Build Me Up (6 page)

“Actually, I did. That’s how you get certified to do the work your boss has hired me to do,” he said, leaning against the doorjamb.

There was a moment of silence and he thought he could hear the cogs turning in her brain – or was that the seagulls choking on litter?

“Okay. Let me try this again,” she said and took a step back, making some weird shaking gesture with her hands – was she a drama major? – and centering herself (he’d seen that on TV).

“I’m sorry I’ve come off as unprofessional in our previous interactions. I’ve been a bit… stressed… coming out here and trying to piece this project together. It’s no excuse for my behavior, and I’d really like it if you would give me another chance.”

Ford tilted his head and surveyed her. “How long did you spend formulating that little speech?”

“Twenty minutes or so, under a lukewarm shower spray,” she sighed.

Yeah, he could definitely have done without
that
mental image.

“Plumbing issues?”

“Probably cat hair clogging up the heating system.”

“Where are you living, exactly?” he frowned.

“The
Breeze Inn
. Trust me, I’m ready to breeze right on out of there.”

“With Mrs. Breezer?”

“And her cats. I’ve only seen two of them so far, but any day now, the third is bound to make an appearance and claw my eyes out.”

“Not a cat lover?”

“I don’t have a problem with animals. Just their hair. And their claws. And teeth.”

“So skinks would be okay with you, then?”

“Huh?”

“Australian lizard things?”

“Ah. Yeah, I guess. Try getting those past Border Control, though.”

“Been watching a lot of TV, I hear,” he commented, a grin tugging at his lips.

“Not much else to do at Casa Breezer,” she shrugged.

“Any favorite shows?”

“Well, there’s this late night cable access show…”

“Old lady Breezer has cable?”

“Well, given that she’s outlawed ‘canoodling’ under her roof, I’d say she’d need to have some kind of outlet,” Kristen shrugged.

“Sorry, what?”

“Never mind. So, do you think we could work together?”

“Can I decide after I’ve had the buns?”

“What, like all of them?”

“I’d be willing to share. You like coffee?” He stepped to the side, leaving the doorway wide open in silent invitation. He was curious about this cable show she’d mentioned.

“I practically live on it,” Kristen smiled and stepped inside. He could tell that she was giving his hallway a scrutiny and kicked himself for not cleaning up the mess Annabelle had left behind. At least there weren’t clothes lying around – Annabelle didn’t like leaving anything of hers in his house when she went back to California.

She still had her old room, of course, but it was decorated for a little girl, not a teenager. He’d offered to redo it, but Annabelle had shrugged and said it didn’t make sense to put all that effort into a room she never really stayed in.

“It’s a nice structure,” Kristen said as she followed him into the kitchen. He hastily cleared the table of his papers and leftovers and pulled out a chair for her.

“How do you like your coffee?”

“I’ve been craving a caramel macchiato since I got here, but anything will do.”

“Yeah, sorry, I was more asking whether you want sugar and/or cream,” Ford rubbed his neck.

“Neither, then. Better stay away from the good stuff. I haven’t seen a gym anywhere in town.”

“We’re more of the outdoorsy types here. There are water sports, if that interests you.”

“It would, but it’s getting to be chilly now. I noticed coming over here that the tourists seem to be heading out?”

“Yeah. Summer always passes too quickly,” he sighed, his mind drifting towards Annabelle. It would be about four months until he’d see her again.

“What do people do here the rest of the year? I mean, people who live here.”

“Lot of fishermen, some merchants… my contracting work never stops,” he shrugged. “We make do.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“It’s just… you don’t like tourists.”

“Sure I do.”

“Uh… no.”

“Tourists keep our economy afloat, so yeah, I like them fine. What I don’t like is tourists that come here and think they’re better than us.”

“And you know this how?” she raised finely sculpted eyebrows, daring him to lay into her.

“You can usually tell.”

“How?”

“Well, they have this… air about them. They‘re brash, entitled, bossy…”

“And that’s what you saw in me that made you hate me from the start?”

“I never said I hated you. But yeah, walking in the middle of the road and then flipping me off when I didn’t drive circles around you wasn’t very endearing.”

“I wasn’t…” she started, then pinched her mouth closed. “Okay. I apologize for coming off that way.”

“Tell me about Bankhead. How’d you meet him?” he asked, leaning against the counter while the coffee brewed.

“My father is in the real estate business. He recommended me.”

“Ah.”

“Ah, what?” she said, her eyes narrow. “You think I’m just a spoiled little rich girl who got her first ever job handed to her on a silver platter. Well, guess again. I’ve designed dozens of homes before this, and I’m good at what I do.
That’s
why people hire me. A man like Quinlan Bankhead wouldn’t be foolish enough to hire some business contact’s daughter for a multimillion dollar project if she didn’t have the goods to back it up.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve got the goods…” Ford mumbled and turned around to grab two coffee mugs off the shelf.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped. Oh, great, she’d heard him.

“I just meant I’m sure you’re very talented,” he threw over his shoulder.

“I think I should go.” The voice was too low to register with him at once, and when he turned around, Kristen was already heading out of the kitchen.

Kristen’s initial anger at being distrusted shifted suddenly and the hurt was enough of a force to send her out of the kitchen. Was she ever going to escape this kind of prejudice? If people weren’t thinking she had jobs handed to her because of her daddy, they were thinking she was a chip off her mother’s shoulder – sleeping her way up the ladder.

