“You think I’m not as smart as you are, but I’ll have you know that there are plenty of different ways to approach a problem,” he countered. “If you were ever stuck with a load of lumber, a hammer and a time deadline, you’d be the one who looked like a fool.”
“I know, Dad. Everyone is needed in the system,” she said.
“No, Amelia,” he said quietly. “My point is that a lawyer isn’t more important than a contractor. A stock trader isn’t more important than the mechanic who fixes his car. It’s not just about everyone being needed. It’s about knowing that you aren’t actually above other people. You’ve missed that life lesson somehow—and maybe that’s my fault. But more money doesn’t equal more worth.”
“Is this about Chris?” she asked, frowning.
“This is about our relationship,” he replied with a shake of his head.
Amelia looked at him silently, and he sighed, looking away. Would it make any difference? Probably not. It was too late to parent a twenty-three-year-old pre-law student. He should have had the guts to face his own daughter sooner.
“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment.
“It’s okay,” he said. What else was there to say? He opened a cupboard and pulled down a few boxes of cookies. He’d stocked up for her visit. Sometimes it was better said with food anyway.
“You got the chocolate mint ones I like.”
“Of course.” Nick met her gaze. “It’s Christmas. My little girl is home.”
Home. It felt weird to even say. This wasn’t her home anymore.
“Thanks.” She held the box unopened. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Do you want to get married again?” Amelia asked.
“Why do you ask that?” he asked.
“I don’t think you’re happy,” she said. “I think you want more.”
“I’m happy, Amelia. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a pretty good setup,” he said.
“Mom moved on, Dad. She’s living her best life. You should, too.”
That stung, and he cast his daughter an annoyed look as he chewed his last bite of sandwich.
“Amelia, it isn’t always so simple,” he replied, putting down the can. “But I’m glad to know you’d be supportive if I got serious with someone again.”
“You don’t need my permission, Dad,” she said.
“And I wouldn’t ask for it,” he replied.
They exchanged a cautious look, and he wondered if other fathers had to stamp out their turf with their kids like this. Or maybe he and his daughter were particularly dysfunctional. Amelia’s phone blipped and she pulled it out of her pocket and looked at it. She sighed.
“What?” he asked.
“My plans tonight just fell through.”
“Yeah?” Nick felt a spark of optimism at that. “Where were you going?”
“Out with some friends. They’ve got some family thing that came up, though.”
“’Tis the season and all that,” he said. “You have a family thing, too.”
“Right.” She smiled weakly, and for a moment they just looked at each other. Why did this have to be so difficult?
“I was hoping we could spend some time together,” he said after a moment of silence.
“That’s why you booked yourself solid with work, right?” she asked dryly. “It’s okay, Dad. You don’t have to force it.”
“I’m not forcing it,” he said. “Let’s watch a Christmas movie.”
Amelia glanced at him. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Whatever you’d like.”
Amelia shrugged. “Sure. I guess we could watch Die Hard.”
Yeah, he’d been more in the mood for something a little cheerier, but Amelia always had been firmly on the side of Die Hard counting as Christmassy.
“Die Hard it is.”
Their morning had been bumpy, but he still wanted to connect with his daughter. She sank into his spot on the couch next to Goldie, and the dog looked up at him with a scandalized look in her dark eyes. Seeing as she’d just eaten his leftovers, he was grateful for a small show of loyalty, at least.
“It’s fine, Goldie,” he said with a tired smile. “Just for tonight.”
And he chose the easy chair, then picked up the remote. Tonight was for his daughter.
* * *
THE NEXT DAY Nick’s team arrived at the old mansion promptly at eight. There was the carpenter, Floyd, who was only about ten years into the trade and had the instinct when it came to the work, and Nick had seen him work miracles with cupboards in the past. He came with a carpentry apprentice who didn’t cost as much to employ, but would be useful as an extra pair of skilled hands, nonetheless. Then there was Bert, who was his best friend and a master plumber.
“I have to tell you,” Bert said, lowering his voice. “I’m pretty excited to get my hands on these pipes. This old place is amazing.”
“Yeah, I know,” Nick agreed. “And if our work impresses her, we have a chance at getting the job for the rest of the renos.”
They exchanged a look, and Bert grinned. Bert was tall and lanky with a shaved head to mask his receding hairline. “I’m always impressive. Look at me.”
Nick chuckled. “Yeah, yeah.”
So Nick worked with his team to measure and cut pieces of wood to re-create the cupboard structure that had rotted out. The work was pretty straightforward, and he liked this stage of things—when everything looked like it was a mess but he could see where all the pieces were going to go. It was a private sense of satisfaction that the work was well underway, and he knew it was going to be great when he was done.
Overhead, he could hear the odd clang of Bert working on the third-floor bathroom, then a shudder through the pipes as water was turned on, some squeaks and moans, another shudder, then silence. Bert would get to the bottom of it—Nick had no doubt.
“So I’ve got a question here,” Floyd said. He held a white-painted cupboard door in one hand, an electric sander in the other.
