11. Meg
CHAPTER 11
MEG
“ I s it weird that I’m kind of looking forward to the cleaning part?”
They were loading all of the supplies they would need into the back of Nash’s truck. Brooms, mops, scrub brushes and every chemical cleaning agent they could legally get their hands on. They weren’t just going to clean the place; they were going to disinfect it.
“I mean, yeah, I’d say that’s a bit weird,” Meg said, looking at him over the bed of the truck. “Do you just really like manual labor or something?”
“No, I mean…” He stopped to think about it. Meg had just been joking, but apparently Nash was perfectly serious about looking forward to their cleaning mission.
“I just mean,” he continued. “That it’s going to be nice to build something again, or at least fix it up. I haven’t been able to do that since I built the treehouse, and that was ages ago.”
“It’s maybe not so weird when you put it like that. But let’s revisit how enthusiastic you are in an hour.”
He grinned at her, looking happier than Meg had seen him since she’d arrived, and jumped in the driver’s seat.
Meg definitely wouldn’t say that deep cleaning the buildings inside and out was fun , but it wasn’t exactly terrible either. It was satisfying, a deep-in-your-bones sort of achievement. At first it did kind of feel impossible. It took hours just to sweep out all the debris, including cobwebs from the corners, piling leaves and animal nests into bags to dispose of later. She would sweep away some dirt only to turn around and find twice as much. For a while there it felt like she was caught in a time loop from a movie. She didn’t even get to see the skunk.
Then, slowly, they started to see progress. The floorboards, once swept and mopped, were beautiful, aged wood that had been worn smooth over the years. There were cornices around the ceiling that looked hand-carved, once hidden by cobwebs and dust. Meg’s favorite part was finding a little cubby hole in the wall that she was one hundred percent going to turn into a shabby-chic wine holder. Nash had just shrugged at the suggestion and said that he trusted her judgment.
It took a full day just to clean out the buildings, with the two of them working nonstop. Meg’s back ached by the end of it, her shoulder blades protesting with every movement, and Nash was so dirty he looked like a groundhog that had popped his head out of the ground. She probably didn’t look any better.
“I’d say we’re doing well,” Meg affirmed, looking around the barn that was now somewhat hospitable. Nash nodded, drinking deeply from a water bottle.
“I don’t know if we got enough paint,” he pondered, surveying the walls.
“I hope we did because that hardware store might be the worst place on earth.”
“Nah,” he said with an evil grin. “I reckon if I go back, it’ll be a real fun time.”
“You’re a menace.”
“Oh yeah, I never said I wasn’t. If they wanna be mean, I can be meaner.”
“All to protect my honor?”
It was just a joke, honest. She’d just said it as a joke. But Nash was instantly not joking.
“I’d do a lot more than that to protect you, Meg.”
Oh… Meg had no clue what to say to that. Nash looked like he hadn’t meant to say any of that at all, his neck flushing pink and his mouth snapping shut. There was a taut silence between them, made more intense by the fact that Meg knew he meant every single word.
“Well, good to know,” she said, attempting and failing to bring back the joking atmosphere.
“Yep. Now you know. So… good. That’s good. Uh…” He brushed off his hands. “It’s getting late. I guess tomorrow we’ll find out if we really do have enough paint.”
“I guess so.”
They headed for the house to wash up and have dinner, neither of them acknowledging how their conversation had been so similar to flirting.
Any talking between them over the next couple of days kept veering into flirtation. Meg wasn’t doing it on purpose, and she was pretty certain that Nash wasn’t either. But little things kept happening. He would hand her a paint brush and their fingers would touch for just a beat too long. Meg would catch him watching her with a smile on his face, then his cheeks would burn and he’d look away. Nash would catch her looking at him in much the same manner. For her own sanity Meg decided that it was just the paint fumes getting to them.
This was all in her head, just like her stupid high school crush before the prom night that ruined their friendship. She wasn’t going to let stupid little feelings derail her all over again.
They managed to paint the interiors in record time. It was punishing and Meg’s whole body ached, but it was worth it. Just seeing all of the walls fresh and bright gave them both a boost. It no longer looked abandoned inside. It looked nice . Maybe not quite livable yet. There were some hinges that needed fixing and some beds that needed building. Nevertheless, it was a massive improvement. All their hard work was paying off.
But if this whole plan was actually going to work, then they needed to be thinking three steps ahead. They needed to advertise the place, which meant taking photos. Which meant that it was up to Nash because Meg was the world’s worst photographer. She couldn’t even take a good selfie.
They needed to build some furniture for the smaller buildings before they could take pictures, but showing the barn clean and empty was kind of ideal. It looked huge with the bright new walls. Nash was snapping pictures from multiple angles when he stopped and looked at Meg like he had an idea.
“You should get in one of the photos,” he said.
“What? Why?”
“To show how big the barn is,” he said with a shrug.
“I’m not even dressed up. I’m in work gear.”
“Isn’t that the point? To show that it’s in the country? You’re an authentic country person in this authentic country barn.”
Meg rolled her eyes, but she had to admit that it was a good idea.
Nash held the camera up to his face, holding it the specific way fathers did at amusement parks. He spoke up first before Meg could make fun of him for it.
“Look happy,” he said, still trying to get just the right angle.
“I am,” she said, and it was a bit of a shock to realize it was the truth. She’d been satisfied over the last few years, her career traveling leaps and bounds, but happy ? When was the last time she’d been this happy?
“I mean, look normal-people happy,” Nash said. “Not Meg happy.”
“What’s Meg happy?”
“Usually it involves cows, or maybe ducks. It also involves looking generally disappointed in the world.”
Meg rolled her eyes. “It’s just my face. I can’t help what my face looks like.”
“Yeah, so maybe try smiling or something. That usually conveys happiness.”
“Why don’t you stand in for the photos if you know so much about it?”
“Because you’re the pretty one.”
Meg sighed but smiled wide, feeling like she was back at school picture day. She tried to hide just how much Nash calling her pretty had thrown her off, and she had no idea if she was successful or not.
She must have been because Nash was happy to move on.
“Hopefully these do the trick,” he said, flicking through the images while Meg was still reeling. Being called pretty in a throwaway compliment shouldn’t knock her sideways like this. She was being silly again. Especially when it was all just joking around. The compliment didn’t actually mean anything.
Nash looked around the barn, thoughtful.
“You really think this will work?” he asked. God, he sounded so hopeful.
“I think…” Meg said, choosing her words carefully. “That no matter what happens, you should be proud of yourself. You’ve done your best. That’s all anyone can ever do.”
He gave her a smile, and she hated how it made her knees weak to see him like that.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said. Meg wished the jokes would come back because she didn’t know how to deal with all this sincerity. So she just shrugged.
“It was the least I could do.”
“You’re not going to accept the compliment, are you?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“We’ll see.”
“Whatever.”
She shrugged off the whole interaction as them being tired. Nash was potentially losing his home, and Meg had a part to play in it. They were rebuilding a friendship after a decade, and they had been working like crazy to get all of this done. Emotions were raw and close to the surface. There was no point reading into all of this.
Even so… that fizzy feeling between her ribs was still there, and it was getting harder to ignore it with every passing day.