by Dee Ernst
“Do you know about these?” he asked. He was holding a shortbread cookie in one hand and a nail gun in the other.
“Yes. Mike helped me pick them out, so they should all fit. This tall cupboard is going to be in the hall, for the closet. That dresser is going to be fitted for the bathroom vanity. And the table here is my kitchen island. I asked Steve to cancel the one we ordered with the cabinets.”
Tyler nodded. “That’s what’s going in the hallway? We had to make a bit of an adjustment in the framing.”
“That’s done? Oh, good. Now it has to be stripped, sanded down, all those nails and things removed, and refinished. That’s my project, by the way. You can just set it up, oh, anywhere.”
He looked skeptical. “Your project?”
I nodded and handed him another cookie.
He chewed thoughtfully. “You ever strip varnish off anything before?”
I shook my head.
“Ever use a sander?”
I shook my head again. One side of my brain was getting all lofty and judgmental—I was a college-educated person, for heaven’s sake. How hard could it be to use a sander? But the saner and calmer side of my brain knew, after binge watching hours of HGTV in the past few days, that those power tools could be tricky.
“I’ll take it slow,” I told him.
“Uh-huh.”
“And Mike said he’d help me.” That was not necessarily true. In fact, he hadn’t said that at all, but I was pretty sure he would at least tell me what I was doing wrong.
Tyler rubbed his chin. “Well, okay then. We still have a few days until drywall is finished. Alan has us roughed in, and the juice should be on by tomorrow. That way you can work on your, ah, project after, well…”
“After all of you guys have done the real work for the day?”
He grinned. “Yeah.”
“Deal. I don’t want to get in your way.” I set the box of shortbread on the dresser. “Now, can I trust you to give these cookies to the rest of the crew?”
His grin broadened. “No.”
“Well, at least you’re honest. I don’t suppose anything is happening today that I might actually be able to help you with?”
He looked at me critically. “What kind of help, exactly, do you think you can give?”
Terri and I had spent way too many nights together watching every TV show about flipping houses we could find and had carefully evaluated each and every step of the process.
“We could do that,” she kept saying.
“No, Terri, neither of us can get up on a roof and nail shingles.”
“We can do that,” she suggested a few minutes later.
“Have you ever used a band saw before?”
“Well, we could probably do that.”
“Terri, she’s using a blowtorch.”
My friend may have had a lofty opinion of her construction skills, but I knew mine were limited. Still, I wanted to show Tyler I was serious about this. “What about the baseboard? I can use a nail gun,” I said, with much more confidence than I felt.
“Have to wait till all the drywall is up.”
“Well…” I looked around. “I could do that! I can fill in all those holes with that white stuff.”
I heard a cough behind me and felt the blood rush to my cheeks.
“You mean mud?” Mike walked up and turned to me, eyes twinkling. Joe was at his heels, sniffing the air.
I was not expecting him to be at the house. He was supposed to be in an office somewhere, talking about parking spaces. “Aren’t you in a meeting with Daniel right now?” I asked, then immediately felt like an idiot. Of course he wasn’t in a meeting, he was standing right there…
He grinned. “I knew they’d picked up your, ah, purchases from Celeste last night, and wanted to check to see that everything arrived here safely. Wouldn’t want any unnecessary nicks or scratches on the merchandise.”
I put my hands on my hips. “You’re mocking me again, aren’t you?”
He shook his head, and I could see him fighting a smile. “Nope. Not me. And everything looks just fine.”
“And I could absolutely help with…mud.” Right. Mud. I knew that. I’d been around houses and builders and renovators for years, I knew what mud was…why did I have to look like a total idiot in front of Mike? Why did I have to feel like an idiot? I dropped my hands from my hips and wiped my palms against my sides. “And even if I didn’t know what to do, I am teachable, you know.”
His face softened. “You are absolutely right. In fact, you are one smart woman. But being smart and knowing what to do around a job site are very different things. Just because Tyler here looks and acts like an ignorant fool doesn’t mean he isn’t in possession of a finely developed set of skills, all necessary to rebuilding a house. Ain’t that right, Tyler?”
