Free At First Sight by Nicholas Sparks

course your butt is getting bigger . . . you’re pregnant!-would mean sleeping at Greenleaf every night for a week straight.
“You look exactly the same to me,” he ventured instead.
Lexie nodded, still lost in thought. “Talk to Mayor Gherkin,” she suggested.
He looked at her, keeping his expression serious. “He thinks your butt is getting bigger?”
“No! About the lighthouse! I’m sure he can help.”
“Okay,” he said, stifling his laugh. “I’ll do that.”
They walked a few steps before she nudged him playfully with her shoulder. “And my butt is not getting bigger.”
“No, of course not.”
As usual, their first stop before heading home was to check on how the renovations were proceeding.
Though they wouldn’t officially close on the house until late April, the owner-who’d received the place as an inheritance but lived out of state-was willing to let them begin work on it, and Lexie had attacked the situation with gusto. Because she knew pretty much everyone in town-including carpenters, plumbers, tilers, roofers, painters, and electricians-and could see the finished home in her mind’s eye, she took control of the project. Jeremy’s role was limited to writing the checks, which considering he really hadn’t wanted to be in charge of the project seemed to be more than a fair exchange.
Even though he hadn’t known quite what to expect, it certainly wasn’t this. Entire crews had been working for the past week, and he remembered being amazed at what had been accomplished on the first day. The kitchen had been torn out; shingles were piled on the front lawn, carpeting and a number of windows removed. Huge piles of debris lay scattered from one end of the house to the other, but since then he’d come to believe the only thing the workers did was to shift the debris piles from place to place. Even when he came by during the day to check on the progress, no one ever actually seemed to be working. Standing in circles drinking coffee, maybe, or smoking on the back porch most definitely, but working? As far as he could tell, they always seemed to be waiting for a delivery or for the general contractor to return, or they were taking a “short break.” Needless to say, the majority of the workers were paid by the hour, and Jeremy always felt a tinge of financial panic whenever he headed back to Greenleaf.
Lexie, however, seemed happy enough with the progress and noticed things that he never did. “Did you see they’ve started running the new wiring upstairs?” or, “I see they got the new plumbing routed through the walls, so we’ll be able to put the sink beneath the window.”
Usually, Jeremy would nod in agreement. “Yeah, I noticed that.”
Aside from checks to the contractor, he still wasn’t writing yet, but on the plus side, he was fairly sure he’d figured out the reason. It wasn’t so much a mental block as it was a mental overload. So much was changing, not only the obvious, but little things, too. Like what to wear. For instance, he’d long believed that he had a fairly innate sense of style, albeit one with a distinct New York flair, and his many ex-girlfriends had often complimented him on his appearance. He was a longtime subscriber to GQ magazine, favored Bruno Magli shoes and tailored Italian shirts. But Lexie apparently had a different opinion and seemed to want to change him entirely. Two nights ago, she’d surprised him with a gift-wrapped box, and Jeremy had been touched by her thoughtfulness . . . at least until he’d opened it.
Inside was a plaid shirt. Plaid. Like the kind lumberjacks wore. And Levi’s jeans. “Thanks,” he forced out.
She stared at him. “You don’t like them.”
“No, no . . . I do,” he lied, not wanting to hurt her feelings. “It’s nice.”
“You don’t sound like you mean it.”
“I really do.”
“I just figured you might want to have something in your closet that might help you fit in with the guys.”
“What guys?”
“Guys in