by Jeannie Watt
If Andie had always been right, she would be using her artistic talents instead of answering phones and scheduling appointments. But she plastered a smile on to her face and nodded. “Yes. And you forgot annoying.” She handed a file to Steph. “Dr. Frazier’s two o’clock is waiting in the lobby.”
“You’re still going out with us tonight, right? You backed out on us last time, and I’m holding you to your promise of a rain check. No excuses.”
Her sofa at home and the remote in her hand held a stronger pull on her evening than going out to a restaurant with her coworkers, but she had promised and Lowmans didn’t break their word. Despite her father’s recent incarceration for embezzling from his own company, she’d grown up being taught that the Lowman family had integrity. And she’d made that New Year’s resolution to put herself more out into the world. To stop waiting for something to happen. She finally gave a short nod. “I’ll be there.”
Stephanie smiled and pushed herself off the desk. “Good. And I think you might actually have some fun. Maybe even meet that guy you wished for on New Year’s.”
Andie closed her eyes and tipped her head back, groaning. “Remind me not to tell you everything.”
“Too late.”
* * *
THE ATMOSPHERE AT the sports bar and grill was subdued, probably due to the many who had given up alcohol as part of their New Year’s resolutions. Andie scanned the faces in the bar until she spotted Stephanie, who stood talking to a nurse in another of the offices in their complex. She laughed at something he said and put her hand on his shoulder. Stephanie had been trying to get him to ask her out since she had seen him back in August, but the man was either clueless or not interested. Andie suspected the latter.
She walked to the table where some of her coworkers had already staked their claim and draped her coat over the chair next to Stephanie’s. Her friend soon joined her and plopped into the chair. “I swear he’s never going to get the hint. I told him that I was free this weekend, but nothing. What am I going to have to do? Ask him out myself?”
“Or maybe focus on someone else.”
Stephanie turned and gave her a look, one eyebrow arched higher than the other. “That tactic might work for you since you’re so beautiful, but we lesser mortals don’t have that option. He’s the first man I’ve been attracted to since Peter broke up with me.”
“You’re an intelligent, attractive woman who has a lot to offer any man. Don’t sell yourself so short.” Andie didn’t like it when her friends made themselves seem so much smaller than everyone else. “If that guy can’t see you for the amazing woman you are, then maybe it’s time to find someone who does.”
Stephanie didn’t seem convinced of that. Instead, she shook her head. “His name’s Joe. And maybe I just need to spend more time with him. Then he’ll notice me.”
Andie didn’t think more time would resolve the issue. She had personal experience with hoping to make something more of a relationship than what was there, and she had been left alone in the end. She rubbed at the burning in her chest. “There are more men than Joe out there who are actually interested in you.”
Stephanie made a zipping motion in front of her lips as Joe joined them from the bar, carrying a mug of beer in one hand. He took a sip, then glanced at Stephanie. “Oh. I forgot to order your drink. A margarita, was it?”
She stood and glared at him. “You don’t listen to any of my stories, do you? In fact, you don’t hear what I’m saying at all.” She turned to Andie. “You’re right. I need to find a guy who appreciates who I am.” Then she left the table.
Andie squelched a grin as Joe sputtered an excuse. “What’s wrong with a margarita?”
“She almost died in college after drinking one because she’s allergic to citrus and didn’t realize it had lime juice. She’s told you that story at least twice that I know of.” Andie stood and shook her head at him. “You missed out on a great girl.”
“Maybe not. What are you doing later?”
Seriously? She rolled her eyes and left to join her friend at the bar. “He’s such a jerk. You’re lucky to be rid of him.”
Stephanie turned wet eyes in her direction. “I’m going to die an old maid, aren’t I?”
“Oh please. If you’d actually give Dr. Henson a second look, you’d see that he’s crazy about you.”
Stephanie took the glass of red wine from the bartender and slid her payment across the polished wood counter. “Dr. Henson? He has a bald spot.”