Tyler, obviously enjoying the show, nodded.
Mike looked suddenly serious. “Where did you get that cookie,” he demanded.
Tyler pointed to me, and I pointed to my offering, cookies in a shoebox. Joe sat and immediately lifted one paw.
Mike took one, bit, chewed carefully, then nodded with approval. “You baked these?”
“Terri has a very nice kitchen,” I said.
“So,” he said, reaching for another, “You been feeding my boys?”
“Her brownies,” Tyler said with obvious sincerity, “were amazing.”
Mike nodded again, broke off a bit of cookie, and tossed it to Joe, who caught it midair. “Well, Chris, maybe you do know more about work crews than I gave you credit for. Let me just explain to Tyler here where all of these exquisite antiques are going, and I’ll be on my way. But first…” he reached over and took another cookie. “These are excellent.”
“She said you were going to help her? With this?” Tyler pointed to my future hall closet/armoire.
“Well, sure, I’ll be happy to help,” Mike said easily. “After all, if she chokes on the fumes from the stripping solution and dies, my insurance will go through the roof.” He winked at me. “I got your back, Chris. Don’t worry.”
I felt myself turning red again and hurried out the front door. Good heavens. If I was going to turn into a blushing fool every time I was in the same room as him…
Mike stuck his head out the front door. “Hey, listen, we’re still meeting tomorrow?”
I nodded.
“Nothing we can’t talk about now?”
I shook my head.
“Alrighty then. See you.”
I sat on my new front steps and watched the traffic going toward the beach. I felt ridiculously pleased with myself because he liked my cookies. Maybe I could bake a chocolate cake and bring it to him in the morning…
Judd had texted me to ask if there was progress, and if he could stop by and take pictures. I’d texted back yes, and waited, and while I waited I thought, and the more I thought, the more frustrated I became.
I was a fool. Mike was the kind of man who probably made every single woman he came in contact with feel the way I felt now: flustered, charmed, bothered and flattered. He was a natural flirt. He flirted with me. He probably flirted with a lot of women. Why on earth did I think that maybe, just maybe, I was special to him? Especially since he had apparently sworn off all women?
Because there was a spark. I felt it. And I was old and wise enough to recognize it for what it was.
All I had to do now is get Mike to admit that he felt it too.
But…did I want this? Did I want to get involved with a man right now? Wasn’t it enough that I was moving to a new place, building a new house, trying to put together a new life…how much more complicated did I want my life to be? I mean, talk about taking risks…
Karen was right. All I needed to do was sit and spend a little time with him, and all the confusing and, admittedly, lustful thoughts would sort themselves out and I’d see clearly that he was not the kind of guy I needed in my life, especially not right now.
Judd pulled up in front of the ho
use and came up the walk.
“Lots of progress?” he asked.
I got up and led him through. The framing was complete, the electric had been roughed in and drywall was going up everywhere. Pipes poked out of the rough floor, showing where my kitchen sink would be, and my washer hookup, and more pipes were sticking out in the bathroom. You could visualize the spaces now.
He seemed particularly interested in the pieces I’d bought from the Coop.
“These can be part of the before and after,” he said. “They’re perfect.”
He obviously knew more about the construction process than I, because when he asked Tyler questions about the progress, Tyler did not roll his eyes in complete disgust. He took some pictures, and in about fifteen minutes, we were back on the sidewalk.
“You’re making good progress,” he said. “With the house, anyway. How are you?”
How was I? Confused, bothered, feeling lustful…oh, maybe he wasn’t talking about me in terms of Mike McCann. “Good.”
He looked across the street. “So, your ex is right there?”
“Boy,” I said, “the jungle drums around here are pretty impressive.”
He laughed. “Especially when it comes to the new girl in town who not only bought the Farnham place, but dances on the beach naked.”
I shook my head. “That was two years ago, and it will not be repeated.”
“That’s a shame. Folks around here just love that kind of stuff.” He glanced over slyly. “And you’ve been seen with both of those McCann brothers.”
