Mind Games

When the screen door slammed behind him, Ty took Thea’s face in his hands. He held her gaze as he had before, then laid his mouth on hers.

No good-night-neighbor this time. Still light, light and slow and dreamily soft. Dreamily enough, Thea lifted her hands, curled them around his wrists as if to keep herself anchored.

“I wanted to finish that, from before. If I kissed you after dinner, you might think it was a thanks for making peas and carrots.”

“A thanks for that would be nice, too.”

“Come on in.” He took her hand. “See my new couch.”

After stepping in, she found herself seriously impressed.

He’d gone with a kind of wheat color on a low-slung couch that suited the size of the room, added two chairs in a subtle navy-and-wheat print. He’d arranged them with tables, lamps that said easy, cozy.

In the weeks while he’d put the house in order, he’d given the old wood floors a good lick of polish, spread a rug over it with deeper tones of that wheat, lighter of the blue.

A number of toy vehicles and figures were scattered over it.

“There was a terrible and tragic accident earlier.”

“I see that, and I see this is a lot more than a new couch. I know you’ve been clearing and cleaning, but this is a transformation. And still you’ve kept some of Miss Leona’s little treasures.”

She saw the familiar on shelves, the mantel, the tables among framed photos, books, and mementos he must have brought with him.

“You did right by her. Right by Braydon, and made yourself a home. That’s an accomplishment.”

“It’s a start. The walls need paint, and I should’ve dealt with that before the rest, but…”

“You’re not ready to have a crew in here.”

“Just not. And when I look at paint samples, my brain shuts down, so it’ll wait. Meanwhile, Bray wants his room painted red. We’re talking fire-engine red. So I’m holding off until I talk him out of it.”

“I spent years planning my house, right down to dickering with myself over door hinges. Who notices door hinges? You’ve done a lot in a month’s time. You need some pillows.”

His hands slid into his pockets. “But do I really?”

“And a pretty throw for the couch. And right now, we need to peel these carrots.”

She started back toward the kitchen, then stopped at what had been a little sitting room. At the moment it held a desk and chair, stacks of boxes.

“Home office-slash-library. Maybe. Not sure.”

“A good spot for that.”

She walked back to the kitchen, where Bunk sprawled on the floor and Bray used his long, wide back as a road for his truck.

She deemed the kitchen reasonably clean and moderately well organized. But the former dining room with its piano, guitar stands, guitar cases, control board, sound system, music cabinet, needed help.

“You need more space.”

“Well, yeah. This works for now. If we hang around, I’ll need to add on an actual studio. Maybe take that wall down. I don’t know. Depends.”

“I’d say it’s easier to know and decide after you’ve lived in the space awhile.”

“That’s my thinking. Plus, procrastinating.”

When he set the basket on the counter, she started unpacking it.

“You can set the oven on 425, and get that peeler.”