Kelly

My phone rings and I snatch it out of my pocket, answering it without looking to see who's calling. "Yeah?"

"He said yes!"

Instantly, I'm smiling. I lean against a blank wall in the kitchen of the house of my newest project, crossing my ankles. "Never doubted it, baby girl."

The phone is quiet, and I hold it out to see if the call was disconnected. "Sutton?"

"Oh, sorry, I was doing a dance. I'm just so happy."

Laughing, I hit the button to request a Facetime call.

"Are you Facetiming me?"

"Yeah, now answer it so I can see your happy face."

Suddenly, her face fills my screen and I realize I was not prepared for it. I suck in a breath, trying to will my breathing back to normal. She's beautiful. I always knew she was beautiful. But with her flushed cheeks and the smile stretching her face and her wild blue eyes staring at me, I'm struck with just how beautiful she is.

"Shit," I say before I can stop the words.

"What?" she asks, blinking a few times.

I shake my head. "Uh, nothing. It's just that you look so beautiful right now. Happy looks good on you."

"Oh," she whispers, her mouth keeping the O shape for a few moments, and she blinks some more. "Uh, well, thank you." She clears her throat. "And thanks for your advice. It worked. J was more than happy to say yes. He even tried to pawn his job off on me." She laughs but it sounds nervous, not like the contained excitement from before.

"So when do you start?" I try to move the conversation away from my sudden proclamation, cursing myself for not censoring my thoughts.

"Not sure. I'm supposed to meet with Vivi and Rylie to discuss details, but I ran out, slapping them high fives on my way, to call you."

I laugh, picturing the scene in my head. "Jesus, Sutton. Only you."

"Yeah, I'm special like that."

It's weird talking to her on the phone, seeing her face. We text so often I've gotten used to that form of communication. "What are you doing after work? You want to see something I'm working on?" I ask before I can talk myself out of it.

"You want to show me your work?" She twirls a strand of her white-blonde hair around her finger, and I track the movement. It's a nervous habit of hers.

"Yeah, I have a project I'd like your help on, if you're not busy."

"Yeah? Ok, sure. You helped me, so it's only fair that I help you, too."

I smile. "Great. I'll text you the address. I'll see you after work then. And, Sutton?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm real proud of you, baby girl."

She ducks her head but not before I see the blush creeping up her cheeks and the wide smile she wears. "Thanks, Kelly," she whispers before ending the call.

Just then my dog ambles into the room, sits at my feet, and stares up at me, her way of saying she needs to do her business. "Yeah, yeah," I say, scratching behind her ears and down her golden coat. "Come on."

We walk through the house to the front door, and I follow her out into the yard, turning to look at the front of the house. When I saw this house go on the market, I called the realtor who happened to be a friend and I snatched it up before there was even an official showing of the place. It's been on my radar for years.

The house sits right on the lake in the quiet part of the neighborhood. The opposite end is peppered with vacation homes that are rented out to tourists year-round. The neighbors on either side of this house are long-time residents of Lake Hope—townies, as we refer to ourselves—and appreciate the quiet environment, mostly keeping to themselves from what I've gathered from the time I've spent here over the last few months.

It's a two-story house with a full basement, five bedrooms, three and a half bathrooms. The front boasts an idyllic front porch, wide enough to have a porch swing hung perpendicular from the house. Currently, the porch is an empty palette, like the rest of the house.

Once Lexi finishes marking her favorite spot, she lazily makes her way over to me, and we walk back inside together. The house is bare bones right now. I spent the past few months stripping it down, and now I'm having a bit of decision paralysis. I need another set of eyes to steer me in the right direction.

I don't usually struggle like this with my flips. I have a concrete direction I want to go in, and the team and I set to work to get it done. But it's been weeks now, and I still don't have a solid plan. I suppose it has something to do with the fact that this isn't a typical flip. I don't intend on selling it once renovations are done. Instead, I'll sell my current house and move into this one.

Apparently, it's harder to renovate your dream home than some random one you plan on selling as quickly as possible.

The only true vision I have for the place is for it to embody the same inviting and homey vibes I felt each time I walked into the Anderson home. I realize that's a feeling that needs to be created by experiences and the people themselves more than how the house is constructed and designed, but I'm still stuck on how to replicate the feeling of one of my favorite places since this is where I plan to settle in with my own family someday. Instead of being a visitor, though, I'll truly belong here.

I busy myself with random projects at the house, only pausing to run a few errands and grab lunch, before returning to the house. I lose track of time, but my rumbling stomach cues me in that it's later than I realized. My phone buzzes and I pull it out to see a series of texts from Sutton.

SUTTON: I'm so sorry! I'm running late!

SUTTON: Can I still come? Or did I miss my chance?

SUTTON: I got so caught up discussing the yoga plans this morning that I had to hustle to finish my actual job. So I'm later than usual.

