Cassie never dreamed it would be possible to own a home with enough space to grow vegetables. A lump filled her throat, making it impossible to speak. In an effort to hide the emotion, she walked around the property, counting the steps, barely absorbing how fortunate she was.

“Do you know any of the neighbors?” Amiee asked, and then before Steve could answer, “Any girls my age? What about boys?”

“Sorry, I haven’t met any of the neighbors,” Steve told Amiee. He turned his attention to Cassie. “Well, what do you think? Do you like it or would you rather wait for another lot to become available?”

“She likes it,” Amiee cried. “She likes it. We both do.”

With her throat clogged with what could only be joy, Cassie was more than happy to have her daughter speak for her.

“Cassie?” Steve looked to her for the answer.

She swallowed against the thick lump, met his gaze, smiled, and nodded. Thankfully, she didn’t have to say anything more, as another car pulled up and parked behind Steve’s vehicle.

A man climbed out. He looked vaguely familiar to Cassie, although she didn’t remember where she’d seen him before. He walked directly up to Cassie and extended his hand.

“Stan Pearson,” he said, by means of an introduction. He nodded at Steve.

“Stan will be the construction manager for this project,” Steve explained.

Cassie’s spirits sank and she was barely able to disguise her disappointment. “You won’t be working on the house?” When she’d first met with Habitat, Megan had told her Steve would be heading up her project. She remembered that vividly because after their first meeting she’d intended to ask if there was anyone else. She hadn’t wanted to work with him. And now … well, it wouldn’t be the same without him.

As if reading her thoughts, Stan explained. “Steve will be here. He’s a volunteer, but he knows as much about construction as I do, if not more. I’ll basically leave everything up to him, while I supervise the progress on another home. That said, I’ll be by now and again to check up and see how things are going, the same way I did with the Youngs’ property. Technically, I’m the construction manager, but I sort of leave everything in Steve’s hands.”

So that was where Cassie had seen Stan before. She remembered Steve and him conferring a number of times.

“I’m a paid employee,” Stan went on to explain, “and Steve’s a volunteer, although he sometimes puts in as many hours or more than I do.”

“You’ll be at the Youngs’ on Friday, won’t you?” Stan’s question was directed at Cassie.

She looked to Steve, not understanding. It made sense that after a week away from the construction site she’d missed out on something.

“There’s a dedication ceremony,” Steve explained, and then, looking to Stan, added, “Cassie’s been out all week. She’s the one I mentioned who cut her arm.”

“Oh right. I forgot about that. How’s it healing?”

“No problem,” she said, wanting to make light of her injury “It was only a scratch.”

Steve frowned. “Twelve stitches is hardly a scratch.”

She ignored him. “Steve wouldn’t let me on the job site,” she said, frowning back at him.

“Good. We don’t want you reinjuring your arm,” Stan said, and then, as if looking for a way to change the subject, he added, “I brought along the house plans to show you and your daughter. This is very similar to the Youngs’ plan.”

“You already have plans?” Amiee cried, crowding in next to Cassie. “How many bedrooms?”

“Three,” Stan answered.

“Three,” Amiee cried. “Bedrooms?”

“We always build a minimum of three bedrooms,” Steve explained to her daughter.

“What about if it was one person moving in—would they still get three bedrooms?”

“They would,” Stan said, picking up the conversation. “We do that for resale value. If and when the home is sold, the chance of selling it is much greater with that third bedroom.”

Stan took a tube out of the backseat of his car, uncapped it, and rolled it out across the top of his vehicle, anchoring it with the windshield-wiper blade on one side and his hand on the opposite corner.

“Look it over, Amiee,” Steve advised, as the girl squeezed in front of Cassie and Steve.

“How many square feet?” Cassie asked, as she looked over the floor plan.

“Twelve hundred. These aren’t big homes.”

“Did you happen to notice the size of our apartment?” Cassie asked, half joking. Twelve hundred square feet would feel like a mansion by comparison.

“We just recently added garages,” Stan was saying. “We’re putting the washer and dryer in there.”

“We get a washer and dryer, too?” Amiee was nearly beside herself, rubbing her palms together with sheer joy. “Mom, did you hear? Our own washer and dryer.”

“I heard.”

As if this was more than she could imagine, Amiee asked, “What about a stove with more than two burners and an oven that actually works?”

“All yours,” Steve assured her.

Amiee closed her eyes and tilted back her head. “Have I died and gone to heaven?”

Steve chuckled and looked at Cassie. “Is she always like this?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Clearly amused, Stan collected the design, rolled it up, and reinserted it into the tube. “I’ll see you Friday, then?” he said, looking at Cassie.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

Stan drove off and the three of them were left standing by the curb. Steve waited until Stan’s car had disappeared around the corner before he spoke. He looked at Cassie. “Do you two like Mexican food?”

“Love it,” Amiee said, before Cassie could open her mouth to answer.

“Cassie?” Steve apparently wanted to hear it from her.

She shrugged. “Sure.”

Amiee slapped her hands against her sides. “Oh come on, Mom, it’s your favorite and you know it, well, other than a Whopper.”

So much for playing it cool. “What have you got in mind?” she asked. Steve seemed to be smiling a lot lately, she noticed.

“There’s a great Mexican restaurant in downtown Kent.”

“The Lindo?” Cassie knew it well. The food was amazing.

“You’ve been there?” Steve asked.

Cassie nodded. “Once for a beer with the girls from the salon.”

“You have?” Amiee sounded aghast. “You never said anything to me.”

“There are some things I don’t mention,” Cassie told her daughter.

Amiee looked to Steve. “Can I order a cheese enchilada?”

“Of course.”

“Two cheese enchiladas?”

He chuckled and nodded.

“I’m not being greedy, am I?”

“No,” he said. “You’re hungry, and as it happens, so am I.”

Chapter 15

“Mom,” Amiee shouted from her bedroom. “Can I please wear makeup?”

“When you’re thirteen.” Cassie stood in front of the bathroom mirror, applying eyeliner.

“M-o-m.” Her daughter dragged out her name, making three distinct syllables out of a word that contained only one.

“What?”

“You’re treating me like a kid.”

This was an old argument, and one on which Cassie wouldn’t relent. “You are a kid.”

“But this dedication ceremony is a big deal.”

“Tell you what,” Cassie said, adding mascara to her eyelashes. “When our home is dedicated, you can wear mascara and blush.”

Amiee stood in the doorway to the tiny bathroom. “You’re killing me. I hope you know that. Claudia’s been wearing makeup since fifth grade.”

“Good for her.”

Shaking her head with disgust, Amiee asked, “Why are you like this?”

“Are you going to argue with me all day or are you going to get ready to leave?”