whispered into Maria’s ear, “Your mama’s getting ideas.”
“I am not.”
“Oh, yes, you are. I know you too well. Look, I know we were discussing behavior, not profession, but he’s a fireman, Melba. I won’t get into a relationship with a first responder no matter how well behaved. We’ve been through this how many times? Nothing’s changed. I’ve got way too many memories of sitting up nights with Mom at the kitchen table.”
“Your dad was a policeman, I know, but—”
“But nothing. Same stress, different uniform. Melba, I’ve got nothing against you and Clark, and goodness knows JJ’s done terrific at the firehouse, but I know what I can handle and what I can’t. I’ve never dated someone who does that kind of work and I don’t plan to start now.”
* * *
A tiny war was going on in Jesse’s chest—and in his pride—as he walked up the overgrown sidewalk to Charlotte’s cottage Sunday morning. This was supposed to be his cottage. The place needed loads of work, and he knew he was the best man to complete it. He’d planned the rehab of this place a dozen times, imagining living in the home as he upgraded fixtures, appliances and wiring until he could turn around and sell it for a tidy profit. Or even stay there and use it as the showcase for what he could do with other properties. But that opportunity was lost now.
The only opportunity left in this situation was to be the guy hired for the renovation job. If a woman could afford a vacation cottage at Charlotte’s age, she probably wouldn’t haggle over the cost the place would require to be done up right. His business sense knew that made her an excellent customer even if she was a thorn in his side. The house needed loads of work, and loads of work could mean a big check for Mondale and for him. As he lay in bed last night, Jesse told himself a job this size could leave him with even more funds than he’d anticipated making over the summer. Funds to buy another house—bigger and better to soothe his wounded pride and show his father just how savvy a businessman he could be.
All this should have had him dreaming up the perfect sales pitch as he approached the door—and yet for some reason, he wasn’t. He prided himself on knowing how to optimize a customer with deep pockets, only Charlotte Taylor didn’t have that entitled look about her. In fact, she looked a little...lost. The way he’d looked when he’d first put on the bulky, cumbersome firefighter’s gear—right at the launch of a dream, forcing an outer confidence that didn’t quite cover the dazzled and doubtful person on the inside.
As he pushed the rusty doorbell button, Jesse still wasn’t sure how he was going to play it for this meeting. Just wing it, he told himself. You wing it all the time. He pushed the button again, listening for the chimes inside the house once he noticed the living room window was open to his left.
No sound. Sometimes it was useful to start a customer off with a small project, but he’d planned on something larger than a broken doorbell. He knocked on the door loudly and leaned over the wrought-iron railing to yell into the window. “Charlotte!”
A second knock and another yell produced no reply. He pivoted to see her little blue car wasn’t in the cottage drive. Maybe church ran long today. He could just start without her while he waited. After checking his watch, Jesse pulled out his notes.
He’d already made his own list of what the house needed, but he’d go through the process of re-creating a list to suit her taste. He just hoped it wouldn’t clash with the character of the house he saw so clearly. Catering to a client’s whims was one thing—ignoring his own clear ideas on this particular place was going to be quite another. Still, he’d do it to rack up enough funds to move forward. He was bone-tired of delays and detours, not to mention his father’s ever-increasing digs.
Pacing the cottage’s front stoop, he toed boards and pushed harder on the railing only to have it creak and pull out from its mountings. He added the doorbell and railing to his handwritten list and began scanning the front of the house for anything he’d missed.
He’d added four more items by the time Charlotte’s small blue hatchback pulled into the drive behind his large brown pickup.
“Sorry!” she called, breathless and airy in a blue print dress with a lacy sweater that rippled behind her as she came up the steps. “Church went on forever. I mean, a good forever, but enough to make me late. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
Jesse waited for her to say something like “I noticed you weren’t in church.” Or “Have you ever gone?” or the half dozen other thinly disguised recommendations he got from Melba, Clark and various other friends around town. “No, I’m fine. Hey, JJ told me you’re her cousin. You were at the wedding, too, weren’t you? On the boat?”
“Wedding of the year, wasn’t it?”
As the only female firefighter in Gordon Falls, JJ Cushman stuck out already before her legendary wedding to Alex Cushman on a steamboat on the Gordon River. “A big shindig, that’s for sure.”
“And then there’s my other cousin, JJ’s brother, Max.” She fished for her keys and wrestled the old door lock open. “And Melba’s baby is my new goddaughter. I know lots of people in Gordon Falls.”
They walked through the front hallway to the kitchen, where she plunked an enormous tapestry handbag—a vintage artsy-looking thing, he was glad to notice—down on the kitchen counter. “And now I know Karl. You were right. He did give me a slice of pie for my troubles.” She sighed, a happy, shoulder-heaving, contented sigh. “This is a nice town.”
It was, most of the time. “It has its moments.”
Charlotte began digging through the massive bag. “I made a list last night of the things I think the house needs—as a jumping-off point.” She pulled out a notebook with Victorian ladies dancing on the cover. “I’m no expert, though.”
Jesse put a hand to his chest. “That’s okay, because I am. Only there’s an awkward question I really should ask first.”
“Where do I want to hide the bodies?” She didn’t need the pink lipstick to show off that dynamic smile; her eyes lit up with humor.
The joke made the next question easier to ask. “No, what’s your budget?”
“Oh, that.” He couldn’t quite gauge her response.
“I mean, you don’t have to tell me,” he backpedaled, suddenly feeling his poor-loser wounds had run off with his diplomacy, “but it’s better if I know. I can make smarter recommendations if I have a total-figure picture on the whole project.”
Charlotte hoisted herself up to sit on the vacant countertop. “That’s the best part—I don’t have a budget. My grandma left me enough money to do this—at least I’m pretty certain she did. This place was a leap of faith.” She didn’t come out and say “unlimited funds,” but her eyes sure looked as though she was ready to spend. Must be nice to have that kind of cash. Jesse ignored the sharp curl of envy wrapped around his gut.
Instead, he focused on how she fit in the house. Houses—even half-built or long since run-down houses—always had personalities to him. He’d sensed this cottage’s personality way back, and looking at her perched on the counter, he knew her personality absolutely suited the vibe of this place. Had he just finished the remodeling, he’d probably have been delighted to sell it to her. He just couldn’t get there quite yet—for all her charm, Charlotte Taylor
