by Cheri Allan
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
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JIM LOOKED AT THE MOLDING samples he’d laid on his client’s front yard and heaved a sigh of relief. It’d been a long, hot Thursday, and this was his last stop of the day. He’d get a go-ahead from this client, run by the lumber yard in the morning and be at work first thing. It was a nice, easy job, too, replacing all the millwork in the home from crown moldings to door and window casings. The owner had gutted the place when she’d bought it and had been restoring it from the ground up ever since. While he wasn’t general contractor on the job, he was fine with straight-forward carpentry. The owner had even hinted at wanting a custom inglenook in the library.
Jim smiled and hooked a thumb over his shoulder as the door opened. “Ms. Murdock? Hi. Jim Pearson. I have those door casing mock-ups we talked about on the phone. Whenever you’re—”
“Please! God, no! Ms. Murdock is what people call my mother. Call me Cathy.”
Jim’s client stepped out the side door, her glossy brown hair just brushing the straps of a white tank top. She wore denim cut-offs, but he would bet his new laser level the shirt was silk. Everything the woman had done to restore the 150-year-old lakeside property had been top drawer, right down to the tumbled-granite pavers under their feet. “Then Cathy it is.”
Her left hand briefly covered his as they shook hands, then slid to her side. She walked to where he’d laid out the three molding patterns he’d worked up for her.
“Is this the mahogany?” she asked. She had a throaty, 1940 starlet’s voice and cat-like green eyes rimmed with thick, dark lashes that made her seem like she was flirting shamelessly even when she wasn’t.
“No. That’s the red oak. It’s a native species like you asked about over the phone. It would have been available at the time the cottage was built. Looks nice when given a coat of sheer varnish, but it will darken with age so you might want to keep that in mind.” She stroked a ringless hand over the next choice. “That, ah, that there is the mahogany. A popular choice for molding. Very stable. Resistant to rot and insects. But, it’s a tropical species. That last design I did in poplar just so you could see the profile.”
“Is that native, too?”
“Yes, but it’s not as hard as the first two. Paints up well. Has a nice, ah, smooth grain.”
She ran her hand along the grain of the wood again. Her eyes were closed.
“You’re right. It is smooth.” Her eyes slid open. “But I like the idea of something hard and solid. Something that will last. Something... local.”
There was a sultry, flirty curve to the corner of her mouth as she said that last word. Jim cleared his throat and stood abruptly from where they’d been crouched, sure he’d misconstrued her meaning.
“Anyway, if you let me know which of these you like, I can get the material and start first thing. The rosette, I know is a little more formal, but you don’t have to—”
“Would you like a drink?” she interrupted. “I’m feeling awfully warm out here all of a sudden.”
He nodded. “Ah, sure. If you want something. Anything is—”
“Come and see what you’d like.” She waved for him to follow as she turned and walked down the drive toward the rear porch. A tiny diamond ring sparkled on her pinky toe as she padded up the steps ahead of him. He thought of Kate’s purple toenails. “I’m sure we’ll find something that appeals to you. Wilson’s good about keeping the fridge stocked,” she said.
Wilson? Oh, right. Ms. Murdock’s—that is, Cathy’s— assistant. Usually Jim dealt with Wilson—whether that was a first or last name, he had no idea. Neither did he know what Cathy did for a living, if anything. He got the impression she enjoyed a healthy trust fund.
Minutes later, Jim found himself perched on a barstool beside her new granite island sipping a Sam Adams as she leaned against the sink. They chatted companionably for a time, the cold beer making a nice cap to a long, hot summer day.
“It’s a shame we haven’t had a chance to meet face-to-face until now.” She smiled warmly.
“You’ve done a wonderful job on the place.”
“Thank you. I’ve enjoyed it. I’m only sorry I didn’t realize you were a general contractor earlier in the process. I could have saved myself some headaches.”
“You’ve done admirably on your own.”
