“What do you want? I’m coming over soon and I’m busy.”
“Just wanted to give you a heads up about something.”
He paused the game. “What?”
“I want to have a Sibling Night monthly. I don’t get to see you guys much anymore, especially not together. Will you do that for me?”
“Sure.” He assumed the conversation was over and moved to hit the red hang-up button on his phone, but she kept talking.
“I know it’ll be a challenge with schedules and stuff, but it’s just once a month. And with Daniel moving out, I know you’ll be lonely by yourself.”
“No, I won’t,” he said gruffly. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Whatever, Grump. I know you better than that.”
He resumed his game, muting it so she wouldn’t know. “You’re mistaken.”
“Do you think we should let Daniel bring Winnie? She’s kind of a sibling.”
He thought about it for a moment. It was setting a precedent if this kind of event was going to become a Durand family tradition. And if it was precedent, then he could bring Ainsley someday . . . if he ever managed to actually ask her out. He liked that idea.
“Yes. Definitely. Winnie is welcome.”
“Okay. See you later?”
“I already said you would,” he said, disconnecting the call before she could start laughing.
He played for a few more minutes, then decided to take a nap. He’d only been at the build site for four hours, but between the learning curve, the physical work, and the drive there and back, he was almost as tired as if he’d worked a full shift at the hospital. Not knowing what was going on or what he was supposed to do was hard, but putting himself in Ainsley’s hands? That was easy. He’d lucked out that her dad had made her train him. Was it luck? He didn’t know; Gary hadn’t seemed too thrilled about their moment in the kitchen, but the man was hard to read. But he did know one thing . . . tabbing over to an internet browser, he logged onto the Habitat site and signed up for another half day the next weekend.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AINSLEY HAD JUST WALKED into Muchas Gracias when her phone pinged with an email. She scanned it as they walked to their usual table. He signed up for next weekend. Her heart felt bubbly, but she quickly popped the happy feelings. It’s got nothing to do with me. Maybe he wants to work on his house and he’s using Habitat to learn how. Maybe he has a guilty conscience about something and he’s compensating. Maybe he just likes to work with his hands . . . Nope, nothing to do with me.
“What’s got nothing to do with you?”
She looked up at her dad. “What?”
“Ainsley, if you’re going to talk to yourself, do it inside your head.”
“Sorry.” She put the phone away and grinned at her dad. “What’s new, Pop?”
“Nothing. That’s what it means to be retired. Nothing’s new. It’s nice.” He sipped the water the waitress had brought them. “What’s new with you?”
“Starla conned me into doing the bake sale again.” Two dozen snickerdoodle cupcakes with browned buttercream frosting . . . She’d probably be up until midnight again, waiting for them to cool, because she had a PTA meeting that night, so she wouldn’t be able to start until late. She blew her bangs out of her eyes in annoyance. Why did everyone act like they could prevail upon her time? Just the idea of saying no made her chest feel tight. She wouldn’t think about why that was.
He rubbed his protruding belly. “Good news for me.”
“No, it’s not, Mr. Diabetic. You need to steer clear of that stuff.”
Gary ignored her, and she frowned at him before changing the subject. “Did you go golfing with Randy?”
He nodded. “Did a round at Elkhorn.”
“Who won?”
“I think you already know the answer to that.”
“Why do you even play with him if he’s so terrible?”
“Darlin’, I’ve known Randy since before you were born, going on thirty years. His ability or inability to play golf is immaterial to me at this point. We like taking a walk on green, level grass and we can afford to pay fifty dollars to do so at Elkhorn.”
She gave him half a smile.
“Speaking of old friends,” he said, and she knew what was coming next, “did you enjoy catching up with Dr. Durand?” He said his name with too much emphasis.
“We weren’t really friends as kids, Dad.”
“See, that’s funny, because I remember you coming home with stories about him all the time.”
“Daniel was in the after-school orchestra with me in middle school, as you already know. The only time I saw Kyle was when he picked us up, and he was always in a hurry to go, let me tell you. No time to stand around and chat, that one.”
“He broke my mailbox, you know.”
She rolled her eyes. “Is that why you were glaring at him?”
“It was a brand-new mailbox. Custom made, Ainsley. But no, I was glaring at him because he was lusting after my beautiful daughter. Never would’ve had you orientate him if I’d known he was gonna be like that.”
She ignored his attempts to bait her with bad grammar. “Dad, Kyle Durand did not break your custom-made mailbox in the shape of a rainbow trout’s head. And if he did, he did us all a service, that thing was ugly as heck. And he was certainly not lusting.”
Ainsley was saved from having to endure more mailbox complaints when the waitress came to take their order . . . but her reprieve from the questions was short-lived. With nachos and enchiladas on their way, her father returned to his previous line of questioning.
“Sure seemed like he was willing to chat with you today.”
“He just needed instructions. He doesn’t know anything about building.”
“Darlin’, he stuck to you like fly paper. Followed you around like a puppy. Not me, not Perry Helsing, you.”
“Just wait until he gets his confidence up. You’ll see.”
Her father’s eyebrows disappeared from view under the brim of his hat. “He’s coming back?”
She wiggled her phone. “Just got the notification. Surprised me, too.”
“Well, he wouldn’t be the first man to admire your confidence around a construction site. And you’re welcome for that.”
Ainsley laughed. “Yes, but the rest of them qualify for AARP.”
He snorted. “You gonna sleep over tonight? Eat my pancakes in the morning?”
Her heart warmed at the idea of sleeping at her parents’ house. She liked her apartment, but it lacked a certain hominess that they provided. She missed her family.
“Is maple syrup the best?”
Her dad shook his head, smiling, and lapsed into silence, watching the basketball game on the TV behind her. Ainsley looked around the small restaurant. A child was waving at her; it was Emily Miller. With a smile, she slid out of the booth and crossed the seating area to give Starla a side hug and greet her family—even Señor Douchebag, who was currently eating a dos manos burrito, living proof that being handsome wasn’t everything.
“Hi, Ms. B!” Emily chirped.