Scott knew what would happen if he asked his wife to bring the chair back inside. I’ll get to it. She’d say the same when he reminded her in an hour as daylight vanished.
Perhaps it was best to leave it overnight, allow the elements to further erode the finish. He hadn’t wanted the chair anyway, knowing the maintenance required. Linseed oil? He had enough mundane chores. Tomorrow, maybe she’d want to be rid of it. Yes, this was his opportunity —
“Oh, that chair,” Lynn called. “Scott, I’m busy making dinner. Would you mind getting it?”
Well played. “Of course.”
Friday Fictioneers is a weekly flash fiction challenge.