“Thank you.” She smiled again. Her green eyes sparkled excitedly. “Speaking of which, have you seen the beautiful stonework my mason did? He just finished Monday.” She led Jim to an adjoining room. “They’re all native stones taken directly from the property. See this? The lichen and moss are still on it.” Her hand brushed over a stone lightly. Her eyes closed again. “Come feel it. It’s fabulous.”
“Ah...” Jim stepped forward, the beer bottle beginning to sweat in his palm as she grasped his other hand and held it under hers against the stone. He could smell her scent, sharp and spicy, could feel her breast heaving softly against his forearm each time she took a breath. He tried not to yank his arm away and appear rude. Carter would have a field day if he knew Jim was trying to get away from a woman’s breast. “Yeah. Wow. That’s something,” he said.
She released his hand. “Isn’t it? I prefer to work with native materials whenever I can. Like the Vermont granite on the island and the maple counters. It gives a connection, an authenticity to a place, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely.” Jim wiped his damp palm on his thigh. My God, the woman wasn’t even wearing a bra. Where the hell was Wilson?
“It feels honest, and I admire honesty,” she continued.
Jim nodded.
She tilted her head. Let out a soft sigh. “That’s why I have to be perfectly honest with you.”
“Of course.”
“I’m not sure I can work with you.”
Jim blinked. “You’re not? Didn’t you like the profiles? If you tell me what you’d rather—”
“It’s not that. I like profile number two. In oak. Varnished. No, it’s the fact that I’ve just met an incredibly attractive man, and I’d really like to ask him out, but it’s probably unethical of me to go out with someone who’s working for me. So, you see, I find myself on the horns of a dilemma...”
“Oh. Oh. Well, I...”
Her lips tilted with a confident smile. “This is where you tell me you’re fine with dating a client and technically Wilson hired you, so you don’t see a problem.”
Jim cleared his throat. So, this is what a deer felt like staring into the headlights.
Cathy was watching him. Waiting. She swung her dark hair over her shoulder and all Jim could picture was the sweet, uncertain gesture of honey-blonde hair being tucked behind an ear only to fall out again. His gut twisted. What the hell was he doing to himself? Isn’t this what everyone kept telling him to do? Alex? Carter? Kate even? Wasn’t he supposed to find a nice, single, uncomplicated woman? Cathy appeared to be all that and financially independent on top of it all.
“Unless you’re already involved with someone...” she added.
Involved. A memory popped into his head, the feel of Kate nestled against him in the back of his truck as they watched fireworks together. Crap. Were they involved? He didn’t know what to think anymore. At what point did friends—who had sex once and flirted shamelessly in public—get redefined as a relationship?
Christ. It was hard enough to make things work when both people wanted a relationship—impossible when only one of you wanted it. Justine had proven that. As much as he’d like to start something with Kate, she’d made it perfectly clear she wasn’t ready. He had to respect that. At least she had the decency and honesty to be upfront about it instead of stringing him along. He swallowed over the lump in his throat.
“No,” he finally said, hating that it was true. “Nothing serious. You? No boyfriend? Husband?”
She laughed and shook her head, raised a questioning brow.
“Okay.” He made himself return her smile. Who knew? Maybe he and Cathy her
e would hit it off. It was just one date. “Then I’m fine with dating a client, and technically Wilson hired me, so I don’t see a problem. Good?”
Her grin widened. “Very good.”
Jim nodded, tipped up his beer and drained it.
July 18
Regret. Don’t you hate that word? It’s all tied up in missed opportunities and wish-I-hads. Or, worse, wish-I-hadn’ts. Personally, I’d like to be done with regret. Maybe my life choices aren’t perfect, but I’ve made them, and no amount of regret can change them anyway. So, I’m thinking I should replace ‘regret’ in my life. Maybe you should, too. Any suggestions?
CHAPTER THIRTY
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IT WAS LATE SATURDAY MORNING and Kate was dressed to earn her keep. Ruth Pearson had announced a plan to ‘spring clean’—to reorganize her kitchen like Kate had suggested she do the night of the barbecue and clear out and set aside items for a church yard sale. Mucking out excess belongings from attics and garages sounded better to Kate than trying to figure out what color her parachute was… not that she knew what that meant seeing as she had yet to read past the title of the book the librarian had assured her was a classic for aimless people trying to find their true calling in life.