“He also has a kind heart and a quick smile for the children he treats for cancer.” Andie gave her order to the bartender and turned to look at her friend. “You’ve been seeing Joe’s pretty boy face rather than Dr. Henson’s mature handsome features.”
Her friend regarded her for a long moment. “He does wear funny ties to make those kids laugh. And you really think he’s crazy about me?”
Andie raised her eyebrows at her friend. “Besides me, who in our office has bought more items from your nephew’s fund-raising efforts? And who brought you lunch that one time when you forgot yours at home? And who else cleans the snow off your car before you go home from work?”
“I know. You’re right.” Stephanie gave a nod, but it seemed to be almost hesitant. “But Dr. Henson?”
“He would remember your margarita story.” Andie paid for her glass of moscato, then put her free hand on Stephanie’s shoulder. “Take this weekend and think it over, but I believe you’ll see what the rest of the office has noticed for months. The man is head over heels for you.”
They joined the rest of their colleagues at the table.
After appetizers and a second glass of wine, Andie made her excuses and returned to her apartment. Surprisingly, she had enjoyed the evening. She usually felt out of place in a crowd as if she were looking in rather than participating in the fun. But she had been in the middle of several conversations and discovered a number of interesting facts about her coworkers. And she had surprised some of them, as well. Maybe her resolution to put herself out in the world more could pay off.
And maybe her appointment the next morning with Mr. Beckett would open up a career opportunity she’d been waiting for.
* * *
BECKETT WAITED IN the living room, glancing out the large picture window that overlooked the neighborhood. It was ten minutes before nine. Where was this woman? Cassie had assured him that her sister was a stained glass expert. If anyone could fix the window, it would be her. That is if she ever showed up. He hated being late himself, and even more the people who showed up late. In the military, early was on time and on time was late.
He hoped that she wouldn’t be one of those people always running late even though she had enough time to stop for a froufrou coffee drink on her way to the house. If there was another thing he couldn’t stand besides tardiness, it was sugary drinks that pretended to be coffee. Coffee was meant to be drunk hot and black. Period.
Beckett glanced around the living room of the house that he’d been working on for the last few days. After he’d won the premier Take Back the Neighborhood contest, Beckett had used his half of the quarter of a million prize money to expand his house renovation business. He had done the necessary publicity and cable television special that had been part of the prize package, but now it was time to work for himself. On himself. To prove that he could be a good person now that he was home from Iraq and hopefully erase the memories of his past there.
If only the nightmares would stop reminding him of who he really was.
A sleek silver sports car pulled into the driveway, breaking into his reverie. A brunette goddess exited the car and approached the house. No. This would not do. He didn’t need any empty-headed beauty queen messing around with something that had become so important to him. He wrenched open the front door and stared at her as she stood on the porch, her hand raised to knock on the door. “You can’t be th
e stained glass expert.”
She smirked at him. “But I am.”
“Why?”
The brown eyes that looked back at him seemed to glimmer with humor. “Because I did my master’s thesis on the history of them in Detroit churches. And I’ve made a few myself. Cassie knew that I could help you out.”
A master’s degree? This beauty had those brains behind such deep brown eyes? “I’m confused. I didn’t think she meant someone like you.”
“Mr. Beckett, someone like me knows more than you about the window you found. Now, you invited me here to look at it. Since I’m here, I might as well give you an assessment.”
As much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. Even if he didn’t think he could hire her to fix the window, he could at least get an idea of what would be required. The idea of working side by side with such a beauty made his heart stop. She was a temptation he didn’t need. He growled and shut the door behind her. “Fine. And it’s just Beckett, not Mr. Beckett.” He pointed to the wall. “There it is. Assess away.”
She gasped and stepped forward, placing a finger on one of the broken panes. “It looks like it’s most likely from the Art Deco period of the twenties. You can see how the artist used lead fillings or came to fuse the different pieces.” She sighed. “Beautiful. I wonder who the artist was.”