SUTTON: It's ok if it's too late. But if not, I'd like to swing by still.

I laugh, imagining her rambling in real life. She often texts as she would speak, and it's easy picturing the words said in her voice.

ME: It's fine. I'm still here. Come over.

SUTTON: Oh good! How about I grab a pizza. Are you hungry?

ME: From where? What kind?

SUTTON: Trust me. I know what you like.

ME: Ok. But consider this a test. Will you pass?

SUTTON: Please. I'm great at tests. You'll see. Be there in a bit.

About a half an hour later I hear her car pull into the driveway, and I walk through the house to meet her outside, Lexi following close behind. When I take the hot pizza box from her, she bends down to my dog and gives her a big hug.

"Oooh, there's my pretty girl. Did you miss me? I missed you." Lexi's tail wags as Sutton scratches behind her ears and issues a million praises.

"Christ, woman. She's a dog, not a baby."

Sutton stands, adjusting the raggy denim overall shorts I'm accustomed to seeing her wearing for work. Today, the shirt underneath is a pale yellow and cropped to show a sliver of skin on her sides where the overalls dip low. My eyes stay there a bit too long, and I clear my throat as I force myself to look away.

"She likes when I talk to her like that. Obviously. Otherwise, why would she practically fall over from her butt wagging so hard?" She props a hand on her hip to accompany the sass out of her mouth.

"Don't let it go to your head. She's hard up for attention." I grab her wrist and pull her toward to the front door. "Come on. Are you starved or do you want to see the house first?"

She stops on the porch, spinning in a 360-degree turn, forcing me to release her. "Wow. Porch dreams," she whispers with wide eyes.

"Yeah?" I ask, trying to see it from her eyes. "How do you see it? What would you do?"

"A porch swing there, obviously." She points to a far corner, then swivels. "Maybe some chairs here or rockers, like the ones you have on the deck at your house. Those old wooden things are my favorite. I can picture an old married couple sitting in their rocking chairs at night with their nightcaps, thankful for another day together."

"Sutton Anderson, are you a romantic?"

"Huh?" She blinks at me.

"You're a romantic," I tease, nudging her with my shoulder.

"Well, duh. I'm a girl. It goes without saying."

I let out a gruff chuckle, shaking my head, and I put two hands on her shoulders from behind to nudge her toward the front door. "So how hungry are you? Eat first or..."

My words are cut off as I watch her take in the open concept living area once she steps inside. It's a big open space, a blank canvas any artist would be salivating at the chance to work their magic.

"Kelly," she whispers, turning her gaze on me. "What is this place?"

I laugh at the look of wonder on her face, her eyes wide with sparkling blue irises. "It's a house, baby girl."

She swats my stomach. "Shut up. Don't be a smartass and explain to me what I'm looking at."

"It was in pretty bad shape when I bought it, so I completely gutted it. Removed nasty carpet, tore down a wall, scraped off dated wallpaper. But now I'm stuck. I don't know how to proceed. That's where I thought you'd come in."

Setting the pizza on the floor of the living room, I intertwine our fingers as I lead her through the space. I try not to dwell on the way her hand fits in mine, or the fact that she doesn't pull it away. Instead, I keep my grip light, occasionally brushing my thumb over her soft skin or squeezing for emphasis when I point out something to her.

Once we've made our way through the entire main floor, I lead her up a wooden staircase, cautioning her to be careful since the railing is missing. Even with the warning, I place our joined hands on my lower back, forcing her to stay close to me as we climb the stairs. We start in the smaller bedrooms and bathrooms and end in the biggest, the one that will be mine. She's mostly quiet through the whole tour, occasionally muttering praises or pointing out details she likes, her curious eyes darting around, periodically peeking at me as I watch her take in the house.

"So," I say as we stand in the middle of the spacious room, throwing my arms wide. "What are your thoughts?"

"My thoughts?"

"Yeah, how would you renovate this house?" I omit the detail that this will be my house—my bedroom—that she stands in. Instead, I let her believe this is a regular flip of mine. For some reason, I don't want anyone to know my plans just yet.

When Sutton hesitates, I nudge her foot with mine.

"I don't know why you think I'm qualified to answer that question. I know next to nothing about designing or styling houses. You've seen my place."

"That's not your place," I refute her claims. "That's just where you live for now. It doesn't represent your character or personality in any way. Well, the spaces I've seen anyway. Maybe your bedroom tells a different story." I lift my eyebrow as if in question, daring her to prove me wrong.

"Kelly Ledger, are you looking for an invitation to my bedroom?" She uses a hand to fan her face mockingly.

I laugh at her antics, and I take a step closer to her, our bodies a mere few inches apart. "You wish. If I were inviting myself to your bedroom, you'd know it because we'd already be in it before you had a chance to respond, and you'd be begging me to stay."