“What’s that?” Nick asked.
“These cupboard doors are solid hardwood,” Floyd said. “Beautiful. I mean, whoever painted them white should be shot, but I won’t harp on that.”
“So what’s the problem?” Nick asked.
“I can strip the doors—these bottom ones, at least. Get it back to what it used to be. I might not being able to get them all done before Christmas, but I can sure try.”
Floyd rubbed a thumb over a patch of wood he’d revealed on the back of one cupboard door, and Nick recognized the glint in the younger man’s eyes. He was hoping that he could get a chance to uncover that wood—just for the sheer pleasure of it. And who knew? Maybe an extra bit of work would give them a step up in getting the bid for renovating the rest of this place.
Nick said, “Let me go see if I can find her.”
Nick headed out of the kitchen, and he heard the sander start up again as Floyd turned his attention to the second cupboard. The sound melted into the clang of the plumbing happening on the third floor, and he carried on into the front sitting room. Late-morning light flooded in through the tall windows, reflecting off the prisms in the dining room and making little rainbows over the floor that extended all the way out into the gallery. He paused at the bottom of the central staircase. He could see it already—if he ended up working on this place, at least. He could polish up the old wood, redo some of those fixtures, update the lighting to something with a polished industrial look, and the place would become something new, with the same beautiful bones that made this mansion a landmark.
Nick headed up the stairs and down the hallway, glancing into a couple of bedrooms as he went. At the end of the hallway was the door that led up to the third floor, and as he rounded the corner, he stopped short when he heard Jen’s steps on the staircase.
&
nbsp; He waited for her to descend, and she started when she saw him.
“Oh...” She hesitated, and in the moment of surprise, he saw something in her gaze that hadn’t been there earlier—sadness.
“You okay?” he asked.
“What? Yeah. I’m fine.” She tucked her phone into her back pocket.
“You sure?” He softened his voice and when she met him at the bottom of the staircase, she looked up into his face.
“Have you read my sister’s stories?” she asked.
“A few.”
“Did you read the one about the house cat?”
“The one with the woman who married some rich guy, and—” He stopped, suddenly feeling stupid.
“That’s the one.” Her cheeks pinked.
“It’s not about you, is it?” he asked.
“It would seem so,” she replied. “With embellishment, my sister says. But...you know what? That’s not me! I don’t care if that’s the way she sees me. That isn’t me!”
“She did talk about you sometimes,” Nick said.
“What did she say?” Jen asked.
“She worried, I guess,” he replied. “She never liked that guy you married.”
“Oh, I know about that!” Jen pulled her phone from her pocket and read aloud, “‘She stood in the doorway, watching her professor thumb through her paper, and she wondered if he’d look up. He wasn’t so very old, and he wasn’t so very married...he didn’t wear a ring, at least...’” She stopped. “And for the record, my professor husband might have been my teacher at one point, but I didn’t break up his marriage!”
Nick shrugged. “I believe you.”
“Does she, though?” Jen’s eyes suddenly misted, and Nick was startled at the change in her. She wasn’t just annoyed. This was something that stabbed deeper.
“Hey...” He found himself reaching toward her in spite of himself, and he caught her arm with his calloused hand. He tugged her down the last step until she was standing next to him, and he realized in that moment how close she was to him in this narrow staircase.
“It’s fine, I just...” And she looked up at him, then the words seemed to evaporate from her lips. Her cheeks pinked further and she dropped her gaze again. “I didn’t realize how she saw me.”
“Maybe it’s just a story,” he said.
“There’s one too many of them to brush them off that easily,” she replied.
“Yeah, I read another one along a similar theme. And part of what I like about Lisa’s writing is that she doesn’t glorify the wealthy. As you know, I have my own issues with measuring up to a rich guy.”
“Do you count me as one of the wealthy?” she asked.
He glanced around. “You bought a mansion, Jen...so along the spectrum, you’re closer to it than I am.”
“Do you think I have some hollow existence, meaningless and regrettable?” she asked dryly.
“Do you?” he asked.
“No,” she replied.
“Good.”
Jen eyed him for a moment, her gaze narrowing. “I expected you to lie to me.”
“I’m not that guy,” he said, and he smiled. “I’m honest to a fault. You can join the lineup of women who hate that about me.”
Jen smiled faintly at that. “I might like it.”
That would be a first...or maybe it was just the women who needed his professional services who liked that aspect to his personality. They weren’t counting on him to say the perfect romantic thing, or to be anything more than a solution to their renovation needs.
There was no space between them for him to step back without walking back a few steps and exiting the stairwell, and she didn’t seem inclined to move away, either...
He could see the redness around her eyes from tears, and the fine lines that showed how her eyes crinkled up when she smiled, although she was regarding him soberly now.
Involuntarily, his gaze dropped down to her lips—soft, pink, free of any makeup or lip gloss, and completely natural—and just for a moment he had the uncontrollable thought of tipping her chin upward, and covering those lips with his.