I kept my eyes down. “They’re building my house. Of course I’ve been seen with them.”
He chuckled. “Too bad. A love triangle would have really spiced things up around here.”
I laughed. “Sorry, Judd.”
He sighed. “How disappointing.”
Terri was trying to give me advice. “Maybe you should blow out your hair?”
Ridiculous. My hair was the perfect combination of my Italian father and Irish mother: fair, not at all blonde but not quite brown, with a smidge of red highlights, and all thick and curly and impossible to manage in heat or humidity. “That will last six minutes in this heat,” I told her. “I’ll scrunch the curls with lots of mousse and hope for the best.”
“Maybe a dress?”
“I’m meeting him for coffee at Shorty’s, not cocktails at Sam’s on Main.”
“Then wear shorts. You’ve got great legs.”
Also, short legs. Most shorts I bought ended up as Bermudas, even if they were sold as Daisy Dukes.
I found my denim skirt and a sleeveless linen blouse, a dark red, which looked good with my olive skin and dark eyes.
“Perfect,” Terri said. She had settled in the middle of my bed, her back against the headboard, drinking a glass of wine. “So, listen. I think we should buy another property to redo.”
I was looking at myself critically in the mirror. My boobs were starting to sag, and I squinted at the soft pooch around my stomach. Surely, that hadn’t been there the last time I wore this skirt. I untucked the shirt and pulled it down over the waistband, hiding the slight bulge. Better. “What did you just say?”
“There are all sorts of places around here we can buy and fix up and sell for loads of money.”
I turned sideways and sucked in my stomach. There. Not only did my front flatten out, my boobs actually perked up a bit “Wait…loads of money?”
“I think we should buy a house and flip it and make that our business.”
I turned and looked at her, my eyes narrowing. “Terri, honey, you haven’t even gotten around to lifting a hammer on this project. What makes you think you could do this on a regular basis? What is this?”
She shrugged. “We could get the McCann brothers to help us out again, and—”
“Oh, I get it. All part of your ongoing plan to have Steve McCann fall in love with you?”
She grinned. “You bet.”
I shook my head. “Terri, why don’t you just find out where he lives and show up at his front door wearing nothing but your birthday suit?”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to seem obvious, Chris. Yeesh, give me a break.”
“Can we at least wait and see how my house turns out before we try another fixer-upper? This really isn’t as easy as it looks on HGTV, you know. Those people on television have been doing this sort of thing for a long time. And besides, we need to figure out how to pay for another project, which means you’re going to have to find a little seed money of your own.”
She frowned, obviously thinking that one through. “You’ve got a point,” she said at last. “But let’s at least look around at a few, just to see what’s out there.”
I sighed. “Okay, if you find something, I’ll go with you, but only to look.”
She hopped off the bed. “Good. I need to get ready for bed. I also need to watch some more HGTV. My vacation starts in two weeks, and I’m going to spend all my time at the house. I should try to learn something, right?”
“Well, I’ve got dibs on the drywall,” I said.
She leaned down and planted a sloppy kiss on my cheek. “You are the best of friends, you know that?”
“And you are the most annoying of friends.”
“Yes, but you still love me, right?”
I sighed. “Yes. And I’ll see a house if it looks really worthwhile. But no promises, Okay? I’m just going to look.”
She beamed. “Of course! And no pressure. I promise.”
Right.
Chapter Six
Somehow, in the time between trying on a denim skirt and looking totally adorable, and actually walking out of the door in it, I gained twenty-three pounds and aged at least six years. Also my hair turned into a Brillo pad. And I think the color of my eyes may have changed.
“Why do I look so terrible?” I whispered to myself the next morning. Listen, I never thought I was a raving beauty, but I thought I looked pretty good for a fifty-year-old. Now, even if I upped the age by ten, I’d be pushing it.
“You look fine,” Terri said as she went out the door, showered, dressed and ready for work. She was lying, of course. What did she know of it anyway? She had a smoking body for a woman of any age, her hair still looked the same soft, pretty blond it had been in college, despite the gray, and she had acquired exactly three wrinkles, all in the corner of one blue eye.
