Page 75 of The Other Side

No surprise there.

“Hello!” Lindsey greets with a beaming smile. “I made lemon meringue tartlets.” She’s holding a plate with saran wrap covering the dessert she’s referencing.

I grin as I take the dish from her. “Thank you. It will pair well with the lemon roasted chicken,” I offer, stepping aside so they can enter the house.

Jesse strolls into the foyer, greeting Roger and Lindsey once they’re inside.

“Are you two okay with sitting outside?” I ask, closing the front door. Then I tilt my head toward the rear of the house. “It’s been a lovely day, and I figured it would be a nice touch.”

I also need fresh air.

Roger’s dark brows knit for a moment, only to pin his eyes to Lindsey. “Sure, that sounds good,” he answers.

“Yes, it’s beautiful out,” Lindsey echoes. “The breeze is light, so all the effort I put into my hair shouldn’t go to waste.”

The crook of my mouth flinches as I force a kind smile. My gaze lingers on her perfectly large curls weaved through her long blonde hair. Then I bob my head. “Yeah, exactly what I was thinking.”

“Callie, is the patio table set up?” Jesse asks.

I wag my head. “No, I was going to do that right now.”

He nods once on a tucked grin.

I excuse myself from the conversation, and Lindsey’s already at my side when I’m walking to the dining room.

“I’ll help you,” she offers.

“Oh, thank you, but you really don’t have to,” I sigh, making a turn into the kitchen. “I already have the dishes and utensils on the table. I just have to bring everything outside.” I open the fridge door to store her tartlets, and then I’m returning to where she stands in the dining room.

“I love your dress,” I tell Lindsey, scanning her floral maxi.

“Thank you. You’re so sweet.” She bends to scoop the pile of plates from the polished mahogany.

We carry the necessary supplies through the sliding doors. I light a couple small candles at the center of the metal tabletop, the tiny flames complementing the evening glow.

Lindsey and I eventually bring the food out. We settle the family-style bowls around the platter of roasted chicken, and Jesse and Roger join us. We each occupy a padded cast-iron chair, clinking our wine glasses right after.

“How’s the addition going?” Roger asks.

The clatter of porcelain floods the silence before Jesse scoffs. “I had to educate a contractor a few days ago. Talk about working overtime.”

“What happened?” Roger pushes, scooping a lump of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“He suggested Corian countertops,” Jesse answers, grabbing the zucchini medley bowl. “What moron would think a customer with a house like this would want anything but granite or quartz?”

“A moron who doesn’t know how to do his job,” Roger affirms.

I raise my wine glass to my lips when I speak. “Maybe there was good reason. He probably wants to make sure we’re keeping within our budget.” I allow the plum flavor of the Cabernet to drown my smart tongue.

A mocking chuckle tears from Jesse. Then he begins to cut into his chicken breast. “For a contractor who was recommended to me, I expect them to come with half a brain,” he snaps back.

I take another sip, bolting my gaze to the corner of the yard behind Roger’s shoulder. Bright pink and yellow petals sprout from the fresh-cut lawn, the hues of color hugging my agitated heart.

Jesse’s indirectly blaming Brant for this mishap. I know it.

From what I understand, this was the only “bump” in the road out of everything our contractor has done. It doesn’t seem fair to taint this mystery person’s reputation based on such a tiny detail.

“I’m sure he has a specific approach he follows to talk to all his customers.” My voice interjects softly. I pivot my eyes to meet Jesse, only to skate my gaze to Roger across from him. “Our contractor has been very adaptive and professional. Just like we were told they would be.”