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To add to the miracle, she had the whole weekend off. At last.
The brief February thaw had swung back hard to serious winter. Snow might have held off, but the frigid air winging down from Canada kept the lake frozen.
She had some regret she couldn’t light a fire, but the wait would be worth it.
When she pulled in, she saw both her father’s truck and Nash’s. So no silence and solitude, she thought as she squeezed in beside Nash, but she’d happily trade that for more progress on her living room.
She had to climb over the seat, get out the passenger side and into about a foot of snow.
Also worth it, as she wouldn’t need to come back out to move her truck to let the others out.
She knocked off her boots at the door, then just pulled them off before she went in.
And found her father, and her mother, standing in the living room with Nash. Elsie let out a peal of laughter, then turned.
“Sloan! We weren’t sure when you’d get home. I came over with your dad. I left you some chicken soup. I made a tanker full. Nash is taking some home, and we’re dropping off some for Drea. She’s doing much better—Theo, too—but chicken soup never hurts.”
“Yours especially. I— Oh!”
She’d started to take off her coat when the room itself rather than the people in it registered.
Instead of dreary, her walls now gleamed in the palest of pale green that reflected the last, lingering light of the day. Instead of an eyesore, her fireplace now stood as focal point, with its smooth stucco in a deeper, moodier green and chunky white oak mantel.
Dean grinned. “I think she likes it.”
“It’s wonderful. I don’t have enough wows. My dad’s a genius.”
“Well, yeah.” He laughed when she threw her arms around him.
“You’ve already got a fire set and ready to light.”
“That’s for you,” he told her. “You’ve been working such long hours, we didn’t want to start one before you got home. Go ahead, light her up.”
“I will. Thank you.” She kissed his cheek. “Thank you.” Then the other.
“You’re welcome.” He kissed hers. “You’re welcome.” Then the other.
“And the walls look great, Littlefield,” she added as she walked over, then crouched to light the fire. “You got the lights in the popcorn-free ceiling. The crappy trim’s gone.”
“Robo’s a painting machine.”
“That may be,” Elsie said to Nash, “but he didn’t know it. He’s doing good work for you, and looks happy doing it.” She turned a half circle one way, then the other. “It’s starting to look like you, baby.”
“Not finished? Work still required?”
“Pretty,” Elsie corrected. “With easy style and the occasional flash.”She gestured to the red chair. “I want to know when you’re ready to tackle the kitchen. I’ve got ideas.”
“I’ll take them, but that’s going to wait awhile.”
“Do you have to work tomorrow?”
“I don’t.” She pumped both fists in the air. “The weekend is mine at last.”
“Terrific. Dinner Sunday then. You and Theo, too, Nash.”
“Oh, well—”
Elsie pointed at him. “Man does not live by microwave alone.”