19. Sutton
Sutton
“You’ll notice the large eat-in kitchen has recently been renovated,” I say, guiding my clients around a three-bedroom bungalow.
I should have thought about what it would mean to jump right into a full-fledged remodel while being slammed at work.
The girls in the office help with paperwork, but the showings are my bread and butter—early morning listings, back-to-back home tours, and clients who want answers yesterday.
Add contractor calls and design decisions and party planning on top of that, and I’m running on fumes.
Just thinking about the remodel brings a sense of pure panic, but there’s also an excitement.
Hunter’s house has been surprisingly straightforward, and planning the open house has gone smoother than expected. Easton thinks we’ll be ready to show the house late fall.
That timing works perfectly. House sales are low during the holiday months, which means I won’t be running all over the valley for showings. And after people spend a few months cooped up in the winter, remodeling plans tend to brew.
“Wow, this is gorgeous,” Jane says. Her daughter, Bella, runs ahead to check out the backyard.
“Look, Mom, we have our own yard!”
“Yep,” I say, gesturing out the window. “And if you look out there, you can see a walking path that winds all through the neighborhood. A perfect route for bike rides.”
Bella bounces on her toes, her excitement near fever pitch. Smiling, I send the two off to explore the rest of the house and step out back. It truly is a gorgeous backyard with easy access to a park. But it’s nothing like our place.
Our place.
My stomach flops over at the thought. Am I ready to call it ours yet? It’s been a week since the Halloween party, and in that time, Easton’s crew has installed the cabinets and counters. After I’m done here with Jane and Bella, I’m headed over there to accept all the furniture being delivered.
My phone buzzes with an incoming message.
Hunter: You think my coworkers would notice if I left and moved to an island somewhere?
Me: I’m pretty sure the entire town would notice.
Me: Busy day?
Hunter: Yeah. I’m ready to be home with you.
Me: You’ll be glad to know the master will be done soon.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. Once I finish the master bedroom, he’s really got no reason to stay with me anymore.
Why does the thought of him going home—his home, the one I’ve been pouring all my energy into—make me feel like I’m about to lose something?
A strange, uncomfortable weight settles in my chest. I shift my phone from one hand to the other, staring at the message like it might have some kind of answer.
I drag in a slow breath and tuck my phone into my handbag, but the thoughts keep circling.
Maybe I’m being ridiculous. Overthinking like I do everything.
Maybe it’s the stress of balancing too many things at once—work, the remodel, him.
I’m not sure my plate could get any fuller.
I should be relieved that soon, I won’t have to share my space anymore, that I’ll have my bed to myself, my quiet mornings, my routine.
But even I know that’s a lie.
I’ve gotten used to him being there. The warmth of his body, the way he pulls me close in his sleep, like he’s not even aware he’s doing it.
Even now, I can smell the scent of his soap that lingers in my bathroom along with the cup of coffee he always leaves on my bedside table before he goes to work.
It’s insane how easy living with Hunter has been.
Bella’s laughter echoes through the house. I rub my fingers against my temple, willing my brain to stop overthinking, but the thought of falling asleep without Hunter, of rolling over and finding the other side of the bed empty, sends a pang through my chest.
I push the feeling down, deep into the part of me that’s still trying to convince itself this is real, and step inside to check on the girls. I wrap up the showing, confirming next steps with Jane, and head straight to Hunter’s, arriving just as the delivery truck pulls in.
The delivery crew is quick to unload and set up all the furniture. A blessing, figuring as I’m trying to surprise Hunter with a completed bedroom tonight. The subtle blush-colored walls provide a great contrast to the darker, natural wood tones of the furniture.
I’m pulling the new crisp-white bed sheets out of the dryer when a loud knock startles me. I grab the bedding and make my way to the front door, spotting Navy through the glass, arms laden with takeout.
“Hey, girl,” I say, opening the door. “Thanks for coming over to help.”
She gives me a sideways smile and heads toward the kitchen.
“What’s that look for?” I call after her.
“Explain to me,” she says, “how you look this put together. I’m already sweating like a fiend, and I just got here.”
“It’s in my DNA,” I answer. Perfectionism is a trait I’ve had since I was young. No matter the situation, I’m put together—hair, clothes, and smile. Today, I’m in a pair of black jeans, an off-the-shoulder black sweater, and matching black booties.
“Maybe when Rowan gets older, I’ll have time to channel more of Sutton in my daily life.” Navy slides a container of chicken lo mein my way. “For now, y’all get this.” She gestures the length of her body.
