t stay. We talked about this.”
“I didn’t ask you to stay. I’m just showing you how nice it is here so maybe you’ll visit more often. That’s all.”
“I’ll visit more often or I’ll stay?”
“No comment. But...do you want to see the other eight houses we own? The other eight cabins I turned into cabins like this?” He grinned at her wickedly.
“That’s so not fair.”
“When you visit again you can stay in any of our cabins that aren’t booked.”
“If the other cabins are half as beautiful as this one, you won’t have any trouble at all keeping them booked,” Joey said.
“That’s probably true. They are pretty damn good cabins.”
“I’m sure they are.”
“Although they do need a good decorator.”
“Now you’re just being evil.”
Chris laughed. “I knew that would get you. I remember you were always making me and Dillon move furniture for you.”
“Never give a fourteen-year-old girl a book on feng shui.”
“You see anything missing from this cabin?”
“Furniture. Dishes. A manual typewriter.”
“A manual typewriter?”
“Yes.” She pointed at an empty wall. “This cabin...it looks like Thoreau’s on Walden Pond. I’d market this cabin as an artist’s retreat. You couldn’t comfortably sleep more than two people in here, anyway, right?”
“Two hundred square feet. Pretty tight fit.”