The Perfect Mum. Janice Johnson Kay
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right now! Which she didn’t.
Didn’t dare. Emma had reacted with hurt and anger the couple of times Kathleen had dated after the divorce. Right now was definitely not the time to upset the applecart as far as her daughter went.
“Sugar? Creamer?” she asked, in her best hostess voice.
“Black is fine.”
She stirred sugar into her own and then carried both mugs to the table.
He’d set that gray metal clipboard, identical to her brother’s, on the table. Kathleen nodded at it as she sat down. “Okay, I’ve braced myself. How much will this cost?”
Logan Carr reached for the clipboard. “I’ve figured out ways to cut some corners and still give you what you want,” he said mildly. “I hope my figures are in the ballpark.”
The baseball analogy steadied her, reminded her of the beer, the belching and the nonstop din of the television. When he slid a neatly typed sheet of paper across the table, she took it, hardly noticing that their fingers briefly touched.
When she saw the figure at the bottom, however, she gaped. “I was expecting twice that much!”
He smiled at her surprise. “Your brother wasn’t kidding when he said you wouldn’t pay much more for custom. Maybe even less, in this case, because I gave some thought to how I could deliver what you need without adding any unnecessary frills.”
She wondered what kind of frills he was talking about, but in her rush of relief didn’t really care. She could manage this.
“The amount doesn’t include the additional peninsula, does it?” she asked.
“No, I made up a second bid.” He slid that one to her as well. The bottom line was less than a thousand dollars more.
“Show me the details again,” she asked. There had to be a catch. An unacceptable short-cut. An eliminated frill that was really an essential. “You’ll use solid maple, right?”
He patiently got out his notebook and scooted his chair around so that they sat shoulder to shoulder, looking as he flipped pages. He’d drawn a couple of simple sketches of the project, one a crude blueprint, the other three-dimensional, showing slots and cubbies and open shelves.
“The fan will be right above, the switch over here.” He indicated the wall by the pantry door with the tip of his pencil. “I can pick one up if you want, or if you’d prefer you can buy your own.”
She shook her head. “You do it, please.”
Nodding, he made a note. “I’ll leave all of this information so that you can discuss it with Ms. Schaeffer.”
“That isn’t necessary.” Feeling more decisive than she had in a long while, Kathleen said firmly, “You’re hired.”
“Good.” He smiled again, turning a face that was almost homely into one that was likable and sexy.
She found herself smiling back, her heart fluttering. Her internal alarms went off, but she silenced them. So what if she felt…oh, just a little spark of attraction. It didn’t mean anything. He’d never know. Heck, she probably wouldn’t even feel the spark the next time she saw him. It was having cried on him that made her aware of him, she guessed. Knowing what it felt like to have his arms around her. Wasn’t it natural to stretch that into a small crush?
“Do you have a contract for me to sign?” she asked.
He produced that, too, and went over it line by line. Satisfied, Kathleen signed, and hoped Ryan wouldn’t have recommended Logan Carr if he weren’t reliable.
“I can’t start for a week,” he was telling her. “I’m finishing up a project in West Seattle, but I can be on it a week from tomorrow, if that works for you.”
“So soon?” she said in surprise. Wasn’t spring a busy season for construction? Why wasn’t he booked way in advance, if he was so good?
As if reading her mind, he said, “I had a cancellation, and my next job is new construction. They won’t be ready for me for a few weeks. This is good timing for me.”
She flushed, as embarrassed as if she’d spoken her doubts aloud. “Oh. Well.” She forced a smile. “It’s good luck for me, too.”
He nodded absently and sipped his coffee, instead of standing to leave. “Nice house. Lots of potential.”
Her mood lifted. “Do you think so?”
He was looking around, his gaze taking in the original moldings and high ceilings. “Your brother grumbled one time that you’d dropped your money into a sinkhole. I think he’s wrong. This could be a beauty.”
“I think so, too.” She had this vision no one else seemed to share, but she could see on his face that he saw something similar. “We’ve actually remodeled a couple of rooms already.” She tried to sound casual. “Do you want a grand tour before you go?”
He set down the mug. “Love one.”
“You can finish your coffee.”
“It’ll keep me awake anyway.” He gave another of those crooked, devastating smiles. “Lead on.”
Pulse bouncing, Kathleen stood, too. “You’ve seen the pantry.”
“You’re lucky to have one. They’re a smart addition to a kitchen.”
She smiled wryly. “Of course, we’re back to storing baking supplies in cupboards too high to reach without teetering on a chair, thanks to the soap.”
“But what would you do if you didn’t have the pantry?” Logan pointed out.
Kathleen made a face. “How true. I’d probably be stepping over bars of soap to go to bed.”
He laughed, a low, rough sound, as well-worn as the calluses on his hands.
She showed him the living room, and he admired the arched entry and the built-in, leaded glass-fronted bookcases to each side of the brick fireplace.
“You planning to refinish the floor?”
“Ryan is itching to tackle it, but I’ve held him off so far. Where would we live while fumes fill the house?”
“That’s always a problem,” the cabinetmaker conceded. “But without a finish this floor is going to get scratched and stained.”
She sighed. “You sound like my brother.”
“We both value fine woods.”
Ian had valued fine wines, she thought irrelevantly. Their house had been a showplace in Magnolia, but it was no more than an appropriate and deserved backdrop, as far as he was concerned. The house had given her pleasure. These days, she tried not to think about the gleaming inlaid floors, stained-glass sidelights and granite kitchen counters.
If she ever had a beautiful house again, she would have earned it herself, and that had come to mean more than the possessing. In his eagerness to help her, Ryan refused to understand that. She had the odd feeling that Logan would.
She led him to the downstairs bathroom, really more of a powder room in the traditional sense.
He stepped past her and, filling the opening, contemplated the tiny room. “Nice,” he said finally.
Feeling a glow, she said, “Thank you. We did it ourselves.”
He glanced at her, surprise in his raised brows. “We?”
“Jo, Helen and I did the work. Especially Jo,” she admitted. “Except for the plumbing. We called Ryan for that.”
He took another look. “You did a hell of a job.”
They had, if she did say so herself—although she felt a little immodest even thinking as much, given how little she’d contributed compared to Jo. Still…