He only shook his head. “Okay, then I’ll figure it out.”
“No, I’ll tell you, but I wanna help a little bit.”
“Fine,” he said. “But only a little.”
I wanted to be mad that he was so pushy with helping me, but it was also a breath of fresh air. Ever since Mom died, it had been me taking care of either the house or Brooke. Sometimes both.
I didn’t have much of a plan beyond shoving everything into the basement, but with Dean’s help, we were able to get a donation pile made, as well as a somewhat-organized pile in the basement. The room wasn’t totally clean, but the twin-sized daybed was visible, and I could reach the sheets to change them.
Once everything was put together, I surveyed the room with a nod.
“Not bad,” I said. “And this makes it easier for when I turn this into a nursery.”
“Why not use Brooke’s room?” Dean asked. “It’s closer to yours.”
“Brooke would have a cow over that.” I shook my head. “She randomly visits, so it’s still hers.”
“Is this her house?”
“Does it matter?” I asked.
“It can if you run out of space,” he said.
“I have plenty of that. Almosttoomuch.” Dean opened his mouth to argue, but it was broken up with a yawn. “You should get rest,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “You need it as much as I do.”
“As long as I don’t see Hugh’s wrinkly butt again in mydreams.” I was heading out the door when I heard it, and I paused, wondering if he was joking or if he’d had the misfortune of actually seeing Hugh’s ass.
The sun was peeking over the horizon when I flipped the last pancake. I wasn’t sure why, but I woke up before the sun had risen wanting to make sure Dean felt welcome.
When Brooke was here, she always wanted my homemade breakfast. I’d need a nap later in the day, but it was worth it for my guest.
As the coffee pot beeped that it was done, I heard footsteps.
“Perfect timing,” I said, turning to him. “I made breakfast.”
I wasn’t sure how Dean woke up in the morning, but I figured I would see him in some kind of pajamas and messy hair.
Instead, he was fully dressed in a T-shirt with his work logo on it and jeans.
“Really?” he asked. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Of course I did. This is what I always did when Brooke was here. He deserved the same treatment.
“I do it for all guests,” she said. “And I bet it’s better than whatever the hotel gave you.”
“The hotel didn’t give me anything but trauma,” he said and then glanced at the door. “I was gonna head out to work, though.”
“Right,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. I’d hoped he would eat with me, but I also knew he had a life. “I can make yours to go.”
“No.” He shook his head. “That would be fucking rude of me. You go sit down, I’ll make plates.”
“I can?—”
“Grace,” he warned. “You cooked. You did more than enough.”
It hadn’t seemed like much in the moment, but it was nice to have someone else finish things out. I sat at the dining room table, trying to resist a smile at getting him to eat with me. He was slowly giving in and letting us befriends.
What else would he give in on?