“I think I just have to start accepting that I’m a single parent now,” she said to Diana. “That’s going to take a toll. It just is.”
Diana gave her a sympathetic shoulder squeeze but didn’t say anything. What was there to say, anyway?
“Anyway,” Cadence said when the silence had run its course. “My personal life might be, you know, in shambles, but I’m going to throw myself into work to avoid dwelling.”
Diana laughed. “You are speaking my language. Just… don’t let it go too far, okay? I know that pitfall all too well.”
“I promise,” Cadence said. “Plus, I’ve got Izzy to keep me honest.”
“True enough.” Diana nudged her affectionately. “Well, you can always ask Eleanor if you need some tips for revamping a space. I hear she’s getting plenty of experience in that sector.”
“Eleanor’s best tip is ‘fall in love with the handyman!’”
“It’s good advice, you have to admit,” Diana shot back.
The two women chatted for a few more minutes, then Diana headed back to her store, leaving Cadence staring at the now-empty gallery walls.
All she had to do now was get these paintings hung back up with enough time to read the pages before that night’s book club meeting.
She chuckled to herself. Nothing like being a mom who worked full time to keep her on her toes.
CHAPTER THREE
Eleanor Ridley thought that she was maybe getting the hang of this whole “home renovation” thing. After all, the door she was currently painting looked spectacular, if she did say so herself.
And yes, perhaps Garrett, the wonderful hardware store owner that she’d been dating for a little while now, had been the one who had installed the door. And ordered it. And advised her on what was the safest, most secure option to separate the parts of her house that would be designated for her bookstore from her living quarters.
But Eleanor had painted the door herself! And she’d chosen the cheery, bright yellow that provided the most wonderful pop of color to her space.
Somaybeshe wasn’t exactly a home renovation expert just yet… but she was definitely a pro at home decoration, and that was the fun part, anyway. The more progress she made on the store, the more she was able to think of it as a store, instead of a strange part of her house she didn’t quite know how to use. She was beginning to be able to see how the whole thing would look when she was done, and she liked it quite a bit, indeed.
“That looks great.”
Garrett’s words took Eleanor out of her reverie of her bookselling accomplishments to come. She turned and smiled.
Garrett was, to Eleanor, one of the more handsome men she’d ever seen… even if you did have to look a bit beneath his gruff exterior to the piercing eyes, strong jaw, and expressive face beneath. Garrett didn’t exactly make that easy for people either, not with his rugged but well-maintained beard.
As they’d taken their first tentative steps into dating, something they were taking slow but steady, Eleanor had increasingly realized that, for all Garrett’s reputation as the town curmudgeon, he was secretly very well liked. He helped people, even if he did it in something of a taciturn way.
“Thanks,” she said, his praise warming her. “I used the painter’s tape! And the sandpaper!”
“Wow,” he said, snaking an arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her head. “Where did you get those handy tools?”
She nudged playfully him with her hip. She’d mentioned a few days ago that she was planning on painting the door, and had found, the next day, painter’s tape and sandpaper alongside a note that said,For the door. Use them.
Gruff caretaking. Just Garrett’s style.
She tapped her chin, pretending to think.
“Huh. I guess somebody pretty helpful must have gotten them for me…”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Just trying to keep myself useful around here. If I’m not careful, you’re going to get too good and then you won’t have any use for me anymore.”
She double checked to make sure he was in his handyman clothes before she wrapped both her arms around him, although she wasn’t at too much of a risk. As a hardware store owner, Garrett mostly wore things that were suitable for a bit of mess. When she was confident that he was dressed in his usual well-worn flannel and jeans, she squeezed him tight, pressed up on her toes, and smacked an affectionate kiss right on his lips.
“Never,” she told him. “Not only are you the handiest guy in town, but no matter how good I get, I’ll never be able to kiss myself, will I?”
His response was to plant another kiss on her. She reveled in the feel of butterflies. She’d assumed that, in her forties and with a divorce behind her, that the days of having the fluttery first blush of romance were behind her.
