Page 57 of One and Only

It was necessary, though.

Josie lived so close, if she stopped by with Olive, or came earlier, or they needed to pick something up from his house, it needed to be obvious that I was staying there. The lease was up on my apartment next month, so even though I wasn’t in a huge rush to pack up my entire life, a sleepover at the Coleman house was a requirement of my new gig.

With a stretch, I winced when the ache in my shoulders and arms screamed at me.

Because no one expected me back at work for a couple of days, and my honeymoon held very little in the way of bedroom activities to keep me busy, I decided to get to work on Olive’s room. Beckett and Micah had cleared out the furniture before the ceremony, on my request because I knew that her space was the first on my list in that house.

The first coat of paint was up—a soft dreamy pink on three of the walls—and I’d finish the second coat after breakfast, followed by a hot ass shower and a lot more ibuprofen than was probably recommended, but my bodyhurtfrom all that rolling.

My wallpaper guy was coming over the next day, installing a gorgeous floral pattern on the wall where I’d be moving the queen bed. Everything after that was a matter of staging all the fun stuff.

Beckett only offered a minor protestation when I told him he wasn’t allowed to help, but I really wanted him to be just as surprised as Olive when I was ready to unveil the finished product.

Josie loved everything I’d chosen, tearing up at one point when I showed her the mood board of my ideas. And because Beckett was not sparing any expense on his daughter’s room, my shopping finger got a workout purchasing absolutely everything for this dreamy little space.

The first of the boxes arrived the day before our wedding, and by my second day in the house, he gave me a long, wordless look as he added box after box after box to the stack growing out in the three stall garage.

He may not have realized it yet, but I’d happily spend my year and some change in this house transforming it into a magical place for him and Olive, something welcoming and warm and full of life.

Instead of simply a house, it would be a home. A place they’d love to be, instead of four walls and a roof that served only the most basic of functions.

It was already a little strange to be in the house when Olive wasn’t there, and it served as a stark reminder why he was doing all this.

The home he’d bought was big—a place meant to be grown into, plenty of land for exploring and adventuring, and eighty percent of the time, he was here by himself.

Or he was, before I’d slotted myself into the mix.

Tying my short cotton robe around my waist, I shuffled downstairs with bleary eyes, only to find a quiet house.

There was a note on the counter, tucked underneath the edge of my favorite blue coffee mug, in Beckett’s tidy handwriting.

Went to train at the facilities, I should be back around dinner. Text me if you want me to pick something up in town.

There was no flowery inscription. No XOXO before his name.

But there was something about that little note, tucked underneath the corner of a large coffee mug, next to the coffee pot holding more than enough of the fragrant brew that had a little seed sprouting in my chest.

Maybe it was the understated attentiveness that had me feeling the first inklings of something inconvenient. But instead of squashing it out before it could grow, or manically yanking it out like a weed, I simply let the seedling stay where it was and filled the mug with coffee, taking an appreciative whiff.

After coffee, I searched the pantry, grinning when I found a new box of oatmeal next to his very healthy, very boring options. It hadn’t been there the day before.

I pulled it out and laughed.

Apples and cinnamon.

On it was another note.

Now you can have apple pie for breakfast.

The smile stayed on my face through breakfast, through painting the second coat of the room. As I showered and washed my hair, ridding it of the flecks of pink, then readied myself for a jobsite visit on the lake, I knew Teenage Greer would never believe this, even if I tried my hardest to explain it.

* * *

The Detroit Lake house was buzzing with activity, work trucks jockeying for spots on the edge of the property, so I had a little bit of a walk to the work trailer.

Cameron was standing at the desk with Wade and his best friend Jax, studying the house plans.

I got a few grunts and one nod of greeting, and as I unloaded my samples onto the table where I worked, I noticed Wade giving me a thoughtful look. The ever-present unlit cigarette hung from the edge of his mouth.

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