âI donât have enough time to tell you whatâs wrong with the look. I mean, itâs cute and all for the barn, butââ
âListen up, Fashion Fanny. This isnât Hollywood, in case you didnât notice. Iâm heading out for a drink. Iâm not trying to land a modeling gig.â
Bea crossed her arms over her chest and huffed. âListen up, big brother. In case you didnât notice, your social life sucks. And Iâm just trying to help.â
God preserve him from sisters who wanted to improve his social life. âYours is any better?â he shot back. He walked to the utility room beside the kitchen, opened the door and tossed the towel into the hamper situated there. Emma would thank him later for remembering and not leaving it on the floor like an animal. Sheâd raised him better. âYouâre always here. Or, well, not here, but now youâre always in your little apartment looking at paint chips. You almost never go out. You leave once a month to do God knows what in whatever big city you head to.â
âShop for things that donât have snaps and denim,â she said dryly.
âFine. That. But itâs not a social life, any more than me hanging out in the barn is a social life. So donât kid yourself. Iâm not sure what crawled up your butt and decided it was Bug Trace Day, but itâs not. Check your calendar. Itâs officially MYOB month.â
Beaâs mouth fell open. âIâm not sure which is more disturbing. The fact that you think my social life is pathetic, or that you just used the term âMYOB.â Itâs 2013, in case you didnât notice.â
He ignored that and walked around her. Then an idea popped into his mind. âYou want me to have a social life?â
âYes. Because I love you. Though right now Iâm wracking my brain trying to remember why.â
âAnd you want to help me.â
âYes.â She smiled patiently at him.
âThen this is how you help.â He unhooked the baby monitor from his back pocket and thrust it at her. âBabysit.â
She stared at the monitor like it was a remote detonator to a bomb. âWhat the hell do I do with this?â
He sighed and reached over to turn it on. The green light lit up and the soft sounds of his sonâs snoring rasped through the speaker. âYou just keep it with you. Go up and surf the Internet on the computer. Read a magazine. Watch TV. Cook a meal. I donât care, it doesnât matter. Just do something in the big house, and have that with you. And donât leave to go back to your new apartment.â
She started to hand it back, but he stepped out of the way. âI canât babysit. You know I donât do the kid thing.â
âHeâs asleep. Heâs been sleeping through the night for months now. Thereâs no reason to think he wonât do it again. So all you have to do is be in the house. Thatâs it. If he doesnât make a sound, then you do nothing but stay in the house and do whatever it is you want to.â
She stared at the monitor again and he could see her starting to mentally draft an excuse.
âBea, I need this.â
She watched him, and he could see her softening.
âI spent almost a whole year not leaving this house except for work. I hate relying on Emmaâitâs not her job after hours. And Peyton already watched him recently.â
She hesitated, and then her shoulders drooped.
And he knew heâd won a hard-earned battle for a night out.
âFine.â She narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at him. âBut those boxes? Youâre moving every single one of them when you get back.â
âDone,â he agreed quickly, in case she changed her mind. âEvery one.â He leaned over and brushed a kiss on her cheek. âThanks, Bea.â
As he headed out the door, she called out, âDonât be shocked