Page 15 of One Touch

I scoffed. “Whatever. I’ll just build it myself.”

He stifled a groan and mumbled under his breath. “You’re incompetent.”

I snorted. “Watch me.”

I turned to leave before we got into another pissing match. Sure, I had no idea how I was going to build a bookshelf, but there had to be at least a hundred YouTube channels to show me how. Besides, I could document the whole thing on my new Instagram page.

It would be fun.

“A bookshelf like that wouldn’t work in this room.” I turned at the sound of his voice. “You’d need somewhere specifically designed for a library. A cozy spot that balances natural light with warm wood tones. A nook for a deep, cushy couch or even a bay window where you could sit and read or look out into nature.”

His eyes were unfocused, as if he could perfectly see the design in his head. The dreamy picture he wove was enticing and romantic and not at all like the insufferable man who stood before me.

“Then let’s build it!”

Beckett shook his head again. He gestured toward the living room. “With the new windows and redoing the floors, it’s not in the budget.”

It took everything inside me not to stomp my foot like a child. “You know, for someone who can pull such a romantic design out of his ass, you are fundamentally lacking a heart.”

My words did nothing to move him.

I lifted my palms. “This isn’t just ahouse, Beckett. It’s a home.”

The muscles in his jaw worked. “I know that.”

I scoffed. “Really? You know that?” I gestured through the kitchen. “The back mudroom was Wyatt’s favorite hide-and-go-seek spot. Did you know that? In high school, Duke made a ladder to sneak girls up to his room and pretended it was a rose trellis. Did you know that?”

I pointed to the large staircase at the center of the house. “I hid under those stairs with Lee the night Mom died, and we cried our eyes out until Dad found us the next morning. Did you knowthat?” My voice wobbled on the last word, and I took a deep breath. “This is my family. My home. Don’t act like you have the slightest idea of what this house means to us!”

As the tears threatened to spill over my lashes, I stormed outside. Narrowly missing a few rotted boards, I stumbled down the porch steps and didn’t stop walking until I rounded the large chicken coop in the backyard.

The free-range birds clucked and gathered at my feet, assuming I was bringing them kitchen scraps or treats. The screen door of the house banged, and I sneaked a glance around the coop. Beckett stood at the edge of the porch, looking out into the yard. His body was tall and imposing, but he fit perfectly with the varying stages of construction around him.

I slunk back and pressed myself against the coop. I hadn’t meant to unleash our family trauma on Beckett, and I was damn sure not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I closed my eyes and focused on steadying my breathing.

A low grumble sounded behind me, and I turned to see Bartleby Beakface cocking his head at me.

“Shh ...,” I soothed with my palms up. “It’s okay. Don’t rat me out, okay?”

Unimpressed with me, Bartleby scratched at the ground and strutted past me. I sighed in relief and, after counting to thirty, peeked out from behind the coop.

Beckett was no longer on the porch but was instead hauling the last of the day’s trash into the dumpster at the side of the house. He pointed at another pile, and his team got to work clearing the debris and keeping Tootie’s yard as clean as possible during active construction.

This house and the memories it held meant everything to us. To Beckett it was little more than a paycheck, but if I found a way to put a little more pressure on him, then I was going to do just that.

* * *

The summer sunbeat down on me as I lifted my face to the sky. “Mmm. I did miss this.”

Annie chuckled as she stretched out on the towel beside me. “Hot beach, cold drinks, not a care in the world? What’s not to miss?”

I clinked my cup to hers. “Amen, sister. Montana was beautiful, but there’s something about a beach that just feels like home.”

“It’s the air. Something about it that sticks with you.”

“Probably the fish smell,” I teased.

We dissolved into a fit of laughter. The Lake Michigan air was clean and crisp. The hot day meant the stretch of public beach was filled with families and vacationers, but we had settled for our quieter spot down the shoreline. While it was still walking distance to a few beachside cafés, it provided a little more seclusion than the crowded main beach area.

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