Yep, this was going to rebound on me for a while with whispers, eye rolls, and outright “you’re such an arsehole” comments. The downside of being an employer in a small town.
“George, can you send your notes to Amy?” My sister was a former lawyer who worked part time for me, handling the legal work and accounts for the business. It paid her bills while she built her acting career in London. “She’ll make sure it’s all been done by the book and he’s been adequately warned. I’ll tell him first thing Monday.”
A blur of movement snagged my attention. Oh, for God’s sake. Montgomery, Tabitha’s father, was climbing down a ladder propped against the barn. He was dressed in one of his classic Monty outfits. This morning, it was silk pajamas and a robe, with a nightcap and velvet slippers. He must have been fiddling with the weather vanes again, which I’d specifically asked him not to do.
The creature that snaffled my breakfast bolted toward the ladder propped against the barn and started climbing up it. Monty bent over and reached down.
“Sorry, George, got to go.”
I dropped my phone on the seat and yelled out the window, “Monty. Wait there.” I tore out of the truck, skidded across the gravel, and clutched on to the ladder.
“Monty, stop. I’m coming up.”
“Everything’s in hand,” Monty called down. He swayed on the ladder, swinging his arms, kicking out his legs. Fuuuu—really? He was trying to show Goatee how to turn his body around and walk back down. Bonkers. Monty was such a liability. But now, Goatee was actually doing it.
I started up the ladder, but Goatee was already quickly making his way, and I reached up and helped him down the last rungs. He galloped off, no doubt to find other shit to get into. Obviously pumped up by the goat’s safety, Monty jumped fromthe ladder—at least ten rungs from the ground. Just in time, I lunged out of his way. As he launched himself into the air, his silk dressing gown tie caught on a rung and dangled him off the ground.Oh fuck.
He gave the tie a big tug, it released, and he slid down the ladder on his arse, landing on the gravel driveway in a heap, slippers tumbling on top of him, hat askew.
“All’s well that ends well,” he boomed. Dusting himself off, he called to his furry friend, and together, they headed indoors, Monty with a cheery smile on his face.
I lay on the gravel, sore and shattered.
But Monty and Goatee were safe, so, dragging myself upright, I headed back to the truck and settled in again to sort through the paperwork for the renovation. The last three months had been spent on the non-sexy stuff, bringing things up to code, wiring, repairing the roof and water damage to the attic and ceilings, and building en suite bathrooms for the ten guests who would be hosted each weekend. The next two months would be the best part—finishing the bathrooms and reno-ing the kitchen. Like most builders, I thought of this as the sexy stuff. A picture of Tabitha in the new kitchen slo-mo’d into my mind, wearing one of her floral outfits, lounging against the kitchen island, sun streaming in, her red lips parted in a happy smile, her eyes flashing as she…
Nope.
No, don’t go there. Keep your imaginary fucking hands off her, arsehole.And this was a workday too. Me staying on this circus of a job was nothing to do with Tabitha—it was about making sure the place was done right.
Internally slapping my face, I pulled Tabitha’s house plans from the glove box and unfolded them over the passenger seat of my truck. I reached for the box from the back seat that had copies of all the sample materials Tabitha had given me—fabrics, tiles, kitchen and bathroom surfaces—and pictures of the new appliances, all cataloged, highlighted, and clipped into annotated files. Jeez, the woman was organized up the arse. And now I was thinking about her arse.
I grabbed my notebook from the dash and flipped it open. I checked my notes, which were, as usual, spelled like shit—ordifferently, as my reading support group had always reminded me, with pictures and a shorthand I’d developed for myself. But as usual, I mostly relied on what was in my head. I always translated written words to audio, then memorized them. Because I’d been diagnosed with dyslexia late at school, I’d compensated by committing all facts to memory and molding them into a story. In my head, I rehearsed what I was going to say to Tabitha about these house plans she’d drawn up, imagining myself giving her the news that we should throw them out entirely and opt for my more practical ideas.
Tabitha wouldn’t be happy, but regardless, I braced for her reaction.Let’s just add more fuel to the fire.My stomach clenched. My stomach that was still hungry and uncaffeinated. I needed one of Trystan’s espressos after all. A triple.
At least the film crew hadn’t quite set up yet, which was a good thing.
11
Tabitha
Tim had seemedquite annoyed as he disappeared through the kitchen door. About the lunging at him last night or the spilled coffee this morning, it was hard to say. “Racking up the infractions, Balfour,” I mumbled quietly. It was going to be a long two months.
Feeling abandoned, I wandered back to the warmth of Trystan in the dining room, which had now cleared because people were eating outside in the garden. I asked him questions about his business and what people mostly ate.
He rotated the plate of chocolate croissants. “Well, let’s just say despite the numerous diets I cater to, the donut plate is just crumbs by eight thirty most mornings, and the fruit bowl sits there until it rots.”
I laughed at that, and he chattered on while I prompted him with questions, until he paused for a second. “Darling, what’s the deal with you and Mr. Brawny the Builder?”
I grimaced. “We used to be best friends, but… I’m not sure I know him anymore.”
I certainly didn’t know Tim well enough not to throw myself at him. I thought I knew him as a bit of a Lothario, but since he’d rejected me and wasn’t teasing me about it this morning, it was clear I didn’t have a clue about who he was.
Trystan raised a skeptical eyebrow.
Tim and I had played together every minute as kids, and there were those two amazing weeks in our twenties when we became so much more than friends, but for the last three months during the renovation, we’d only been battling it out. There had certainly been no catch-up chats or confiding.
“Didn’t look like it from where I was standing behind the craft table.” He stirred the fruit salad theatrically. “You two know each other well enough to beveryawkward.”
