Page 92 of The Seven Rings
“You know he loves you, Son. I swear, it’s all over him.”
“I think that. I feel that. We haven’t said the word yet, and that word matters. But… If we’re going by your time frame, I met him about six minutes ago. And he’s a careful sort of man. Deliberate. I like that about him.”
“Any reason you can’t say the word first?”
“No. And yet?” She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t. I guess I’m being careful and deliberate, too, about this.”
“Because you want it to work, be right. I’m in the same place. So here we are, two smart, capable women. Stuck.
“It’s not so bad being stuck.”
“Sometimes it feels like—”
“Fate,” Cleo finished. “And who am I to argue with fate?”
Yoda scrambled up with a bark and ran out.
“Speaking of fate, that must be the who and what of ours.” Cleo pushed up. “They’re running a little later than usual.”
To make sure, they went to the door. Yoda streaked out, Pye slinked, and two trucks pulled up.
“I’m glad we talked about this between us.” Sonya slid an arm around Cleo’s waist. “It makes me feel more centered.”
“Right there with you.”
“There’s something in the back of Owen’s truck,” Sonya noted as Trey got out of his, and Mookie leaped after him. “Oh, oh, Cleo, I think it’s the seats for the front yard!”
“See that?” Cleo shook her head. “One more thing.”
They hurried over as Owen let down his tailgate.
“What! You made two of them!”
He shrugged at Sonya. “Do the math. Four of us, two two-seaters.”
“With the table between on each, and the weeper tree carving on the back. Owen, they’re beautiful.”
“Took a while,” he said as he and Trey maneuvered the first one out. “With actual work to do in there.”
“Worth the wait.”
“Speaking of weight,” Trey said, “they’ve got it. Where do you want them?”
“And be specific,” Owen added.
“Okay, okay, over here.” Sonya gestured vaguely, then hurried ahead with Cleo. “Two of them. Do we want them centered? I think we want them centered.”
“With maybe a foot between. Eighteen inches max.”
“Here! Right here. No,” Sonya said and made both men give her a hard eye. “Just a scooch left.”
“Definescooch,” Owen demanded.
“Center the table here. Oh, that’s wonderful. Even better than I imagined.”
“I’m the one who said black locust, knowing it’s a bitch to work with.”
“There was a lot of cursing,” Trey added. “I don’t believe wood could actually do to itself some of what was suggested.”
