It’s a touch before nine o’clock when I hurry downstairs for breakfast, book in hand. I’m in flannel duckie pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, and I haven’t brushed my hair. As I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror that hangs on the lobby wall, I realize I might be making myself far too at home here at the Sea Winds B&B. I second guess the pants, then decide to go for it, for fear of missing breakfast altogether. Relief fills me when I find the restaurant empty because being fed and being alone are my two main goals, and it looks like, for once in my life, I’m getting what I want.
I walk in, spot Peter, and wave.
"Good morning, Abigail," he says, holding up a coffee mug. “You never came back last night for the music.”
Nodding at the mug, I say, “I had some things to take care of, but I heard it from my room.”
I’m about to pick a table by the far window when Peter pats the top of the bar. “I saved your seat for you.”
Great, there's really no way to turn that down without offending the man who feeds me. No matter, I can eat fast and go back to my room. “Is there any oatmeal left?”
“If there’s not, there soon will be.” He winks, then disappears into the kitchen, only to return less than a minute later with a plate holding a bowl of oatmeal with all the trimmings, along with a side of ham and bacon. “Here you go, love. Eat up.”
I sprinkle brown sugar on the oatmeal and add milk from the tiny white jug. I'm about to take my first bite when I sense someone behind me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a man settling himself on the stool beside mine. "Seriously? You take the spot right next to me when the entire place is emp—"
I stop talking as soon as I make eye contact with him, and I realize it's Mr. Too Good for Me.
He looks taken aback for a second, then slides off his stool and walks all the way to the far end of the bar. Giving me a small grin, he says, "How's this?"
"Better." I wrinkle up my nose at him in a way that says, 'I find you as repulsive as you find me.'
“So, Abby," Peter says, rubbing the back of his neck. "This here’s Liam Wright, the fellow we were telling you about last night. I asked him to come by this morning about your house.”
Oh, so he already knows I wasn’t on the prowl for a taste of man-candy last night. And I've now bitten the head off the only person in the vicinity who can fix my house. Super. Turning, I give Liam a polite but restrained smile. “Oh, yes, hello. Pleasure to meet you.”
"Is it?" he asks, narrowing his eyes, even though they're sparkling with amusement.
"Sorry, I just thought..." What?
Peter rescues me from myself. "Abby prefers to be alone."
Nodding, Liam says, "Okay, well, that's good to know. I'll stay here then." He raises his voice deliberately loud. "I hear you’re in the market for some repair work.”
“Yes. I bought the place next door, and it needs some TLC. What do you do?”
He answers with one hand cupped next to his mouth. "Oh, a little of this and a lot of that. Whatever needs doing."
“Uh-huh, sure,” I answer, nodding and raising my voice as well. “That’s kind of a vague answer to give someone interviewing you for a job.”
He gives me a sideways grin and hollers, “I didn’t realize this was a formal interview on account of the ducks on your pajama pants.”
My face burns and I roll my eyes, then give a conciliatory nod. "Okay, what if we start again? You could maybe sit..." I reach over and point at the stool next to the one beside mine, "...here."
Liam stands and comes over. After he sits down, he extends his hand. "Liam Wright, jack of all trades."
Taking his hand, I give it a firm shake. "Abby Carson. Person in need of house repairs."
"Nice to know you, Abby."
I chuckle at the ridiculousness of it all, then say, "You, too."
"What kind of repairs are you looking for?"
"Basically, I need help with the yard, the exterior, and interior.”
Liam grins. “Now who’s being vague?”
I take on a slightly haughty tone. “I’m only being vague because I don’t actually know what needs to be done.”
