“And that’s without a finish, Dad. Imagine it polished up and glossy. This room is about to feel a million times cozier. That soft LED Jasmine dropped off is a game changer.”

My dad nods, his hands on his still-trim hips, and turns in place, taking in the entire space. This used to be a shallow living room with wood paneling and a rotting carpet that had questionable stains. My dad wanted to knock it all out and replace it with drywall, which is the simplest and least expensive option. Except for one problem.

The built-ins were in the way. I convinced him to give me those and I let him have free rein with the rest. He didn’t disappoint. He removed a dividing wall, rebricked the fireplace in the center—opening it up to two rooms—and replaced the paneling with white car siding from the floor to the ceiling rafters. It’s stunning. Everything is clean lines and natural surfaces and every bit of it points to the showstopper—my bookcases.

I’m giddy.

“You did good, kid,” he says, approval clear in his voice.

“Thanks, Pops. You, too.” I hold up a hand and his lips quirk under his salt-and-pepper mustache as he returns my high five.

“I’m gonna run. I told Jasmine I would keep healthier hours, whatever that means.”

I hide my smile at his gruff tone. That man is marshmallow over his girlfriend, real-estate agent Jasmine Rodriguez. They’ve worked together for a decade, dancing around their two divorces and raising their three kids (her two, his one). But now we’re all grown up and they’re finally making a go of it. It’s so cute, I could cry. (Surprise, surprise.)

“Sure. Thanks for the food.” I gesture to the paper bag of calories sitting on a sawhorse in the corner.

“Don’t let it get cold. It’s not any good cold.”

“I won’t,” I insist. “Now go.”

“You sure you don’t need me?”

I roll my eyes lightly. “Dad. It’s only varnish. All I need is time and an empty workspace without sawdust flying in the air.” I shoo him away with my hands. “Out. Give Jazz my love.”

He leaves, shutting the door behind him, and I let loose a heavy sigh. Finally. I wander over to my cheeseburger and pull it out, wrapping the bottom half in the foil, and take a bite as I slowly pace the room. My work boots creak on the stiff new hardwood floors, and while it’s still light outside, I flip on the work lights to make sure I can see everything clearly. After I finish my burger, tossing the foil in the trash I’ll be taking out when I leave, I walk to the kitchen sink and rinse my hands. No greasy fingers for this project.