Page 43 of Tinsel & Tools

“You want me cutting while you run screws?”

“Yeah, I’ll set and drive.”

We’d barely started before the front door opened and Gavin stood in the doorway.

“Afternoon, Jack.”

“Afternoon.”

“You want coffee to warm up?” Gavin asked.

Dad looked over the stack. “If I have caffeine this late, I’ll be up all night, but thank you.”

“Cole?”

“I’m good too,” I replied. “We’ll finish these boards and pack up.”

“All right. If I don’t see you later, have a good night, you two.”

“You too,” Dad and I said at the same time.

Gavin closed the door, and my father and I finished the row and pulled the spacers. I ran my palm over each head and drove the few that weren’t flush.

“That’ll do,” my dad said. “Your mom’s making lasagna for dinner. I better head home.”

“All right. I’ll head home too.”

“You’re more than welcome to come for dinner,” he offered.

I shook my head. “It’s karaoke night, so I’ll probably grab something at the diner.”

“This weekend, then? I feel like we don’t see you anymore.”

“Not my fault you left me soloing this job,” I teased.

“Yeah, well, who’s going to clean Mrs. Copeland’s dryer vent before there’s a fire or unclog Mr. Rowland’s kitchen sink when he dumps his wife’s bland chicken casserole down the drain?”

I chuckled. “Okay, you’ve got me there.”

“So, I can tell your mother we’ll see you for Sunday dinner?”

“Yes, but you know you can stop by anytime to help here,” I deadpanned.

Dad grinned. “I will once you’re ready to hang drywall.”

“Deal.”

We covered the extra stock, tarped the offcuts, and loaded the driver and the saw. I swept the last shavings so nothing would turn slick, then locked the box in the truck bed.

Dad tightened his coat. “All right.”

“Thanks for the help.”

He tipped his chin and headed for his truck. A minute later, his taillights were gone.

The front door eased open again, and Gavin looked out. “He gone?”

“Yeah.”