I waved at her as she left then returned to the mirror.
Was that a wart on my chin? I leaned closer. A smudge on the mirror, thank God, but I wouldn’t have been surprised.
I glanced at the clock. Could I find a spa open at seven twenty in the morning that would completely redo my face and body in less than two hours?
Then, I straightened my spine and remembered that I wasn’t fifteen anymore. And what did I care what I looked like? I wasn’t out to impress Mike McCann. I just wanted to talk to him. I was hoping to find a logical reason for all those crazy feelings I kept getting around him. I did not believe in love at first sight. Or second or even third sight. Yet here I was, practically peeling off my clothes every time I even thought about the man, and I barely knew him. Maybe a nice long talk would put things in perspective.
I just wasn’t all that sure I wanted things in perspective. After all, if I was going to start taking risks…
I sat at my computer and answered some emails, made a few phone calls that had to do with my old real estate office and the upcoming sale of Mom’s house, and managed to watch half an episode on HGTV that showed a tiny woman demolishing an entire wall with a sledgehammer and a smile. I was beginning to think that HGTV should be renamed the Fantasy Network.
At nine fifteen I was ready to head down the street. I took one more look at myself in the mirror, decided that Spanx and a little lipstick wouldn’t hurt, and headed out five minutes later.
Mike had grabbed a table on the sidewalk and was reading the newspaper when I got there. Joe was at his feet and lifted his head as I approached and wag
ged his tail.
“Did I keep you waiting?” I asked.
He lowered the paper and smiled. “No. Sometimes I show up here all by myself, just to read and have a cup. Coffee? Or something cute and frothy?”
I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think I came off as the cute and frothy type.”
“Welp, you don’t, but I’m trying to scale back on my snap judgments of people, so I thought I’d ask.”
The waitress fluttered over, took my order for coffee and a sweet roll, and hurried off.
“Now, see?” Mike said, eyes twinkling. “If I was the type to make snap judgments, I’d take one look at your legs and think, now, there’s a woman who watches every single thing she eats. And, obviously, I’d be wrong.”
I laughed. “I was born with amazing metabolism, and thank God.” He thought I had nice legs. And here I’d been beating myself about looking fat. If nothing else, that sentence alone was worth all the morning’s angst.
He folded his paper and set it on his lap. “Thank God, indeed. Now, what was it you wanted to talk about?”
I went through about sixteen possible answers, then decided to try the truth. “You. I mean, just…stuff. I think it would help our, you know, working relationship if I knew you a bit better.”
He sat back, looking surprised and amused. “Really?”
Coffee and a sweet roll appeared, and he watched as I stirred in sugar and cream and took a tiny bite off the edge of the roll. Delicious. I broke off a piece and lowered my hand. Joe sidled over and delicately took it from my fingertips.
Mike watched Joe, then lifted his eyes to me. “Well, what do you want to know?”
I wanted to know how those long, graceful fingers would feel trailing down my bare back. I wanted to know if that beard would be bristly or soft. I wanted to know how those lips would taste…
“How do you know Celeste?”
He sat back, chuckling. “Well, she and Connie have always made their own wine. They grew grapes, stomped them, bottled them, and word got out that one sip of their homemade concoction would set you back on your butt, and fast. I was only seventeen and figured that stealing bottle or two from them would be easier than trying to fool the guy at the liquor store, so I snuck in their back shed one night and tried to commit the crime of the century.” He shook his head. “Connie caught me by the belt loop as I was trying to climb through the window and nearly ripped me a new one. We made a deal. She wouldn’t tell my father in exchange for a bit of hard labor in their garden. My dad, well, he would have grounded me for the rest of my natural life, so I thought it was a sweet deal. Those little ladies worked my tail end off that summer, but they fed me good, and the next summer, I went back.” He shook his head again. “They love their little piece of land the way some folks love their families. They walked it every day, talked about the trees, and they planted things everywhere—little wildflower gardens in the middle of nowhere, more vines for wine, rose bushes in patches of sunlight.”