Page 29 of The Ex Effect
Whatever.No matter how hard I tried, I’d never get her logic. But for now, I’d play nice. Besides wanting to do Tommy’s family solid, the distraction from waiting onBirch & Willow’s response, plus taking a break from packing up Peaches’s house, was exactly what I needed. I lifted the mug in my hand. “I brought you coffee.”
Morgan’s frown flipped, and she reached out her hand. “You’re forgiven.”
I scanned the property. Jesus.Did the place look this bad when we took pictures, or had Pete and Patty somehow accumulated even more shit? Every imaginable busted, rusted, and broken thing was piled high on the lawn. Was that a freaking toilet in the middle of the yard? I squinted. Yep, sure was. I followed Morgan across the marsh and tried to keep up with her mile-a-minute talking about the plans for the crew that was already clearing brush, the process we’d follow for organizing and cleaning the barn, and how she was going to attempt to fire up the abandoned bulldozer, so we didn’t have to rent one.
Two guys dragged what looked like a broken-down table saw from the junkyard pile, while another guy banged on the window frame. Sam rounded the corner, his hat tugged low, and his shirt already smeared with dirt.
“Kat—sorry—Frankie.” He removed his hat and swiped his forehead with his shirt. “Not very good seeing you.”
“Same.” I sipped from the mug, the warm coffee sliding down my throat. “Similar to the feeling I had when the Wolves bit it during March Madness.”
Sam shook his head. “I still have nightmares. I mean eight minutes is like?—”
“Eight years, right? And then he gets it and?—”
“Totally chokes.” Sam flung his hand. “How the hell could he get a charging call?—”
“Thatone was on the ref. He was plowed into?—”
“He didn’t even have a chance. But the D they were playing was?—”
“Guys. Really.” Morgan stepped in between us with a scowl.God, she’s cute when she’s angry.“Can we please focus on the barn?”
I saluted the drill sergeant and tilted my head at Sam with a grin.
Morgan put me on moving duty with a couple of the guys, which was fine enough. I loved hitting the gym and lifting weights, but I’d much rather work out by doing this stuff, or a fierce game of one-on-one. Less boring, same effect. Andwayless time being in Morgan’s presence, thank God.
Hours soon passed as the spring sun beat down, becoming a shade too hot. For every minute spent piling usable items for Pete and Patty to go through, I grew even more nostalgic. This place used to be everything. Sleigh rides, a laughing Santa taking gift wishes, a bonfire crackling in the background, the smell of mint and chocolate and snow.
I hauled pieces of metal, mouse traps, dirty rugs, and too many unidentifiable things to the dumpster. The loud noise of chainsaws and men yelling at each other poured over the area. The dumpster filled quickly, taken up by several old mattresses and a box spring, and I started a new pile next to a haystack.
The work was hard, but rewarding, and I couldn’t help but getting a kick out of Morgan heaving and dragging a wheelbarrow full of broken jars to the dumpster. “Need some help?”
“No, I absolutely don’t,” Morgan huffed, then stood with her hands on her hips, probably trying to figure out how in the hell she was going to dump the contents into the dumpster. I almost stepped toward her and offered to lift it, butnah. Morgan said she didn’t want help and who was I to overrule the queen?
But too many minutes passed, and what was once amusing was now inefficient and no longer funny. I tugged my work gloves tight. “For Christ’s sake, just let me help.” I crossed the lawn to Morgan. “Sam! Can you give me a hand?”
In no time flat, Sam and I lifted the wheelbarrow and dumped it out, and Morgan returned to the barn. I sipped water and watched as one of the crew members hooked a broken snowplow up to an ATV and drove it down the valley.
I walked back up the incline toward Morgan as a crew member pushed past me with a hand-held snowplow. “Where are they putting those snowplows?”
Morgan wiped her hands on a towel. “For right now, anything that can’t be put in the dumpster, we’re putting down the hill where wedding guests can’t see it.” She shoved the towel in her back pocket and cocked her head. “I’ve instructed the guys to make a ‘possibly salvageable’ pile and a ‘definite salvageable pile’ for you to look at and review. I know you are supposed to bein charge, but I made some executive decisions on things like broken glass, plastic pots, rotting wood, and mice traps. I’m assuming that’s okay with you?”
First of all, Morgan didnotjust put air quotes around “in charge,” did she? I exhaled a little bit of fire from my nose and swallowed back the deep desire to remind her that I was the one doing her the favor, not the other way around. How did all these little incidents take me right back to being sixteen? Like the time when my teammates and I decided to do a carwash fundraiser to pay for us to go see the Timberwolves at the Target Center. Morgan wanted to “help out” and ended up being so militant about signs and advertising and getting customers, she even pissed off the coach. We did, however, make enough money to pay for the band to come with us, too, but Christ, her delivery still sucked.
“It’s fine. I’ll deal with it,” I finally choked out, and nope, I also wasn’t going to admit that a part of me was deeply grateful she started the piles, because I would’ve taken a look at the overwhelming amount of items and probably panicked. But she still should’ve asked.
I spent the next twenty minutes hosing out some kids’ wagons, which would make a great photo op prop for the wedding, when Morgan stepped out of the barn, picking off debris from her overalls.
“I’m starving,” she said. “Want to take a break? I brought sandwiches.”
Okay, so maybe she’s notthatterrible.“Yeah, I could eat.” I thought about bringing lunch but got distracted last night with packing Peaches’s Precious Moments collection and didn’t get to the grocery store. Before I left this morning, I ended up stuffing a few protein bars and a bottle of water in a bag.
After washing our hands old-school-style with a garden hose and some lilac soap Morgan brought from home, I popped down the tailgate and hopped up on the only surface I was confident sitting where I wouldn’t get glass shards stuck in my ass. I bit into the sandwich, which was way more delicious than the protein bars.
God, this sandwich was delicious. Turkey, sprouts, mayo, and mustard made the perfect combo. There was a small deli outside of my apartment in Manhattan that had the best pastrami on rye, but it didn’t nail the turkey sandwich like Morgan did. “So, I sent the main pics to Olivia last night.”
“Great. She needs to buckle down and choose the photo she wants for the invitations ASAP.” Morgan cracked open a bottle of water. “If we don’t get those out by next week, we’ll miss the eight-week mark.”