He watched her as she stared at the window, even as she backed away and removed her coat to place it over the back of a folding chair. Her eyes stayed on the window, and she approached it, putting her fingers on the glass. While she had been gorgeous getting out of her car, the light in her eyes as she looked at the window made her glow, and he was drawn to her in a way that he hadn’t been to anyone since returning from war. This made him shake his head and close his eyes. He couldn’t do this. Not with her. “Can you fix it?”
She ran her fingers along the cracks and answered, “No.”
“I thought you were an expert.”
She turned to face him, and he steeled himself from getting lost in her looks. She appeared disappointed. “Unfortunately, with a piece like this you need someone who works in repairing antiques. And I’m afraid that is out of my realm of experience.” She looked over her shoulder at the window. “But it is an amazing piece.”
“You’ve wasted my time.”
She turned back to peer at him. “You asked me here to tell you what you needed to do to fix the window, not to do the repairs myself. As it so happens, I know someone who can fix it, and I’d be happy to get in contact with him.”
He should have felt relief that she wouldn’t be the one who would be spending time here fixing the window. Then he could say his goodbyes and not see her anymore. And yet, he regretted that she couldn’t fix it. “Fine. But you can give me the number.”
“No, I think this is something we need to take to him in person.” She approached the window, her eyes traveling along the edges of it. “We’ll need to remove the window from the wall very delicately to avoid any more damage. That I can assist you with.” She ran her hands around the border of it. “Do you have a crowbar?”
“That’s delicate?”
“The steel frame is wedged into the opening, but with a few careful tugs I could remove it intact.” She pulled a hair tie from her pants pocket and fashioned her dark hair into a messy bun on top of her head, then she brought the ladder from the middle of the room closer to the window.
He stared at her. “Right now?”
“I thought you were eager to get this repaired.”
He left the room and found a crowbar in his toolbox. When he returned to the living room, he found that Andie had climbed the ladder and was running her hands on the upper edge of the window. He handed her the crowbar and winced as she placed it between the wall and the steel frame. With light tugs, she started to loosen the window from its place. He stood below her, his hands up to catch the window if it should fall. Or the woman herself, if that was the case.
She got the upper left section free, and she gave a cry of triumph. Despite himself, he smiled at her glee at this small victory. He held up the left side of the window as she worked on the upper right corner. She started to slip back on the ladder, and he put one hand on her back to keep her upright. Just the one touch felt like heaven to him, and he had to remind himself that she was here on business. And a beauty like her had no place in his life.
Ms. Lowman continued to work at the frame with harder tugs. “This right side is more difficult to get out, and I don’t want to bend the frame and damage the window more than it is.”
“Shall I try?”
She stopped her work and looked at the frame once again. “No, I think if I can just get under this corner, it should come loose.”
She positioned the crowbar and gave it a jerk. A crack in the window widened, and she gasped, but the entire frame came out intact from the wall. He took a hold of the left side as she kept her hands on the right and slowly descended the ladder. They took the window to a set of sawhorses he had at the other end of the living room, rested it on them, then stood back to admire it. She took her cell phone out of her pants pocket and started to take several pictures with it before lightly moving her fingers over the surface of the glass. “Who made such an extraordinary window?” She looked around the frame, but shook her head. “Whoever it was didn’t sign it.”
“And you really know someone who will fix it?”
She glanced up at him, and he was again struck by her simple beauty. She didn’t have to use lots of makeup to enhance her looks, and he could appreciate it, if only from a distance. “He can, but I don’t know if he would be willing to do so. Like I said earlier, our best bet would be to take the window directly to him for his evaluation. He works every Saturday morning at his store, but only until noon.” She put on her coat and slipped her cell phone in her purse before grabbing it. “Are you coming?”
He’d hoped to spend only a few minutes with her, but it looked as if he would be spending a lot more time with this woman. And why did that idea both please and terrify him?
Copyright © 2020 by Cynthia Powell
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ISBN: 9781488061882
Montana Dad
Copyright © 2020 by Jeannie Steinman
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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