then extended her hand to their father. “Kristi Callahan. I have a two o’clock appointment to meet with the owners. The McTavishes?” Maybe she had the wrong address. “I’m the interior decorator with Ready Set Sold. You hired my company to stage your home and set up the real estate listing.”
His expression went from accusatory to apologetic and he slapped a hand to his forehead—apparently forgetting about the gloves as he remembered the appointment—and applied a grimy streak to his brow.
She stared at it, contemplated the protocol with strangers who had spinach in their teeth, toilet paper stuck to a shoe, dirt on their faces, and decided there wasn’t one.
He must have realized what she was looking at because he gave his forehead a hasty swipe with his forearm. The streak blurred to a smudge.
Kristi fought off a smile and lowered her gaze to the two little girls, who now flanked the man, each with an arm wound around a kneecap. The one was still sucking her thumb.
“Right. I’m Nate McTavish.” He held out his hand, jerked it back and pulled off the glove. His handshake was confident, firm but not too firm. His skin was warm and, given the state of his gardening gloves, surprisingly dirt-free. “Your company was recommended by a colleague of mine. I plan to sell but the house needs some work and I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“I see.” She noted that he said “I” rather than “we,” and the little girls had already indicated their mother wasn’t here. The hand that might give a clue to his marital status was still inside a gardening glove. Not that it’s any of your business, she reminded herself, and tried to ease her hand out of his.
He quickly let go.
She dug a business card out of her bag and handed it to him, wishing her partner Claire had come instead. She always knew how to handle awkward situations.
“If this is a bad time—”
“No, not at all. I’ve been working in my greenhouse this afternoon and I lost track of the time.”
In a way it was good that he hadn’t been expecting her. She didn’t have to apologize for being late.
“As I said, I’m the company’s interior decorator. I help our clients get organized prior to listing their homes, assist with any decluttering or downsizing that might be needed. We’ll work together to create a design plan to suit your home and your budget. Samantha Elliott, one of my partners, is a carpenter and she’ll take care of any repairs or remodeling that has to be done. My other partner, Claire DeAngelo, is a real estate agent,” she added, striving to sound polished and professional. “She handles the appraisal, the listing, arranges the open house, that sort of thing.”
“This sounds like exactly what I need. I don’t have much time for these kinds of things.”
Kristi’s initial uncertainty faded, but she forced herself to take a breath and slow the flow of information. “We take care of everything. I’m here today to take a look around and get an idea of what needs to be done and we’ll take it from there. Um…will your wife be joining us?”
His earlier wariness was back, and if anything it was intensified. “No. She’s…” He glanced down at his children and gently eased the thumb out of his daughter’s mouth. “My wife passed away two years ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can—” Stop. You don’t offer to help a complete stranger. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.” Except he didn’t sound grateful. He sounded as though he wished people would stop asking where his wife was, and stop offering clichéd condolences when they found out.
The little girl with the crooked pigtails tugged on his hand. “What’s she doing here, Daddy?”
The other child had already recaptured her thumb.
“She’s going to help us sell the house.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re going to move into a new one.”
“Why?”
Kristi was reminded of her own daughter at this age, when the answer to every question generated another, especially when the answer was because. Creating a distraction had been the only way to make the questions stop.
“What are your names?” she asked.
“I’m Molly. She’s Martha. We’re sisters.”
“Nice to meet you, Molly and Martha. How old are you?”
“Four.” Molly appeared to be the pair’s designated spokesperson.
Martha held up the four fingers of her free hand, apparently happy to let her sister do the talking.
They were adorable. They were also a poignant reminder of how much she loved children, how she’d never really got past the disappointment of not having more of her own. The panting dog nudged her elbow with its moist nose, making her laugh. She rubbed the top of its head in response.
“You should come in.” Nate reached for the dog’s collar and backed away from the door, taking the girls and the dog with him. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have kept you standing out there.”
“Thank you.” She’d begun to wonder when that would occur to him. She stepped into the foyer and tripped over the fourth yellow rubber boot.
Stupid high-heeled shoes. She’d put them on, thinking they made her look more professional, and instead they turned her into a klutz.
Nate grabbed her elbow and held on till she’d regained her footing. She looked up and connected with his intense blue-eyed gaze, and for a second or two, or ten, she couldn’t draw a breath. He was gorgeous.
When the clock started ticking again, he abruptly let her go, as though he’d read her thoughts, maybe even had similar ones of his own, and then with one foot he slid the boot out of her path. The dog snapped it up by the heel and gave it a shake, sending a spatter of drool across the floor.
Kristi shuddered.
“Girls, remember what we talked about? You need to put your things in the closet.”
“That’s Martha’s,” Molly said. “Mine are outside.”
Martha tugged the boot out of the dog’s mouth, tossed it onto the pile of things in the bottom of the closet and tried unsuccessfully to close the bifold door. She was remarkably adept at doing things with one hand.
“Sorry about the mess,” Nate said. “If I had remembered you were coming, I would have tidied up.”
Kristi couldn’t tell if the closet door wouldn’t close because the pile of clothing and footwear was in the way or if a hinge was broken, or both. She made a mental note to have Sam take a look at it, and added storage baskets to the list already forming in her head. She lived with a teenage girl and a dog so she knew a thing or two about clutter. At least the slate tile floor was clean, which, given the amount of traffic generated by two small children and one large dog, was a good sign. This man must be a decent housekeeper, or maybe he had a cleaning service. Either option scored him some points. The
