Page 52 of Convincing Him
“Don’t worry about it,” Gabe waived the apology away. “It’s not a big deal.”
“The plants are going to need to be watered,” advised Tom as he speared another spring roll with his plastic fork, putting it on his paper plate. “Every evening they should be watered until they are established.”
Gabe frowned. “I suppose I can.”
“Who else is going to do it?” Tom asked rhetorically. “It’s not like you can afford a gardener.”
Gabe reflected Tom was right. He couldn’t afford a gardener. Gabe was distinctly middle class now, only because he had a great investment portfolio. His liquidity position was horrible. Right now, he was reduced to sleeping at Marshall’s place, but Gabe didn’t know how long he would be welcome there since Marshall was getting married this weekend. Gabe supposed he would have to find an affordable apartment and get a new job. Dragging his thoughts out of his personal worries, Gabe regarded the ornamental tree they had planted in the flowerbed. “The tree still looks crooked.”
“We’ve planted it over a dozen times,” replied Tom dryly. “No matter which way we planted it, the tree is still crooked. Nothing is going to change it.”
“Do you think it’s defective?” wondered Gabe as he frowned while contemplating the flowering tree.
“Maybe those plants are supposed to be that way,” shrugged Tom. “How would we know? We’re not gardeners. Although, after today, I think we’ve earned some of our green thumb. Look at the treehouse. It is a thing of beauty.”
“That’s true,” Gabe noted with pride. He was sore, sunburnt and had blisters. There was dirt right through his sneakers and socks. However, he was proud of all the work they had done. Never would he or any of his acquaintances have thought Gabriel Ramesly would do manual labor. “However, we couldn’t have done it without help from the contractor and his assistant.”
“We did learn how to use a skill saw,” beamed Tom as he held up his bandaged hand.
Gabe winced. “I still would like you to get the wound looked at. It probably could have a couple of stitches and a tetanus shot. I promise I’ll cover the bill.”
“It’s just a scratch,” Tom waived away his concern. “It was worth it. It’s our blood and sweat in this yard.”
“Thank you,” Gabe truly was thankful. He gave Tom a nod of appreciation. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
“You would have found a way. Always important not to disappoint the missus,” Tom said jovially. He looked around the yard, missing Gabe’s pensive look. “So, we’ve done everything except the playset.”
“Yup,” nodded Gabe. He didn’t know why he hadn’t told Tom Britney wasn’t marrying him. He supposed he was still hopeful. Gabe gazed at the pile of wood, plastic, and bolts. The rest of the yard looked good. Not great and certainly not perfect by any means but even the contractor had been impressed with their work before he had left. The house was finished to perfection. Now all that was left to do was to tackle the playset. “I’ll grab the instructions. Hopefully, we can figure them out.”
“I have built Ikea furniture,” Tom mentioned hopefully. “Maybe it will be similar.”
“Then you’re the expert and can take the lead on this part of the project,” Gabe offered as he grabbed a booklet from the pile. Returning to his chair, he and Tom poured over the paperwork.
“Looks like hieroglyphics,” muttered Tom.
“It has only diagrams,” Gabe was aghast. “How is anyone supposed to put together a large, safe playset for a child with only pictures to follow? Where are the instructions?”
“I think this is Spanish?” Tom squinted over a sheet. “These symbols might be Chinese? I have no idea where the English is.”
Gabe leaned over to read. “It says to put the playset together and use at your own risk. Not liable for any injuries.”
“That’s encouraging,” snorted Tom. “Well, it looks like sturdy material. All we need to do is figure out how to read the pictures.”
Fifteen minutes later, the two men had a plan of attack and began.
Saturday, the day of the wedding.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” questioned Tara in a gentle voice.
“I need to say goodbye to it,” Britney took a deep breath as she inserted the key into the lock. “It is part of the grieving process. Then I can hand the keys over to the realtor and will never have to worry about it again.”
“Okay,” Tara said doubtfully as she followed her friend into the foyer. She looked around the space. “It is nice.”
“The house is walking distance from the park and a ten minute drive to the school,” Britney wandered into the furnished living room, running a hand over the plush couch.
Tara went into the kitchen, frowning as she caught sight of a couple of sticky notes on the counter. She lifted one off, reading the scrawl on the slip of yellow paper.
Space for Brit’s mixer.