She’d moved it and a handful of other self-help books to the coffee table in the living room where Liam had made a Matchbox mountain out of them all.
Kate entered the Pearson’s garage and watched as Jim yanked something large and dark from the wall. Her heart skipped an excited beat. “Is that what I think it is?”
“If you’re asking if this is the same ice chest we dragged out of Gram and Gramps basement ten years ago. Yes. And it still weighs a ton.” Jim wiped his brow and began unloading an assortment of tools and half-used quarts of oil from the top into a box.
“It’s wonderful!”
She leaned down to smear a decade’s worth of greasy dust from the latch in order to open it. The latch was weighty and stiff from disuse, and Kate wondered what life was like in simpler times when blocks of ice were delivered to your door. Aside from lack of electricity, it sounded heavenly. “Was it originally your grandparents’?” she asked.
“It’s been in the basement of the cottage as long as I can remember. I’m sure Grams would be able to tell you more.”
“It’s beautiful! Why is it here in the garage?”
“Mom never got around to refinishing it.”
Kate grabbed an old rag and began wiping off the dirty layer neglect had allowed to collect on it. The warm luster of old oak came into view. “I don’t think it needs refinishing, just a little TLC. It has so much character and patina just as it is.”
“You find anything worth heaving?” Jim’s dad hovered in the doorway.
“I’m almost done clearing out the ice box like you asked,” Jim replied.
“Good. Takes up too much space in here.”
Kate gasped. “You’re not getting rid of it?”
“Well, we’re not going to shoot it and throw it off the nearest bridge, but yes,” Jim said.
His dad rolled his eyes. “Now you sound like my wife. It’s been sitting here waiting for her to do something with it for years.”
Kate turned to Jim and leveled a finger at his chest. “Don’t do anything more with it until I talk to your mother.”
“I—”
“Don’t.”
“Mrs. Pearson!” Kate said, as she reached the kitchen where Grams and Jim’s mother were emptying cupboards. “You can’t let them get rid of it!”
“It’s not Wilbur the pig,” Jim mumbled behind her.
“Rid of what?” Jim’s mother wanted to know.
“The old ice chest! You’ve got to save it!”
“Oh, that.” His mom set down a collection of glasses. “I’ve always loved that chest, but I’ve never made time to refinish it. Plus, I wasn’t sure what to do with it if I did.”
Kate paced toward the dining room then back again. For some reason she couldn’t explain, it was very important to save the chest. How many people had that sort of link to the past? Everything her parents had was the newest, latest, most cutting edge… but an ice chest was a piece of history. “You could put it here,” she said, “on the way to the dining room… use it as a pantry for things like onions and potatoes. See this space here? It’s like it was made for it. And I don’t think you’d need to refinish it, just clean it up some. It has such wonderful character.”
“It would fit nicely there, now that you mention it.” Jim’s mother nodded appraisingly. “I always thought it a shame not to find a use for it. But I don’t know if I have the ambition to clean—”
“I’ll do it! Please? I know you’ve been talking about how cramped things are combining two households. You might find it gives you some nice extra storage space.”
“If it means that much to you, be my guest.” Jim’s mother laughed and handed Jim a box of glasses. “Get rid of these, would you?”
“Jim.” Kate grabbed his elbow. “I need some mild wood cleaning detergent, like liquid oil soap, and a pile of rags.”
Kate hovered near the dining room while waiting for Jim to gather her supplies.
His Grams passed a small stack of plates to his mother. “Joan, these plates can go to the yard sale, too.”
Kate watched his mother sigh as she set the plates in a box. “You served dessert on these the first time Dick brought me to your house for dinner. Remember?”
“Did I?” Grams asked from her step stool. “They are pretty, and I’ve always liked them, but they don’t match anything else.”
“I know. And you’re right that we need to clear the cupboards. They’re too crowded.”
