“What thing?” I frown.
We walk back down to the other side of the hill to see a huge barn and Christopher opens the doors proudly, “Ta-da.”
My mouth falls open. “Oh my god.”
A tractor, the most beautiful red tractor you have ever seen.
I climb up to find the keys are in the ignition, and I start her up. She roars and I laugh out loud.
Christopher and Eddie roll their eyes at each other, but I don’t care. I drive straight past them and out of the barn and down over the paddock.
“Are you coming back to the house?” Christopher calls after me.
“Later.” I wave as I drive. “I love you,” I call.
“Watch out for wolves,” Eddie calls.
I laugh as I wave, this is the best day of my life.
Who cares about wolves when you have a big red tractor?
I glance at the maps on my phone. “It says it’s just up here.”
“Here? Are you sure?” Christopher frowns over at me. “What furniture shop is this anyway?”
Eddie is still peering out the car window in awe, we are in London for the day and Eddie’s eyes are the size of saucers.
“Yes, here it is.” I gesture to the driveway and parking lot. “Turn in here.”
Christopher frowns and pulls in. “This is a thrift shop.”
“I know.” I open the door and climb out of the car.
“Don’t get out, Eddie,” I hear Christopher instruct him. “We are not getting furniture here. She’s gone fucking mad.”
I walk around to the driver’s side where Christopher is looking at me deadpan through the window, I tap on it and he winds the window down. “We are not buying furniture here, Hayden. Get it out of your head right fucking now.”
“Not our forever furniture. Just our right now furniture.”
He screws up his face as if I’m from Mars. “Not any furniture.”
“I thought you said we were planning the house out with an architect and doing major changes.”
“We are.”
“So what’s the point of buying expensive furniture now when we have no idea what we eventually want?”
“We buy decent furniture now and we buy expensive furniture then.” He glances into the back seat. “Eddie, we don’t want crap furniture, do we?”
Eddie shrugs as he looks between us, wisely staying silent.
“Look.” I open his car door. “It takes weeks for furniture to arrive and I want to house-train our baby animals before it gets here. This furniture will do for a month or two. Get out of the car,” I demand.
“Baby animals?” Christopher scoffs. “We are not having fucking ducks, Hayden, forget that right now. My brother has evil ducks and they plot my murder every time I see them. And what makes you think we are getting baby animals anyway? I never agreed to any of this.”
“Because it’s a farm.”
“So?”
“So it wouldn’t be a farm without animals, would it?”
My eyes flick to Eddie who is holding in a smile.
“Eddie, do you want a puppy of your very own?”
Eddie’s eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
“Aha, and we need some cats.”
“No way in hell,” Christopher explodes. “I am not having a cat piss on my things. Absolutely no fucking way.”
“Shut up, already.” I grab his hand and pull him out of the car and into the store. Christopher’s face screws up as if disgusted and I roll my lips to hide my smile. The building has that very distinct secondhand furniture scent.
There are rows after rows of couches and armchairs. Dining tables and bedframes. Everything but the kitchen sink and then some.
Christopher’s arms are crossed as he walks through the aisles. “There is nothing here for us, let’s go.”
“Eddie, pick an armchair for your room and two for the living area,” I say. “I’ll pick some couches.”
Christopher’s eyes widen in horror. “What do you mean? They have to match each other.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the civilized human fucking law, Hayden.”
“Will you stop being such a snob.”
“I am not a snob,” he barks.
“Sure sound like one,” Eddie mutters under his breath.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” I say to Christopher. “We pick the chairs and dining suite from here and you can choose and buy new mats for the rooms to bring everything together.”
Christopher’s eyebrow rises as if a little interested. “What kind of rugs?”
“Nice ones.”
“Hmm.” He walks around. “And what about artwork?”
“Yes, you can pick the artwork.”
He twists his lips. “And I’m buying the electronics. I’m not having a fossil television.”
“Fine.”
“I’ll wait in the car then,” he says casually.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t bear to witness the atrocities that you are about to purchase.”
“No you don’t. You stay right there. We are picking this stuff out together; this house has to be a little bit of all of us. I want the house colorful and eclectic with equal parts of the three of us.” I look around. “Eddie, why don’t you pick out anything you like, stuff that reminds you of Spain.”
Eddie’s eyes light up. “Spain?”
“Yes. You’re Spanish, we need to celebrate that. Just because we live in London does not make you any less Spanish.”
Christopher smiles over at Eddie as if finally understanding what I’m trying to do here. If the house is all fancy and Miles like, Eddie and I won’t feel at home, we need to ease into this money thing.
“Okay,” Christopher says with a newfound enthusiasm. “What about this lamp?” He holds it up, the lampshade is made of stained glass and bright and happy.
Eddie’s eyes light up in delight.
“I like it.” I smirk, not really, but who cares, they do.
“Okay.” Christopher smiles, proud of himself, we continue to keep looking.
“What about this chair?” Eddie says, it’s purple and made from checked velvet.
Christopher’s lip curls in disgust as he looks it over.
“I love it,” I lie. “It would be perfect for your bedroom.”
“It would, wouldn’t it?” Eddie gushes.
“Go and check out the drawers over in the corner,” I tell him. “Maybe we could buy some paint and paint them a nice color too.”
“Oh, good idea.” Eddie takes off in the direction of the drawers, he almost runs there he’s so excited.
Christopher leans in close. “That is the worst fucking chair I have ever seen,” he whispers.
“Sshh,” I whisper back. “It’s for his room, not yours.”
“Don’t even think about painting those drawers purple, a man has his limits.” He leans in again. “For the record, no serial killer chairs are going in our bedroom so don’t get any dumb ideas.”
“Okay.”
“Our bedroom is going to be as bougie as fuck,” he mutters.
“Okay.”