“You...um...were looking for something?” Jen asked.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. Maybe some space would be better. He led the way back out into the hallway. “I was looking for you, actually. Floyd has discovered that your cupboard doors are all original hardwood, and he wants to know what your plans are for them.”
“I hadn’t thought about it yet,” she replied.
“You might want to start,” he said, and they walked slowly down the hallway together. “He’s suggesting stripping them of the paint, eventually, and leaving the natural wood. But that’s a personal opinion, and—”
“Nick.”
He paused, then their steps both slowed. “Yeah?”
“It matters to me that you don’t think that bit I read to you reflects my real life,” she said.
Nick pressed his lips together, wondering what the right thing was to say. “I’ll tell you something,” he said thoughtfully. “You were talking about that artist who has a sketch of something ugly beneath a painting of something beautiful, and I think this is a bit like that. The people who don’t know you or your sister personally would gobble up the fact that the author based this on her older sister’s marriage—or maybe on her own anger over her older sister’s marriage. The readers like layers and complexity. But for you, your sister’s story is like the artist who booby-trapped her painting. It went from something beautiful and turned into something else, something painful, and you feel...betrayed. You wanted to be happy for her, and instead, you feel attacked.”
Jen blinked up at him. “That’s exactly it.”
“Can I tell you something else?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.
“Sure...”
“I don’t judge people by their younger sisters’ short stories,” he said with a small smile.
“Ever had the opportunity before?” she asked, but he saw her smile.
“Well...not until now. But I’m making a stand.”
She chuckled. “Thanks.”
He nodded toward the staircase. “Let me show you those cupboard doors.”
Because that was safer. He knew how to coax beauty out of an old kitchen, but he wasn’t sure how to relate to this woman without crossing all sorts of lines. She was already a whole lot more than a client, and he was softening to her in a way that he knew was dangerous for his own emotional equilibrium.
He didn’t want to enjoy a flirtation. This Christmas, he just wanted to keep his feet on the ground.
But if he had to be honest with himself, he was still thinking about what it would feel like to kiss her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THAT EVENING JEN knelt on the kitchen floor in front of a cabinet door that lay in front of her. She’d bought herself a small electric sander that afternoon at Floyd’s suggestion, and she moved it slowly over the painted surface, the paint coming off in a floury powder. As he’d instructed, she stopped short of completely cleaning the wood, not wanting to take off too much. The rest would have to be done by hand. She wasn’t used to this kind of work, but it was satisfying. And the skill that it took to renovate a home was staggering. Nick really was a talented man, and she had a new appreciation for how easy he managed to make it look.
She was still upset with her sister, and that wasn’t going to be easily resolved. It wasn’t that she begrudged her sister using some of her life experiences to jump off from—it was that her sister seemed to see the worst in her at every step. Not one story showed a charitable view of Jen. Each one that used a fragment from Jen’s life showed her in the worst possible light—a woman out to steal another woman’s husband, a heartless shrew with deep regrets, a shallow waif without any idea of what she was missing out on... And if Lisa’s stories used a varied a
pproach to these little snippets from Jen’s life, Jen might have seen them for the creative outlets that Lisa claimed them to be. But there was no varying treatment of the theme—the character was always the same, completely indifferent to the people around her or her own deeper moral failings.
But Jen hadn’t stolen Sam from his first wife. His ex was already living with her new beau, and the only thing holding up the paperwork was a disagreement over a vacation property. Jen wouldn’t have gone out with him otherwise. In Jen’s humble opinion, that kind of overlap was forgivable. But not to Lisa.
What she needed was to understand what she had done to leave her sister so bitter.
Jen used a piece of fine sandpaper to take the last of the paint off a corner by hand. The wood was warm beneath her touch, and she liked the antique, dusty smell of it. But she’d planned to do more than just work on her kitchen tonight. And she wasn’t the only one with heartbreak this Christmas.
She picked up her phone and flipped through her contacts and dialed Uncle Stu.
“Hello?” There was the sound of music in the background, and he sounded relaxed.
“Hi, Uncle Stu, it’s Jen. How are you doing?”
“Jen? Hi, there! I’m fine. How are you? I heard all about that big house you bought.”
“I was actually wondering if you’d be free for a quick visit,” Jen said. “I’m kind of antsy tonight, and I thought I might come by.”
“That sounds nice. I’ve been baking, and there’s more than a single man can consume, I can tell you that. Do you know where my apartment is?” Stu asked.
“You’ll have to give me the address...”
Stu’s apartment was in the tallest building in downtown Mountain Springs—ten stories. It was on a corner, the bottom floor consisting of some picturesque shops on two sides of the building, all of them decked out for Christmas. There was a little restaurant, a coffee shop, a tourist gift shop and a small bookstore. Next to the bookstore was the entrance for the apartments above.
This was the most expensive apartment building in Mountain Springs, and for the most part, it was occupied by wealthy buyers who used the apartments as vacation homes. Uncle Stu had always loved this building, though, so when he and Gayle divorced, he’d bought an apartment on the fourth floor, overlooking the bustling street.
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