Well Matched (Well Met #3)(17)

“Yeah. There’s a 5K he does every Thanksgiving. Downtown, I think.”

“There is.” I’d run it once or twice myself, back in the day. It was a fun way to start out a holiday, especially one that involved a food coma later in the afternoon.

“You want me to ask him about it? Like, how to get into it again? I bet he has some kind of training plan that could—”

“That’s okay.” I took the medal rack from Emily, stashing it in the top drawer of the dresser next to the medals. “Another time, maybe.” Of course that was April-speak for not on your life. It was an automatic response. I never wanted to let anyone know my business. Even my sister. Even my brother-in-law.

Emily knew me well enough to know not to push back. “Okay,” she said easily. “So is it Eggshell time?”

“It’s Eggshell time,” I confirmed. “After we sand down these walls and fill in the nail holes.”

“Ugh,” she said dramatically. “So much work before the fun stuff.”

“I’m not sure any of this is the fun stuff.” But Emily had to prove me wrong. About ten minutes in, she switched on the clock radio on the bedside table, tuning it to a radio station that crackled out some classic rock. “Oh, God.” A smile spread across my face in recognition. “Dad played this album all the time.”

“All the time,” Emily confirmed, and we grinned at this rarity: a shared childhood memory. Sure, we hadn’t grown up together per se, but our parents had remained consistent throughout our upbringing. So we shimmied our shoulders and swung our hips while we worked, turning the tedious chore into an impromptu dance party, something I didn’t do often enough.

“Hey, there she is!” Emily said, and I turned to see Caitlin leaning in the doorway, a lemon square in her hand.

“Hey, Em.” My daughter didn’t say hi to me. “When did you get here?”

“Little bit ago? Come on in and dance with us.” Emily stretched out her arms toward her niece.

Caitlin shook her head, laughing around a bite of lemon square. “That’s okay.”

If Emily caught any of the tension between the two of us, she didn’t say. “You sounded good at rehearsal yesterday.”

Caitlin groaned. “You heard that? God, we sound terrible. There’s so many new girls in the Lilies this year.”

“Hey, could be worse. You could still have Dahlia.”

Caitlin snorted, sounding like a cross between Emily and me. “Funny.” She popped the last bite of lemon square in her mouth and brushed her hands off on her shorts. “She was supposed to be in charge last summer, and it was the worst.”

“Yeah, I remember that day she flaked out and didn’t show up . . .”

While their Faire-related gossip continued—nothing to do with me—my phone buzzed in my back pocket. Who on earth was texting? The two people in my life who texted me the most were here in the room with me.

It was Mitch. How’s the home renovation going?

The girls were still talking, so it was no big deal to tap out a quick response. Slowly. Working on painting now, tackling the carpets soon. I was probably going to have to hire someone for that, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.

Living room and dining room carpets, right?

Exactly. Wow. Good on him for remembering. Probably guest room too. It’s not looking great.

If you want to knock them out next weekend I can come by Saturday morning. It’ll go quick if we do it together.

“What?” Whoops, I’d said that out loud.

“Everything okay?” Emily turned to me, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah . . .” I looked down at my phone again, then back up at the girls. “You have Ren Faire rehearsals every weekend, right?”

Emily nodded. “From now till we open in July. Why? You finally joining up?”

My laugh was an involuntary bark. “No. I told you, nobody wants to see me in a corset.” I glanced over at Caitlin, who was stifling a laugh at my joke. We shared a smile, and in that moment my daughter was more pleasant to me than she’d been for the past couple weeks. I was even more thankful now that Emily had come over. She was an important part of not only my life, but Cait’s too. Her acting as a buffer was doing a lot to ease the tension around here.

Their conversation went back to Ren Faire rehearsals, and I turned back to my phone. Because who was I to look a gift handyman in the mouth? In that case, I’ll see you Saturday morning. Around 10?

You got it.

I clicked off my phone and stuck it back in my pocket. This was a good plan. The more work I could get done with Caitlin out of the house, the better. And the more free assistance I could get, the even better.



* * *



? ? ?

On Saturday morning Emily swung by to pick Caitlin up for rehearsals, as usual. I refilled my sister’s travel mug of coffee, and after they left I poured a second cup for myself. The knock on the door came at ten on the dot.

“Punctual,” I said, ushering Mitch into the house. “Want some coffee?”

“Sure, if you’ve got some.” He paused a few steps into the house, a look of wonder crossing his face. “What smells so good?”

“Oh.” I’d put a pork shoulder into the slow cooker late last night, and when I got up this morning I’d drained the fat so it could keep cooking. While it still had a few hours to go before it was ready, the smell of roasting pork permeated the house. I was so used to it that I barely noticed it. But Mitch did. “We’re having pulled pork tonight. It takes forever, so I only do it on the weekend, when I can keep an eye on it while it’s slow-roasting.”