One Perfect Spring

by Irene Hannon

  Not what she’d expected him to say.

  Straightening to her full height, she lifted her chin, prepared to tell him that was none of his business.

  But he beat her to it. “Sorry. None of my business. Is it all right if I put the ladder away for you?”

  She thought about feigning insult and insisting she and Haley were doing fine. But Keith was a smart, perceptive man. No one who had money to spare would let so many maintenance chores go unattended—or take on heavy-duty jobs most people left to more experienced professionals.

  Why deny the obvious?

  So she gave a curt nod. “I’ll open the garage door for you from inside.”

  “Hang onto this, okay?” He handed her the drill.

  As he disappeared around the side of the house with the ladder and hammer, she crossed to the recalcitrant sliding door. It took her several tugs to open it, several more to close the thing.

  Once inside, she stepped into the attached garage through the kitchen door and activated the opener. The door squeaked, but at least it was working now, though she had no clue why. All she’d done was force it up the day it had gotten stuck, and it had been cooperating ever since.

  Praise the Lord for small blessings.

  Keith ducked under the door as it rose. “Where do you want this stuff?”

  “I keep the ladder against the far wall”—she pointed to the spot—“and the hammer goes on the workbench in the corner.”

  After putting them back in their places, he returned to the front of the garage and picked up a toolbox. “I brought a few other tools from home. I can check out the sliding door, if you want me to.”

  Her first inclination was to refuse. Why further tarnish her image as a capable, competent, independent woman?

  But the door did need fixing—and so far it hadn’t responded to a liberal application of WD-40, a swift kick of the frame, nor evil incantations.

  Swallowing her pride, she summoned up a smile. “Wow. Wish number two. You really are a genie.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “I’m not stubborn enough to turn down the offer of help with a door that’s going to dislocate my shoulder one of these days. Come on in.”

  As he entered, Haley was licking the last bit of icing off her fork. “Your mom makes great cake, Keith.”

  “I’ll tell her you said that.”

  “You gonna fix our door?” She rose from the table, deposited her plate and glass on the counter, and wandered over to watch him.

  “I’m going to try.”

  “Don’t get in his way, honey.”

  “She’s not in my way.” Keith winked at Haley. “Want to help?”

  “Can I?”

  “If it’s okay with your mom.”

  Haley turned to her. Keith was just being nice . . . but it was sweet of him to consider her daughter. And it wouldn’t hurt for Haley to be exposed to a man who seemed to have a lot more kindness and empathy than her own father had possessed.

  “Sure.” She hefted the drill. “Do you need this?”

  “Yes.” He took it from her and set it on the floor beside him.

  “I’ve tried spraying the track with lubricant, but that didn’t work.” She wandered closer too.

  “The rollers may be gummed up or damaged. Do you have a drop cloth or blanket? And I could use a rag or two.”

  “Those I can supply.”

  By the time she retrieved the items from the hall closet, Keith was down on his hands and knees with a screwdriver.

  “What’re you doing now?” Haley leaned in close to watch him.

  “Adjusting the rollers. We’ll try that first. It’s the easiest fix.”

  Claire deposited the blanket and rags on the kitchen table.

  He worked on the rollers on each end of the door, stood, and tried sliding it. It still stuck, but the improvement was significant.

  “That’s much better.” Claire tried it herself. “My shoulder thanks you.”

  He planted his fists on his hips and shook his head. “It’s not good enough. I’m going to take the door off and check the rollers. I don’t suppose you have any sawhorses.”

  “No—but I do have two card tables. Would those work?”

  “Are they sturdy?”

  “As sturdy as a card table can be.”

  He eyeballed the width of the slider. “Let’s try it. If you can set them up on a safe area of the deck, I’ll take the door off. Haley, could you help your mom?”

  “Sure.”

  The two of them retrieved the tables from the basement. Things might be tight, but at least they were past the days when one had functioned as a kitchen table, the other as a place to stack clothes that should have been stored in a chest of drawers in her bedroom.

  As they set them up on the deck, Claire kept an eye on Keith. He finished unscrewing something overhead with the electric drill, then grasped the edges of the door and lifted it. Once the bottom was clear of the track, he swung it toward him and pulled the door free, balancing it in his hands.

  Based on the bulge in his biceps, it was very heavy.

  “I’m going to lay it across the card tables and take a closer look at the rollers.” He maneuvered it through the opening and started across the deck, watching where he stepped.

  “Mom.”

  “What?”

  “You’re standing in his way.”

  Jerking her gaze away from his muscles, Claire moved back. Carefully. If she put a foot through the deck on the heels of her close encounter with the gutter, Keith would think she was a real klutz.

  He jockeyed the door onto the tables, checking their stability before he released it.

  “What now?” Haley edged in.

  “Now I look at the rollers and give them a thorough cleaning. I have a job for you back inside.” He led the way to his toolbox, fished out two small brushes, and handed one to Haley. “While I work on the rollers, would you clean the tracks, especially the corners?”

  “Okay.”

