as deep as their imaginations—which maybe still applied to Charlotte Taylor. He didn’t really know many details about what her financial situation was, nor was it his place to ask. Still, he’d seen this before, watching a customer compensate for some loss in their life by going overboard on a build. A guy’s divorce-driven five-car garage had bought Jesse his new truck. After all, a smart businessman gives the customer what they want, not necessarily what they need. “You could do that.”
“I could do that.” Her face took on the most amazing energy when she got an idea. She was going to be a fun client to work with, and certainly easy on the eyes.
Jesse suddenly found himself wondering if he could walk the line on this. Could he encourage her, suggest the smartest choices for what she wanted? Could he balance the indulgence of her whims while warning her against something that would prove to be a foolish purchase? Viewed practically, her windfall of free time might allow him to get more work done in less time.
He nodded to the proposal. “I’m not saying you have to compromise. A job this big would be hard to do while you were working full-time. If you set your mind to it, we could be done by September. If you’ve got the cash now, the timing might be perfect.”
She pointed at him, jangling the slew of silver bangles on her wrist. “Exactly how I see it. God’s never late and He’s never early.”
“Huh?”
“Something Mima always said. About God’s timing always being perfect, just like you mentioned. And I’ve always taken Mima’s advice.”
“You don’t have to decide right this minute. You want some time to think about it?” He had to give her at least that much of an out.
She squinted up at the sky, making Jesse wonder if she was consulting her grandmother or God or both. After a long minute, she held out her hand for the pen he was holding. “Nope. I don’t need any more time. This is what I want. I want it to be perfect.” She signed the proposal in a swirly, artistic hand.
This was going to be fun. In the end, they’d both end up with a showpiece—his to boast about to clients, hers to call home. Win-win, right? “Then the pursuit of perfect begins tomorrow afternoon.”
* * *
Charlotte 1, Cottage 0.
Charlotte congratulated herself on the tiny victory her cup of tea represented.
A few days ago, the scorecard might have looked a lot more like Kitchen 1, Charlotte 0, but a visit from the electrician Jesse had recommended and two hours of vigilant scouring this morning had put the kitchen in working order. Stopping in at the local housewares store, Charlotte had purchased an electric kettle to hold her over until a wonderfully vintage-looking but thoroughly modern stove came in on special order. At another downtown boutique, she’d found a charming bistro table with two chairs. It felt so satisfying to buy things for the house, to launch the project that was coming to mean so much to her. It made her long-overdue Owner of Cottage tea on her back deck just about perfect. Add one of Mima’s teacups and her favorite teapot, and life was wonderful.
See? I’m still here, she thought, smirking at the bright green leaves of the overhead tree. I will not be beaten by this bump in the road. “You know what Eleanor Roosevelt says,” Charlotte addressed a gray squirrel that was perched on the deck railing with a quivering tail and greedy black eyes, peering at the bag of cookies she’d just opened. “Women are like tea bags—you never know how strong they are until you get them in hot water.”
“Quoting first ladies to the wildlife, are we?” Jesse came around the corner of the house lugging a clanking canvas bag and an armful of cut lumber. “Look at you, having a proper tea on your back deck and all.”
Charlotte laughed. “This is not a proper tea. It’s barely even an improper tea.”
Jesse settled his equipment on the bottom step, leaning against the railing to look up at her. “A Mulligan, then.”
“A what?”
He grinned, looking so handsome that Charlotte was suddenly aware she was probably covered in kitchen grime. “You don’t golf, do you?”
“Not even mini.”
“A Mulligan is a do-over. The chance to retake a shot that went wrong.”
Well, that certainly fit. “Yes, I suppose this is a Mulligan tea. I’d rather think of it as a victory lap. I’m declaring myself the winner in the epic battle of Charlotte versus the Filthy Kitchen.” At least that was one thing she felt as though she’d won in this whole mess her life had become. “With a little backup from Mike the electrician, that is.”
Jesse started rummaging through the canvas bag he had set down. “Mike made sure all your other appliances are going to work safely?”
“Everything’s safe. He told me to tell you he’s going to come back and do the upstairs bathroom wiring once you let him know the plaster is down.”
Jesse’s eyes lit up. “Demolition. My favorite part.”
She cringed. “Somehow I’m not fond of the idea of you going at my bathroom with a sledgehammer.” My bathroom. Funny how little things like that made her heart go zing today in a way that almost made up for her lack of incoming paychecks.
“Oh, I’m not going at it today.” He held Charlotte’s eyes for a dizzying moment. “You are.”
Charlotte nearly toppled her teacup. “Me?”
“It’s a thing of mine. First swing of demo always goes to the customer. If they’re around, which you most definitely are.”
“I’m sending a sledgehammer through my bathroom wall?” She’d seen such rituals on the home improvement networks, but she didn’t think stuff like that actually took place on real jobs.
“Actually, it’ll be more like a crowbar to the feet of your bathtub. Since you agreed to re-enamel it, I’m pulling it out today. Are you ready to start talking about color?”
Charlotte felt as if she’d been waiting a decade to pick the color of something, even though that was far from true. Colors—and how they went together—were a wondrous obsession for her, and part of the lure of the textile industry. Still, this choice felt new and exciting, in a way she couldn’t quite define. She snatched the top issue from a pile of home decor magazines that were sitting next to the teapot. “I already have one picked out.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Jesse walked up the last of the stairs. “Let’s see.”
She thumbed through the magazine to the dog-eared page, then held it up to Jesse to see. “That sink? The buttercream color with the brass fixtures? That’s it, right there.”
Jesse took the magazine. “Good choice. For a minute there I thought you were going to show me something purple or zebra striped. The guy who does the re-enameling work is good, but he’s not a magician.”
For a moment, Charlotte tried to imagine a zebra-striped claw-footed bathtub. Such a thing should never exist. “I have much better taste than animal prints for bathroom fixtures. He can do the sink to match, can’t he?”
Jesse peered closer at the
