“Greer doesn’t have quotas to fill. He just enjoys being a jerk.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Ginny studied the hand-drawn map in her good hand as she walked along the stakes and strings that Gavin had used to mark where their house would be built. Shamelessly playing the sympathy card a day after having a gun pointed at her head and having her arm sprained, she took full advantage of the men trying to please her.
“Well? Is this how you want it?” Gavin asked.
Ginny lowered the map, biting her lip in indecision. “I’m thinking. Are you happy with the layout?”
“I’ve been happy with the last three of your plans. That didn’t stop you from changing your mind.”
“There’re too many plans to choose from.” She pulled out her phone. “How do you think this one would look?”
Silas, Isaac, and Matthew all groaned when she showed them the next plan she was considering.
Stepping over one of the strings, Gavin gave her brothers a quelling look before taking the phone and studying the plans. “You said you wanted a one story. This plan has two.”
Ginny settled her sling more comfortably on her shoulder. “This would give us a larger master bedroom.”
“You can have a larger master bedroom with the plan we’ve already staked out. We won’t need four bedrooms, anyway. Three spare bedrooms are more than enough. You have enough family living nearby, and any extra guests can stay with them or at the club.”
Ginny took her phone back from Gavin and walked around the area that had been marked off as the four men watched her.
“You could half the size of the laundry room,” Silas suggested. “It would be the size of the one in my house, and it would be next to the master bedroom, which would be convenient when you have children.”
“I’ve always wanted a big laundry room, with a folding table that can be used as a craft table,” she said wistfully.
“Then I agree with Gavin. Three spare bedrooms should be enough … depending on how many children you’re planning on having.”
“Two,” Gavin said firmly.
Ginny looked at her phone again. She really didn’t want a two-story home.
“Ginny … how many children are you wanting to have?”
“Depends on the man I marry. The man I might marry could be so old that he might want two. On the other hand, I might marry a younger man who wants to give me as many as I want,” Ginny said unconcernedly, ignoring Gavin’s heated expression.
“I want a house that can grow with however many I’m blessed with.”
“I can tell you one fucking thing. You won’t be blessed with a younger husband,” Gavin snarled.
“Then it’s a good thing whomever I marry isn’t your decision,” she said sagely.
“The hell it isn’t, since I’m the one you’re married to.”
“Silas, did you give me away at my wedding?”
Her brother gave Gavin a sympathetic grimace. “No.”
Ginny glared at her brothers, daring them to lie. “Isaac, Matthew, were you at my wedding?”
“No,” they mumbled.
Ginny scrolled down the list of plans. “I want to keep the big trees, but if we get rid of this big oak”—Ginny placed her hand on the oak tree—“would it give me enough room for another bedroom?”
“Yes,” Silas answered, placing a staying hand on Gavin’s shoulder when he would have reached for her as she breezed past him to walk toward where the laundry room had been staked off.
Placing her phone in her pocket, she twirled. “I love it! I can hardly wait until it’s built!” She stopped twirling. “How long do you think it will take to build?”
“Two to four months, depending on the weather.” His eyes latched on to what she was doing with her sling. “Is your arm hurting?”
“No. I wouldn’t even know it was sprained if I didn’t accidentally try to do something with it. The sling is what is bothering me. The material on my shoulder is cutting into me.”
“Let me adjust it and see if it helps.” Gavin solicitously began adjusting the length so it sat easier on her shoulder. “When we get back to the club, I’ll find something to pad it with.”
“Thank you.” Ginny put her good arm through Gavin’s, then leaned against him and gave him an appreciative smile.
“That twirl make you dizzy?”
“Nope, just appreciating I have a big, strong man to lean on.”
Matthew made gagging noises. “I’m out. I have work to do.” He stepped over the string to stand next to her. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt worse than a sprained arm yesterday.” Ruffling her hair, he smoothed it back down before dropping his hand. “How long did the doctor say until it’s healed?”
“Three to eight weeks. The doctor said it was just a mild strain, so she estimated about three to four, but not to pick up anything heavy for over eight weeks.”
Matthew closed one eye, pinning her with a suspicious look. “You sure?”