  As she dropped to her knees, he returned with the other brush, along with a cleaning solvent and a can of silicone spray. While he examined the wheels, Claire leaned closer. “What do you think?”

  “They’re very dirty. I’ll clean them and we’ll assess the condition.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Thanks, but it won’t take long.”

  He was right. In a matter of a couple of minutes, he had the rollers cleaned and lubricated. Then he examined them.

  “What’s the verdict?”

  “They’ve seen some long, hard use.” He fingered a worn area. “What I did will improve the operation, but your best bet would be to replace them.”

  “How much would that cost?”

  “My guess is twenty to twenty-five dollars.”

  A gallon of high-quality paint for Haley’s bedroom. And it had to be high quality. This was going to be their home for a long time, and she wanted paint that would last.

  “As long as it doesn’t stick anymore, I think I’ll wait awhile to replace the rollers.”

  To her relief, he simply nodded and stood. “Let me check on my helper.”

  She watched as he knelt beside Haley to examine her work. Listened, throat tightening, as he praised her efforts. Swallowed as her daughter’s face glowed.

  The guy was good with kids, despite the preppy first impression he’d made.

  Who’d have guessed?

  “I think we make a great team. I’m just going to put some mineral spirits on this rag and run it over the track. That will clean up any grease still stuck there.”

  “What’s mineral spirits?”

  “It’s stinky stuff. You might want to move away.”

  She scooted back.

  Keith finished up quickly, then came back outside, adjusted the wheels, and hefted the door.

  Once again, his muscles bulged.

  The man must pay regular visits to the gym.

  He had the door back up and readjusted in less tha
n five minutes. This time, when he tested it, a firm one-handed push produced a smooth glide.

  “It’s not perfect, but it should buy you a few more months.” He bent down and stowed his tools.

  “Wow. You sure do know how to do a bunch of stuff.” Haley opened and closed the door herself.

  He grinned. “My dad was a great handyman. I learned everything I know from him.”

  “I don’t remember my dad. He and Mom got divorced when I was five, and then he died.”

  Keith shot her a quick look, then went back to gathering up his tools. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s okay. He lived in California, and I never—”

  “Haley.” The word came out sharper than she intended, and at her daughter’s surprised expression, Claire softened her tone. “Let’s take down the card tables and gather up the rags.”

  “Are you going to stay awhile, Keith?” Haley began collecting the rags.

  “I’m sure you both have things to do tonight.”

  That was true. But suddenly Claire didn’t want him to leave.

  “Can I offer you a cup of coffee before you go?”

  He hesitated, and she could read the indecision in his eyes.

  In the end, though, he shook his head. “I’ve got a stack of reports waiting at my condo that I need to review before a meeting in the morning.”

  “I understand.” She pasted on a smile despite the sudden deflation of her ego. “Haley has homework and I have papers to grade, so we’ll all be busy. Thank you again for all your help tonight.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  Haley trailed behind as they crossed the living room and emerged into the tiny foyer. Claire pulled the door open, expecting Keith to make a fast exit.

  Instead, he paused. “Remember . . . you have one wish left.”

  She squinted at him. “What?”

  “Genies always grant three wishes.”

  “What are you guys talking about?” Haley looked from Keith to her, clearly puzzled.

  Claire brushed a wisp of hair back from her daughter’s forehead. “It’s just a joke.” Wasn’t it?

  “Not really.” Keith transferred the toolbox from one hand to the other. “If you have another priority item on your wish list, I’d be happy to oblige.”

  “Mom’s always saying she wishes there were more hours in the day and more money in the bank.”

  “Haley!”

  “Well, you do.”

  “Keith is talking about home repairs.”

  “Oh. Hey . . . maybe you could help paint my bedroom!”

  “Is that next on the to-do list?”

  “It’s getting close, but you’ve done enough already.” Claire sent her daughter “the look.” Haley sighed but got the message and fell silent. “Have a nice evening, Keith—what’s left of it.”

  “Thanks. You too. Hope the homework goes quick.” With a thumbs-up at Haley, he turned and strode down the walk.

  Haley crossed to the window and peeked through the curtains. “I hope he comes back.”

  Claire did too—but that wasn’t smart. Romance would only complicate her life. It was better he hadn’t stayed around tonight. She needed some space to get her bearings and figure out how to deal with an attraction she hadn’t sought and didn’t want.

  “We have a lot of other stuff that needs fixing.” Haley let the curtain drop back into place.

  “He’s not a handyman, honey. He has a very busy job. We’re lucky he offered to help at all.”

  “I guess. But I think he liked being here.”

  “Why do you think that?” Claire bolted the door for the night.

  “Because he smiled a lot. And when you left to get the card tables, he watched you with this funny look on his face. Kind of like Cap looks at me and you when he comes for a visit. Like he’s glad to see us and he wishes he could stay forever.”

  Had Keith looked at her like that?

  Hard to say, since she’d been focused on that chest-hugging black T-shirt and those impressive biceps.

  “You smile more too.” Head tipped, Haley inspected her. “Like now.”

  She flattened her lips. “Enough talk. You need to get to that homework, young lady, and I need to grade papers.”

