said she wasn’t familiar with any sort of paperwork like that. But there has to be, right? I mean, come on, you’re a bureaucracy—oh, not you, I mean the committee. No offense.”
“None taken.” That was a tiny fib. But Kyle didn’t think it counted against him too much. “Honestly, I can’t think—oh. Oh. Wait.” He held up a hand. “I know what you mean. Sorry. It took me a minute.”
He turned back to his computer and gave the mouse a nudge. The screen flickered to life, and he typed “historical variance hearing request” into the file search. A few whirs from the printer, and he pulled a thick sheaf of paper from the hopper.
Allison blinked at the pile. “That’s a lot of paper. I think my application to grad school was thinner.”
“Yeah, probably. It’s...it’s an intensive process,” Kyle told her. He decided he’d better not confess that he’d intentionally made the process as hard as possible to discourage people from even applying. It had been one of the suggestions he’d made when the committee had asked him to come up with ways to safeguard the historic section and the tourist dollars the area brought in.
“Okay. So...any pointers?” Allison reached for the application.
He didn’t give it to her. “Are you...sure?”
“Sure?” Now some of yesterday’s determination slipped by the cheery “I’m game” mask that she’d kept plastered on her face for the past few moments. “Yes. If this is how I have to get a waiver approved...”
“I’m just saying...” Kyle cleared his throat. He glanced down at the application. “This is a request for a hearing. And basically we—the historic preservation committee members—ask that you explain the project, describe how it is at variance with existing ordinances and historical integrity, and then tell why you feel the need to depart from that.”
“In five hundred words or less,” she joked.
“Oh, no. The, er, more detailed, the better.” He couldn’t help but glance back at the unfortunate essay response about colonists being ‘tea’d off.’
“So I work through all this, and then I get my variance?”
“Not exactly,” he said. Why did he feel guilty about this?
Belle Paix would look horrid with modern windows. Allison’s zeal for “modernizing” the house reminded him strongly of the man who’d bought his family home. A sour taste rose in the back of Kyle’s mouth as he remembered how the new owner had quickly stripped the venerable old structure of its character.
A perfectly good house. Ruined.
“Then what? Exactly?” Her cheerfulness had a distinct half-life, and it was approaching that point fast.
“Then you get your hearing. If the application is thorough and well thought out.”
“That makes no sense. Why can’t I just go before the committee and explain it? Rather than write it all down?”
Because then we’d have to tell you no. This way, you don’t fill out the paperwork, you don’t get the hearing and you blame yourself. Not us.
But Kyle didn’t say that. He cleared his throat again. “It’s a way to make sure you’ve thought it all through and explored your options.”
She harrumphed. “Busywork.”
“What?” He hoped that note of guilt in his strangled response hadn’t been as evident to her as it had to him.
“Okay. Hand it over. If this is what I’ve got to do, this is what I’ve got to do.” She stood up and reached for the paperwork again.
“Would you...like me to help you with it?”
“You would?” Allison’s face lit up. Her smile was absolutely breathtaking.
That. That is why you offered.
“Sure. On one condition.”
She frowned. “What?” she asked suspiciously.
“That you come to the historical society meeting. You’d find it interesting—this month’s program’s about Victorian homes. And you could share your story about how Belle Paix was built that you were telling me when we first met. That was fun. Entertaining. Our members would love it.”
“I dunno,” she said. She put a hand to her head as though warding off a sudden headache. “I was really never good at history.”
“I promise you won’t have to remember a single date. Or name. Except mine.”
Allison laughed. “I wouldn’t forget the guy who volunteered his elbow grease to help me out.”
“So?” Kyle couldn’t believe that he was holding his breath in hopes she’d say yes.
“I was planning on painting Gran’s room Thursday—I feel fairly confident in tackling the interior paint job on my own, though the exterior, what with three tall stories and all that scraping, well, that’s a horse of a different color. Anyway, you did say when you first mentioned it that the meeting was Thursday, right? I have to work this weekend—I’m a nurse on weekends at the ER at the hospital. So...I really need to get some work done at the house.”
“I love to paint. And I’ve been told I’m very good at it. If I help you tomorrow night, and maybe Friday afternoon when my classes are done...then you’d be free Thursday?”
“You don’t quit, do you?” Allison gave a bemused chuckle. It made his heart skip a beat.
“I just think...” He looked down at the paperwork. The meeting would be a way for history to come alive for her, to help her understand why people in Lombard were so passionate about protecting their architectural treasures. Not only that, the historic section was an economic engine for the community, bringing in tens of thousands of tourist dollars each year. “I think that anyone who grew up in that marvelous house ought to know about the time the house was built.”
“You really don’t mind helping me paint? Or...” Allison pointed at the stack of papers he had clasped in his hand “...working through that monstrosity of an application?”
“I really don’t mind.”
“Okay, then. That’s a deal I can’t refuse. Wow.”
She took the papers from him. He saw her skim through them, frown in puzzlement and then shake her head. “I really am going to need your help. Half of this reads like a foreign language.”
Again, a twinge of guilt assailed him. He’d made the language as opaque as possible to intimidate would-be variance seekers.
And until now, it had worked. Not a single person had ever actually taken an application once he or she had seen it.
But Kyle had a nagging suspicion that Allison wasn’t like anybody else he’d ever met before.
