Page 20 of The Lipstick Flip

“I’ve been kind of busy.”

“It’s fine; there’s still time. What’s the flow?”

“The flow?”

“The traffic pattern.” When I still didn’t say anything, Noah rolled his eyes and gave a tiny—and weirdly cute—little stomp. “Which way are people going to walk? The path through the house?”

“It’s a fucking tour. As long as they’re not poking their noses in my underwear drawer, what the fuck do I care where they go?”

Noah waited and then finally said, “Oh my God, you’re being serious right now.”

“Okay, back to work.”

“What about garland?”

“What fucking garland?”

Noah crowed like he’d scored a point. And without missing a beat, he asked, “What are you going to wear?”

For some reason, that snapped the last thread of my self-control. “What am I going to wear? Fuck, Noah. I don’t know. And I don’t know about any fucking garland. I don’t know about the fucking flow. I don’t know if I’m going to have a fucking door back on its track thanks to you. Si is in the fucking hospital, and I’m making this shit up as I go, so can you quit fucking riding me?” The kerosene heater was working overtime, because heat made pinpricks up and down my chest. “I didn’t mean that about the door; it’s not your fault—”

“Si’s in the hospital? Oh my God, is she okay?”

So, I told him.

And somehow, we ended up in the kitchen, Noah pressing a bottle of water into my hands and then throwing his hands in the air when he realized we didn’t have any chairs, and saying, “Men!” like somehow it was an entire gender’s fault that this house was, you know, a fucking work-in-progress. We sat on the windowsill. One of his legs rested against mine, and I shifted, but he didn’t take the hint. So, his leg stayed where it was. And so did mine.

“She’s going to be okay,” Noah announced. “If she’s made it this far, they’re just keeping her in the coma to minimize damage and let her recover.”

Which was probably true. Because Noah was, after all, a nurse. And a very good one. So, he knew what he was talking about.

“I know that’s what matters,” I said. “But God fucking damn it, it is just such a mess.”

Noah glanced around, and I knew what he was seeing. The toilet that hadn’t been installed. The exposed wires. Hell, the dust that lay an inch thick over everything. His expression softened, and somehow that was even worse than when we’d been fighting.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I’ll figure it out, so quit worrying about it.” But I couldn’t help myself. “God, this turned into such a mess. I was supposed to flip this thing quick. Purely cosmetic. Instead—” I looked around. “As soon as we started opening things up, Si said it was going to be a full rehab, and she was right.” I tried to stop there, but more slipped out. “For once in my fucking life, it’d be nice if I could do things the easy way.”

Noah didn’t respond to that. He reached up to play with the bunny ears on his hat. And then, he slid the hat off and clutched it in one hand. Tufts of blond hair stuck out all over his head, mussing his usually perfect look.

“I could help you,” he said, and his tone was the fight-me one, like we were back at round one.

“No, I—”

“You need help, Howie. You can’t do this on your own. Not in—God, ten days?”

“It’s not for twelve days.”

“The tour is in twelve days. You have to leave me time to decorate.”

“Noah, I appreciate it, but—”

“Why not? You don’t need my help? I can’t carry things? I can’t swing a hammer? I couldn’t possibly be good for anything because I’m such a pansy?”

“Hey!” It came out with more force than I intended. “Don’t do that. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

To my surprise, a smile slid across his face, and I had this unreal moment where I thought, Holy shit, he’s teasing me.

“It’s an investment, Howie. I can pull some money from the trust. We hire people to help you finish. The house tour is a huge success. Your business takes off. You pay me back. Everybody wins.”