  “Homework’s no fun.”

  “Neither is grading papers. But life isn’t all fun and games.”

  While her daughter trudged down the hall toward her room, Claire returned to the kitchen and pulled a bag of coffee out of the refrigerator. Drinking it alone wouldn’t be much fun, but a jolt of caffeine might help clear her thinking.

  She passed the cake on the counter. Stopped. She hadn’t had any dessert for a few days. Why not indulge?

  Without second-guessing the calorie splurge, she cut herself a generous wedge. After running her finger along the side of the knife to capture the excess frosting, she sucked off the gooey confection.

  Mmm. Cream cheese . . . sweet, smooth, and yummy.

  Kind of like the man who’d brought it.

  Rolling her eyes, she headed for the coffeepot. Better brew it extra strong tonight to help banish such whimsical notions. She was too old for daydreams and fairy tales and romantic fancies.

  But if she did still believe in all that . . . if life hadn’t taught her that happy endings were only for storybooks . . . if the fear of making another mistake hadn’t chased every romantic notion from her heart . . . she just might indulge in that genie fantasy she’d conjured up earlier.

  And if she did, she knew exactly what her third wish would be.

  10

  Giving in to a yawn, Keith pulled Maureen’s files out of his briefcase. He could take them home and work there, but the office was cozier. Weird to apply that word to his work space, but it was true—more so recently. These days, his condo felt sterile and forlorn. Every time he glanced out at his pristine deck or sat down to eat a solitary nuked dinner, he found himself wishing he was picking his way across the rotting boards on Claire’s deck toward her back door, or joining her and Haley for a home-cooked meal around Maureen’s table.

  He was also losing sleep—not to mention job focus—thanks to a certain blonde schoolteacher.

  Even worse, David was beginning to notice his preoccupation. After he’d drifted away and had to be reeled back in during the bid session for that new strip mall today, he’d caught his boss watching him more than once.

  He was getting behind at the office too—the very reason he hadn’t yet had a chance to review Maureen’s files in detail.

  But tonight was the night . . . even if he was here until midnight.

  “Staying late?”

  He looked up to find David on the threshold of his office, one shoulder propped against the door frame, arms folded in a casual, relaxed stance that didn’t fool Keith for one second. After working closely with the man for three years, he’d learned to read every mannerism.

  His boss was concerned—about him, instead of some over-budget, behind-schedule project.

  Not good.

  The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint his mentor . . . or put his upward trajectory here at risk.

  “Not too much longer.” He hoped.

  “Did you have a chance to evaluate the cost report for the Donaldson project? I’m concerned our people might have underestimated labor, given the revised architectural renderings.”

  “Yes.” He reached behind him and pulled a file from a stack on his credenza. At least he’d completed one thing today. “I finished it late this afternoon. I was going to give it a final look tomorrow before I passed it on. I think we’re still on target, but the margins will be tight. Do you want to take it with you?”

  “Tomorrow’s fine. What are you working on now?” David inclined his head toward the files in the center of the desk.

  “Maureen Chandler’s project. I haven’t had a chance to give much attention to the new information I picked up Wednesday night. But I did a quick read-th
rough at her house, and she already seems to have taken most of the appropriate steps. I’m not confident I’ll be able to find anything her PI missed.”

  “Just give it your best shot. I don’t think Maureen’s expecting miracles.”

  The professor and his boss were on a first-name basis?

  Since when?

  “You’ve talked to her?”

  “Yes. We chatted last week, after your visit. She said you stayed for dinner, along with Haley and her mother.”

  That wasn’t necessarily information he wanted his boss—or anyone else—to know. “She bribed me with homemade lasagna.” He tried for a how-could-a-bachelor-like-me-resist tone.

  “So she told me. I’m a sucker for homemade lasagna myself.”

  Was that a slight twinkle in his boss’s eyes?

  And if so, what did it mean?

  He gave the man a cautious look. “It was very good.”

  “I’m sure it was. Now I’ll let you get on with that.” David gestured toward the files. “Don’t stay too late. There’s more to life than work, you know.”

  Again . . . since when?

  Squinting after his departing boss, Keith tapped his pen against the stack of files in front of him. Robin was right. David had changed—a lot. In the past, his office light had usually still been burning when Keith shut down for the night. These days, the president of McMillan Construction beat him out the door four nights out of five . . . and he almost never showed up on weekends anymore.

  Strange. You’d think losing a wife would drive a man to spend more hours at the office, not less. If you let work consume you, you didn’t have to deal with messy issues like grief or regrets or traumatic pasts or complicated family relationships.

  Not to mention romance.

  Or was he confusing his own issues with David’s?

  Jaw clamped together, he forced the question from his mind. Dissecting that heavy subject did not belong on tonight’s agenda. He’d stayed late to go through Maureen’s files, and that’s what he was going to do.

  He opened the first file and peered at a smudge on the corner of the manila folder. Was that . . . salsa? Very possible. He’d helped himself to enough of it last Wednesday. Man, that had been great stuff. Haley had enjoyed it too, based on the way she was chowing it down until Claire intercepted her.