As Kate took the cleaning supplies from Jim’s hands she got a good look into the box.
“Those are gorgeous!” she enthused.
“You can have them,” his mom offered. “We don’t have room for them anymore.”
“Oh, no. I couldn’t. You have to keep them.”
Grams pursed her lips. “We can’t keep everything, dear. I thought that was the point of cleaning out the cupboards.”
“I know. But these have sentimental value to both of you, and I know the perfect place for them.”
“Let me guess,” Jim said dryly. “In the ice box?”
“No.” Kate frowned at him then grabbed his mother’s elbow, leading her to the hall by the dining room. “Above the ice box. You can hang them here, as a wall display. Wouldn’t that look lovely?”
His mother’s expression went all soft and mushy. “Oh, Kate, what a wonderful idea. Jim! Put those plates aside. I have plans for them.”
Jim set the plates aside and lifted the box under one arm to bring to the driveway. Kate nodded her thanks as he held the door for her.
They met Grace and Liam outside. “How are things going in there?” Grace asked.
Jim nodded toward the house. “Kate’s repurposing so much stuff, I think we may not have much left for the yard sale.”
Kate ignored the gentle ribbing as she watched Jim reach out and absently ruffle Liam’s hair, his fingers dark tan against Liam’s darker hair.
Jim seemed to notice her watching and abruptly pulled his hand back to his side. He turned to his cousin. “So how’d you get roped into watching this guy anyway?”
“I didn’t get roped into anything. I offered.” Grace ruffled the boy’s hair just as Jim had. Grace pushed Liam forward. “You ask your mom, and I’ll try and butter up Uncle Jim.”
“I’m not his uncle, Grace.”
“It’s just an expression.”
“Can I go?” Liam demanded of Kate.
“Go where?”
“Kayaking. I told him I’d be happy to show him, but maybe Uncle Jim would like a break from inside work?”
“Oh! It’s okay with me either way,” said Kate.
Jim glanced at his watch and avoided Kate’s eyes. “I can’t.”
Grace nodded and gave Jim a look as she ruffled Lia
m’s hair again. “Let’s get you a lifejacket, Liam, and I’ll take you. Okay?”
“Yay!” Liam shouted. He ran around the garage to the backyard.
As Grace also disappeared from view, a tight, hollow sensation settled in Kate’s gut. She decided to cut through the breezeway to watch the kayaking. Jim trailed behind.
“It’s not that I don’t like him,” he said.
“What?” she asked, even though that’s exactly what she’d been thinking.
“Liam. It’s not that I don’t like him. I just think it confuses kids when people start calling guys who aren’t related ‘uncle.’”
The breezeway door slammed behind them as they stepped into the backyard. “Did your ex-girlfriend do that?” Jim stopped abruptly, and Kate shook her head. It was none of her business. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
It shouldn’t matter to her whether Jim liked Liam. At the end of the summer, this idyllic time would come to an end and she’d have to face the rest of her life on her own. But there were moments, like when she watched Jim and Liam fishing on the dock, that a part of her couldn’t help but imagine what life would be like if it were real—if Jim fell in love with her and Liam and they made a family.
Her hand crept to her belly for a brief, bittersweet moment before dropping to her side. God, she was a fool.
They watched from the deck as Grace helped Liam into his life jacket and then into the boat. Liam appeared to be chattering excitedly as Grace stepped into the kayak with him and pushed off the beach. Jim was silent, and there was nothing Kate could say to make it less awkward between them. “I wish I could go with them,” she said, letting out a small laugh. “I’d probably capsize the boat, though, as I’ve never kayaked in my life.”
Jim spoke but didn’t look at her. “They’re more stable than they appear. I can take you out sometime. You’ll see.”
“Would you? I’d love that.” She smiled genuinely now, like the fool she was, until the sound of a vehicle out front brought her back to reality. “Oh! That’s probably Carter. Let me get the ice chest cleaned and you and he can move it back into the house. But maybe after that? Do you think you’d be up for taking out the kayaks later?”