Wyatt would always love Stephanie Byrne, because she had been his first best friend (Wesley Hill not withstanding). Stephanie had filled Wyatt with a sense of adventure, and never once, not once did she make him feel like anything less than the most important person in any room they shared. Once upon a time, Wyatt had been cherished. And though through the years, as things faded, as love faded, their friendship had remained. And that was what had convinced Wyatt to stay, to try and fix things between the two of them, to try and breathe life back into their marriage. And though they had failed, and though it was all for the best, Wyatt would miss his best friend. Which was partially why he was there that evening, because Steph had called and Wyatt would never ignore her. “Plum tones. Very you.”
Wyatt watched Steph carefully. “Well whatever you want it to be, I’ll help you out. I didn’t mean to assume.” Glancing around, Wyatt attempted to visualize the tub before shrugging. “I’m sure we can find someone who can get it up here. I’ll just have to check the coding and make sure you actually can have that up here. Worst comes to worst we’ll just take out the window and jerry-rig it in here from outside.” Wyatt began to follow Stephanie until she fell, at which point he was darting to her side, taking the steps two at a time to do so. “As long as you’re alright” Wyatt smiled softly, taking hold of her palms to check them over. “I know I’m not the doctor in this arrangement, but I think you might just live.”
As much as she tried to push away the sour pang in her chest, Steph could not keep her eyes on Wyatt any longer than necessary. If she was going to continue on with whatever sort of charade this was, she was going to need far more alcohol. When Wyatt spoke about the color being very her, she couldn’t help but feel her cheeks begin to flush. What was it about this idiotic man that drove her so damn crazy? He called her some of the most repulsive names in the book, and her she was smiling like a schoolgirl at him knowing her favorite color palettes. Swiftly recovering from the near fall, Steph sighed heavily and scanned her palms for scratches or pain at the joints. Noticing that Wyatt was touching her, Steph’s need to pull away, to get out, to run as fast as she could halted where she sat on her butt. Glancing up at him ruefully, it took nearly everything in her to pull away and start back down the stairs. “No amputations today,” she smiled and shook her hands on her jeans. “Lemme show you the backyard and where I wanna put a pergola.”
Just as she reached the bottom floor, Steph made a beeline to her wine bottle, the adrenaline of her near accident smoothing some of the rougher edges of tipsiness. Backyard, basement, spare bedroom. Backyard, basement, spare bedroom. The last three places on her mental list of things to show Wyatt before she could start yawning and politely tell him she had to get to bed. While she maintained that she could have just as easily called any other handyman in the area to take a look around, there was a special familiarity that Wyatt held that assured her the job would be done correctly and safely. Hell, if she could get a few discounts along the way, Steph would do damn near anything. Opening another bottle of wine, Steph poured a portion for Wyatt and handed him the glass before filling her own cup generously. “Okay, first off, I want these sliding doors gone and French doors installed. How hard is that going to be?” Her words flowed smoothly as she led Wyatt to the back of the house and out said glass doors. Crossing her arms over her chest, Steph squinted at the moderately sized yard. “Do you know if there is a city limit restriction on chickens?”
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