The mocking face fanning falters as her eyes widen, then the fanning continues at double the speed. "Well, shit," she says, blowing out a breath, the air tickling my face. "That was kind of hot, not gonna lie. Maybe less of that, though. I think I might be blushing."

Laughing at her flushed state, I cup her face with one hand, rubbing a thumb over her pink cheek. She subtly leans her head into my hand, and I would have missed it if I weren't studying her closely. "You're definitely blushing. If you can't play the game, don't suit up, baby girl."

"Or maybe you play by the rules instead of playing dirty."

I smirk at her. "Fine. But just know I'm still thinking the comments in my head about playing dirty." I waggle my eyebrows at her.

Laughing, she palms my face, shoving my head away, effectively severing our tenuous connection. "You're ridiculous."

Giving her space, I gesture around the room. "I know. Now tell me what you'd do to this space. All the spaces in all the rooms actually. Help me. Please." I hold praying hands up to my face with what I hope are begging eyes.

"You can put that puppy dog face away. It doesn't work on me. Besides, any girl—or person, really—could help. Why not ask Teddy? She's a girl."

'No, she's not. She's Teddy. She's always been one of the guys."

"I don't think Jensen would agree with that."

Snorting, I say, "He tried really fucking hard to believe that, though, didn't he?"

She laughs, shaking her head. "Fine. But let's go eat first. I can't be brilliant when I'm hungry."

I trail her down the stairs, admiring the view of her long, bare legs and round ass. I miss the feel of her hand in mine, so when we reach the bottom of the stairs, I clasp a hand on her shoulder as I brush by her, my hand sliding down her arm until I hook our fingers together, our fingertips loosely connected. With a glance at her over my shoulder, I tug her toward the discarded pizza box.

"I only have water. I hope that's ok."

She nods, waving me off. "Yeah, that's fine. It's not like you're set up here for hosting a party."

She sits on the floor near the pizza box, crisscrossing her legs, and flips open the lid. I hand her a bottle of water and then sink onto the floor next to her, leaning against the wall for support, my legs stretched out in front of me.

Examining the pizza, I raise my brows at her. "Taco pizza, huh? You think that's my favorite?"

"Not just taco, Kelly," she says, raising a finger at me in challenge. "Hold the onion, extra tomatoes, and crushed up Doritos on the side so they don't get soggy. Plus, lots of taco sauce packets." She waves a hand over the pizza. "Voila. The Kelly Ledger favorite."

I toss a taco sauce packet at her smug face. "Lucky guess."

"Lucky my ass! You're just mad I got it right so you can't gloat. Well, guess what, buddy; you're not the only one who pays attention."

"Fine," I relent as I sprinkle a generous amount of crushed chips onto a slice and then glob on taco sauce. "I'm impressed, Sutton. You did good."

"Wait, wait, wait." She licks sauce off her fingers and digs into her back pocket to pull out her phone. "Say it again while I record it."

I push her phone out of my face with a laugh. "Stop, you brat. Just eat."

We're quiet while we eat, and I watch as she looks around the open space, wondering what she's thinking in that brain of hers. She wipes a napkin across her mouth and throws it on the ground by the pizza box. "So what are you thinking for the floor? You said you ripped out carpet. Will you put carpet down again or go a different route? Wood? Laminate? Tile?"

"Definitely not carpet, especially in the kitchen. Not sure why anyone would ever do that, but we find that more often than you would think. Maybe wood. Since I tore down the wall separating the living room and kitchen, I'd like to have all the same flooring for consistency. Just not sure which route to go."

"Why not get some samples and lay them out. See what looks best in the space and how it looks with the light."

I nod because I had the same thought. I just haven't taken the steps to do that yet.

"What about the kitchen itself? Island or little breakfast nook?" She hops to her feet to walk around the empty space.

I join her, my arm brushing hers. "Island, definitely."

"With sink or stove or just a big open slab?" She has to crane her neck to look up at me with our height differences. I brush some flyaway hairs off her face, tucking it behind her ear.

"Open slab," I answer, almost voicing it as a question. It somehow feels like she's quizzing me, and I desperately want my answers to match up with hers. She nods, and I take it like she approves of my choice.

This game goes on for a while as we make our way around the main floor, each decision creating a visual picture of what the space could look like. Once we've looped our way back to the discarded pizza box, we sink to the floor next to each other, leaning against the wall. I bump my knee into hers to get her attention. "Thanks, Sutton. It doesn't feel like such a blank slate now. I like having a starting point."

She holds up her water bottle. "To a starting point."

I clink my water to hers, but I don't take a drink yet. "To putting on your big girl panties and getting your yoga idea approved."

She laughs as she knocks her bottle against mine for another cheers. "To starting points and big girl panties."