I can’t contain my eye roll. “I fear you need glasses. Have you looked in the mirror today? Because you look stunning.”
She does a little twirl, showing off a floral peasant skirt she’s paired with combat boots and a hunter green sweater. Navy is too hard on herself. She doesn’t realize how effortlessly beautiful she is with wavy brunette hair, flawless skin, and curves to die for.
“Yeah, but . . .”
“Bu-wha?” I mumble around a mouth full of noodles.
She smirks. “The fact that you eat like a wild animal makes me feel marginally better.”
I swallow. “Uh-uh, don’t bullshit me, woman. What were you going to say?”
Silence overtakes the kitchen.
I can practically see her mind turn over and over.
“It’s just . . .” She looks at the ground. “I don’t look like you and Greer.”
“Explain.”
She huffs and takes a bite of her egg roll. This woman is so apt to dispel her own advice, forcing me and Greer to open up when she’s a vault.
“I went on a date last night,” she mumbles quietly.
“Wait, you did?” I’m shocked. I knew she still had her Find Love profile, but she hasn’t mentioned any plans to go on dates. “How did it go?”
“Lasted all of about three minutes.” Her shoulders slump.
“Okay, and what else?”
“We met at that new burger place. The one near the movie theater in Willow Ridge?”
I know it. It’s new, kind of a hipster joint with an outdoor area with yard games.
“This is so embarrassing.” Her voice sounds completely defeated, something I’ve never heard from her before.
Navy sits at one of the newly delivered barstools, crosses her arms in front of her, and says, “We met outside the restaurant and were waiting for a table. He seemed nice, bit younger than me, handsome. We’d only been doing the small-talk thing for a few minutes when he suddenly says, ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is going to work.
You’re not really my type.’ At the same time, he makes this gesture to my body. ”
My stomach drops. I’m sorry, but . . . I swear, those three words are my arch nemesis.
“What an asshole,” I say, taking her hands in mine. “Obviously, he needs glasses.”
“I mean, I get it,” she says. “I’m not thin or in shape. I’ve still got the last ten pounds of baby weight to lose.”
“And? Who cares?”
“Rowan’s in preschool, Sutton.” Her smile pulls up at the side in her quintessential Are you dumb? look.
“Navy,” I say while pulling up a stool beside her.
I turn her face to me. “Any man who doesn’t see how beautiful you are inside and out isn’t worth your time.
Who cares that you haven’t lost all your baby weight?
You’ve been busy raising a wonderful kiddo, co-parenting like a rock star, and creating a life for yourself at Ground Up. ”
“Yeah, but—”
I cover her mouth with my hand, earning me a death glare. “You are a bombshell.” I grin at her and pull my hand away. “If a man can’t see that, that’s his problem. And I’m almost certain Batman wanted to take you home.”
She rolls her eyes again. “He was being nice.”
“You are literally hopeless.” I push back from the counter, throw our trash away, and make a quick exit upstairs toward the master. “C’mon, hurry up and finish eating.”
A few minutes later, her feet pound up the stairs after me. I’m wrestling with a fitted sheet when she bursts into the room.
“Holy cow.” She freezes in the doorway, eyes darting this way and that. “Don’t ever let me give you shit about color choices ever again.”
“You like?”
Navy has excellent style, so I do not take her opinion lightly.
“Sutton, this room is going to look amazing.”
Relief washes over me in a way I didn’t expect. It’s one thing to picture the final product, but seeing it through someone else’s eyes—seeing it through Navy’s—makes it feel real. Like this isn’t just some project. It’s a home. His home. Maybe even mine someday.
“I’m glad you approve.” I pull the comforter over the bed. “Let’s hope a certain cowboy doesn’t take one look and ask for his money back.”
Navy barks a laugh. “And you say I’m the clueless one? Sutton, that man would sleep in a dumpster if it meant being next to you.”
For the rest of the afternoon, we hang pictures, move furniture (and move it again), and organize Hunter’s meager belongings.
It’s nearing four o’clock when my phone rings.
Greer’s name flashes across the screen. She was annoyed that she had to work today instead of helping us.
I know she loves teaching, but sometimes she sounds a bit restless.
Like maybe she might take the leap and consider becoming business partners with Navy at Ground Up.
“Okay, let me see,” Greer says as soon as I answer.
“No hello? Hi? How are you?” I laugh.
Navy crowds in next to me, barely visible on the screen. “What’s all that on your face?” she blurts out.