“Said no one ever,” she quipped dryly. “So, are you sure you don’t want to call someone?”
“Tired of me already?”
“Don’t take it personal but you’re mucking up my routine.”
He chuckled. "So—let me guess…only child?”
"I am." She smiled, wry and amused. “What gave it away?”
"Not an expert, but when you haven't spent your formative years bickering over how to fold towels, you tend to believe your way is best.”
"Hmm. How many siblings do you have?"
“Uh, two. Older sister, Josie. Older brother, Joel."
"You're the youngest. Fits."
"Justlike you being an only fits."
Clara straightened, something shifting in her expression. Business mode. "Well. Since you're stuck here, let's talk about making yourself useful. Breakfast?"
"You don't have to feed me."
"I'm not feeding you. I'm feeding myself. You just happen to be here."
"Generous of you."
"I have my moments."
Jack followed her to the kitchen, watching as she pulled eggs and bread from the fridge. His hands itched to be doing something — standing still while someone else worked went against every instinct he had. “You look pretty comfortable in the kitchen. You cook often?” he asked.
"Only when I want to eat."
Damn. That wit could draw blood.
Something in his chest tightened. Not pain — worse. Interest. The kind that settled into your hands and made them want to reach for things they shouldn’t.
"So tell me how I can be useful while I'm here," he said, steering himself back to safer ground. "I love a project. What do you got?"
"You said you're a good carpenter, but I've only got yourword. Forgive me if I need proof before I let you start hammering away at this old girl."
"Fair enough." Jack's gaze swept the room, his carpenter's eye catching what most people wouldn't. "That window—northwest facing? Frame's swollen from humidity. Not sitting flush. Bet it sticks when you try to open it."
Clara glanced back, eyebrows raised, confirming. "It does."
"Wood expands and contracts with moisture. Right on the water like this, you're fighting a constant battle. I could plane down the edge, reseal it. Hour or two, tops." He paused. "Also, going down those stairs? There's a section of handrail about three-quarters up that's got some give. Feels loose. Bracket probably needs tightening or replacing. In a spiral staircase, that's a safety issue."
Clara's expression shifted from skeptical to considering. “Okay, so far so good. What else?”
It’d been awhile since someone put him through his paces but he was down for it. Felt like a challenge. He set his mug on the table. It wobbled. His hand shot out instinctively to steady it. "And this table's got an issue."
"The leg's been wobbly for months. I've tried shimming it with cardboard, but it never works."
Jack crouched, examining the joint. Tested it gently. "Mortise and tenon joint's come loose. See?" He pointed to the gap. "Needs to be re-glued and clamped properly. Shims are band-aids. You need a real fix, or else it’s just going to keep happening.”
“You seem like you know a thing or two,” she admitted, eyeing him with more respect. “So, what do you need to fix the table?”
“Not too much. Wood glue, clamps, maybe a drill if the hole's too worn—might need to dowel it. You have tools?"