I twist the cap back onto my water and set it aside. "It is a pretty cool idea. I don't know if I told you that before. And I don't think I knew you were into yoga. When did that start?"

"Hmmmm," she hums as she thinks. "Probably back in college. I used to attend the classes on campus. But I'm always trying to find ways to be active and stay fit because of my diabetes. I'm not a big fan of gyms and committing to workout routines. I get too bored. But staying active and eating healthy—well, relatively healthy," she amends as she points to the pizza, "is an important and easy way to manage my diabetes."

I've been aware of her diabetes on the periphery of things since it isn't something she brings up often, but I realize I've never thought about how it affects her daily life. My mind is suddenly buzzing with questions, but I don't want to bombard her. Instead, I ask, "What else do you do besides yoga?"

She pulls her legs up and rests her chin on her knees, the white-blonde hair fanning around her face. "I run. Well," she interrupts herself with a laugh, "it's more like an old lady power walk, but I did make it a few whole blocks the other day without wheezing up a lung. So high five to that." She holds up her hand to me, and I slap mine lightly against hers, capturing it in mine, bringing it to my thigh where I absently trace the lines of her palm.

"Do you walk in town or go on the trails?"

"So you're just straight downgrading it to walking instead of running, huh?" She directs her characteristic sass at me.

"Baby girl, when you can run for a set duration that isn't a few blocks without nearly dying, then we can classify you as a runner. Call a spade a spade. You go on walks with random bursts of jogging."

I duck when she leans over to flick me on the forehead, and I trap that hand with her other one in my lap.

"Your reflexes are still pretty good for your old age." She wears a smug smirk.

"Just answer the question, brat. Do you walk in town or the trails?"

"I prefer walking in town so I can gawk at all the houses and peer into their lives. Sometimes I'll make up stories about them based on what's in their yards or the cars they drive, what I can see through their open windows. Trails are too boring. All trees and birds and other nature. What kind of stories do I tell about squirrels? Oh, look, he's gathering nuts for the long ass winter. Umm...no."

My shoulders shake from my laughter. "You're one of a kind, baby girl. Most people retreat to nature for peace and calm. But you're saying that you'd rather creep on people's private lives and then make up stories about them? Are the stories at least interesting? Like maybe Bobbi Sue is fucking her husband's stepdad every day during her lunch hour...that sort of thing?"

"See, you get it!" she exclaims, lifting our conjoined hands in the air in celebration. "And here I thought you'd suck at it. That's a pretty good one. I bet Bobbi Sue is definitely fucking her husband's stepdad, and not just during her lunch, but probably when she says she's running errands and shit, too. Maybe the baby she's pregnant with is actually the stepdad's, but she can't know for sure since she still fucks her husband every Friday night during their scheduled date nights. Could be either dude's baby. Oh! And the stepdad is pressuring her to leave the husband and they can raise the baby together."

I climb to my feet, bringing Sutton with me. "Come on. We've got to try this out here."

"Wait, what? You want to go on a walk now in this neighborhood?" She glances out the wall of windows in the living room at the dark night. At some point while we were in the house, the sun dipped below the horizon, and night settled in.

"Are you afraid of the dark, baby girl?" I taunt her, brushing her knuckles over my lips.

"Uh, no. Night is the best time to go because people are stupid and they turn all their lights on but leave all their curtains open, like a big fat invitation to peek into their lives. It's like walking from one live tv show to the next as you walk down the block. I was more worried about your bedtime since you're up there in age now. What are you like 57 now?"

"Smartass, I'm only 32, same as your brother. Now come on, let's go watch some live tv."

I whistle for my dog, who was snoozing in a quiet corner, and she rises slowly and stretches before sauntering over to me. I hook a leash to her collar and gesture to Sutton to lead the way outside.

The streetlights cast warm spotlights on us as we walk along the sidewalk, the lake to our left and a line of houses to our right. We brush up against each other every so often, the warm skin of her arm a taunting caress against mine. Lexi stops every few steps to sniff a new scent, slowing our walk to a leisurely stroll. When she comes to a complete stop and squats to do her business, I snatch Sutton's wrist to halt her movements. Her head swivels to me at the gesture, a smile tugging up the corners of her lips, and she slides her hand to intertwine our fingers.

Once we resume walking, Sutton swings our conjoined hands between us, her eyes darting to the view beyond me at the lake. The moon's reflection shimmers on the surface. "It's so pretty," she says, her voice quiet in the still night, tilting her head up to meet my eyes.

With my gaze trained on her face, I admit, "Yeah, I agree. It is really pretty."

She averts her eyes and points out a house lit from top to bottom, curtains wide open as if in invitation to sneak a peek inside.

As I listen to her fabricate some elaborate story about the people who live there, I wonder if maybe she can weave a tale of a guy falling hard for his best friend's little sister, preferably with an ending that doesn't blow up all their lives in the process.