Chapter 20
Pane
For the next week and a half, I’m busy making plans and having supplies delivered. Every idea goes through Rowe, who gives me very little pushback. We discuss design, layout, and the flow of the house.
She has keen insight, and is really good at identifying future problems, for which, with both our heads put together, we work at finding solutions.
Between talking about the new business, she shares information about her mom, who is apparently a hippie; her mom’s boyfriend, Bill, who likes to read; and her deceased father, who loved this old farmhouse.
I can tell—the workmanship inside is gorgeous. He thickened the ceiling molding, added new windows, and refurbished the wraparound porch.
I tell her things about my life, too, sharing what I do on a daily basis. I explained to her that when I started working in the hotel, I was put on housekeeping duty. For some reason, Sunbeam thought that was hysterical and couldn’t stop laughing about it all day.
I didn’t mind.
I also tell her about the books I’ve read to Natalie and how Stone is my best friend.
But for as much time as we spend in one another’s orbit, and for all the breakfast biscuits I’ve been eating, there’s been no more kissing.
But, man, do I want to.
I really, really want to.
I know what I said about not falling for her. That hasn’t changed. It’s just hard to look at Rowe and not imagine my mouth on hers.
But sadly, all-you-can eat biscuits and a lack of kissing don’t change the fact that I’m low on cash, and the little money in my pocket is dwindling rapidly by the time the weekly poker game rolls around Wednesday night.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I say to Isaac when I enter Sparkle Bar.
The peanut shells have been cleaned up, thank God. The place even has a nice smell to it—pine. It doesn’t have the wastewater scent that many bars do.
Isaac gives me a wide smile and takes my hand. “Good to see you. We were just getting started. Have a seat.”
He points to a table where Ron and another man are already settling down.
I nod to Ron as I pull out a chair. “You didn’t tell me you’d be here tonight.”
He grins sheepishly. “That’s because I wasn’t sure.”
“Ron’s wife doesn’t know that he comes,” Isaac informs me, sitting on Ron’s other side. “He has to pretend that he’s out hunting.”
The fourth man, who’s wearing a plaid button-down shirt, snickers. “What season is it again, Ron?”
“Grouse?” he suggests.
The three roll with laughter. Isaac slaps the table. “There hasn’t been a grouse in this area for years. He might as well be telling Jennifer that he’s hunting unicorns.”
“Piggycorns,” Ron corrects.
I smile, worried that all these men will talk about is hunting and fishing—two things I know little about.
These aren’t the kinds of guys who talk about their yachts and their mountain vacation homes. Not sure what we’ll have in common. This might be a long two hours.
Isaac makes introductions. “Pane, that over there is McCauley.” He points to the man in the plaid shirt. “He’s our resident lawn-care guy. Does all the yards in town.”
“I bet that keeps you busy,” I say.
“It does.” He brushes dark hair from his eyes. “I tell you what, a while back I tried to hire Rowe to help me with some of the landscaping design that folks want, but she wouldn’t do it. Said it would take her away from those piggycorns.”