Ford didn’t know anything about her family, and he’d still thought it. She felt dirty. She should be better than this – some random surly man’s insinuation about her character shouldn’t have her hands trembling and her eyes burning.

But Ford Hamm wasn’t random, was he? He was supposed to work with her on the biggest project in her career. The other people she’d worked for were her friends, or friends of friends, and they trusted her sense of style because of who she was. Quinlan Bankhead wanted results, and if she failed to please him, he’d have no qualms about cutting her down and possibly ruining her budding career.

She was almost at the door when he caught up with her.

“Hey,” his hand landed on her arm and she turned towards him, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I suck at hosting.”

“Yeah, you do,” she said, pushing down her feelings. Feelings were useless in work situations.

“Coffee’s almost ready. I can’t eat all those buns by myself. Will you please join me? We could discuss that cable show you’ve discovered.”

“
The
Grammar Aussie
?”

“Is that what it’s called?”

“It’s pretty funny.”

“Come on, then. Tell me about it. I think I’m in serious need of some fun,” he said with a half-smile and gestured towards the kitchen.

“You totally are,” she nodded, the unshed tears retreating in response. Banter she could do. “So this woman, dressed up like a knight or something, rides across the globe – like you know, on an actual globe, the once they have in classrooms – on a kangaroo and wields this boomerang to fight what she calls ‘defilers of the English language’… and that’s just the opening credits.”

Ford nodded and laughed as she told him about the show, alternately pouring her more coffee and offering her another serving of cinnamon rolls, until the sky turned dark and he had to get up and turn on the kitchen light.

Spell broken, Kristen looked at the time. “Oh, wow. I’d better get going.”

“Afraid Mrs. Breezer will lock the doors if you’re not in bed by nine?”

“No. But if I wake Humphrey Bogart, there will be hell to pay. Assuming he’s real. I’ve yet to confirm it.”

“This is your imaginary boyfriend?” Ford suggested.

“The cat.”

“Of course. So no imaginary boyfriend battling for bed space?”

“Nope.”

“Someone waiting for you back in California, then?”

“Trust me, the guys I know wouldn’t wait a month for me to come back, much less a year,” Kristen scoffed and rose from the table. “Thanks for coffee – and the sugar kick that is sure to keep me up all night.”

“You should probably have some real food.”

“I’m stuffed. Really, I’m better off just heading straight home.”

“How ‘bout I walk you?”

“Is there a lot of street crime in Greenport?”

“Now that you mention it, I think I’ve seen a couple of guys in masks rummaging through my trash.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. All gray and furry, with little black masks around their eyes. Scary little fellows.”

“You’re hilarious,” she rolled her eyes.

“I know. Come on, let’s go.”

He grabbed two jackets off the hallway hanger and handed her one.

“I’m gonna drown in this,” she said, inspecting the much too big leather jacket.

“You’d rather try my work jacket?” he offered. It was covered with some sort of dust and stains originating in who-knows-what.

“I’m good,” she said and slid her arms into the sleeves. Buttery soft leather. Yum.

“Here, it catches,” he said and before she knew it, his fingers were on the hem, fiddling with the zipper. After a few false starts, it clicked and he slid it all the way up to her neck. “Good?”

She nodded. Yeah, a little too good, actually.

“Great. After you,” he said and held the door open, a gust of cool air coming in from the outside. Where did summer go?

“You okay walking along the beach, or do you prefer to stay out of the wind?” he asked, zipping up his jacket and stuffing his hands in its pockets.

“I think I can handle it,” she said, feeling a challenge lurking beneath the surface.

“All right then,” he said and locked his door.

They walked down the gravel path that led onto the beach walk. It wasn’t paved, but it wasn’t impossible to walk on, either. The wind coming in from the sea tugged at the hair that wasn’t tucked inside the jacket and she could almost taste the salt in the spray.

“Have you always lived in Greenport?” she asked when it became clear Ford was the strong, silent type even when he wasn’t being surly.

“Yup.”

“Did you ever consider moving somewhere else?”

“Once or twice.”

“Where would you have moved then?”

“Somewhere else.”

“Wow… you’re just a fountain of information,” Kristen muttered.

“Sorry?”

“Never mind. So do you have family here?”

“Not exactly.”

“Sorry?” What kind of an answer was that?

“My parents and grandparents are buried here, up at the cemetery.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. When you get to be my age, it’s to be expected, I guess.”

“Your age? What are you, mid-30s?”

“I’m 38.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right – you
are
old. Have you considered getting a walker?”

“I
would
look for one, but I don’t know how to work a computer. Such newfangled machines,” he played along.

“Aww, well, I’ll help you,” she patted his arm.

“Thank you, young lady,” he answered, covering her hand with his own. Kristen pulled away before she could take note of how big and warm it felt against her skin. Well, maybe a split second too late.

“Oh, I’m not that young,” Kristen shook her head and turned her face towards the shore. The cool winds felt good on her heated face.

“My mother always told me never to ask a woman’s age or clothes size. So I won’t.”

Kristen smiled and turned her head towards him again. “Very early 30s. And somewhere between a four and a six.”

“Wow. Not at the numbers,” he added hastily, his hands up to ward off any clawing that she might attempt, “but at actually hearing a woman saying those things.”

“You must meet a lot of boring women,” Kristen clicked her tongue in mock reproach.