“I don’t have a retirement fund. Or savings. But I’m only six months into this and I’m meeting my operating expenses. Arden’s city council is putting a lot of resources into getting people into Old Town—there are all kinds of events planned like the Scarecrow Festival. Plus, with the holiday shoppers and word-of-mouth bringing in jobs like this one of yours, I think I’m about where I should be with a new business.”
“Well, you are pretty far from retirement age so there’s time yet for that, but the no-savings part worries me a little.”
Nati laughed again. “You’re worried about me?”
“Oh, you know… I’m just saying that you should have savings….”
“Believe me, it’s one of my goals. But for now, I like what I’m doing and I feel good about it, so I’m okay with things. And as for charging you an arm and a leg—you’ll pay for the materials and my labor will be my standard by-the-hour fee. You can check with whoever it was who recommended me and you’ll find out that I charged them exactly the same rate. For this job…”
She did some computations and then passed him her figures.
“… this is my ballpark bid.”
Cade barely glanced at it before he said, “That seems fine to me.”
“You can get another bid. Or two or three if you want,” she said.
“No, you’re who I want—” He cut himself off as if something about that had come out wrong. Then he said, “—for this job. You came highly recommended. And I realize if you get into this and it takes longer than you think, your labor charge will be higher and that’s okay, too—I know this is only an estimate, it isn’t carved in stone.”
“Sooo, we’re in business?” Nati asked.
“We are definitely in business,” he said, seeming more pleased and enthusiastic about it than he needed to be. He was looking so intently at her that she had the oddest sense that there was something more personal to this than getting his wall fixed.
She told herself that she had to be imagining it, and began to gather her samples.
“Shall I pay you half now, half when the job is finished, or how do you want to work this?” he asked then.
Oh. She’d forgotten about getting paid. Where was her head?
As if she didn’t know…
“You can just write me a check for the estimated cost of the materials and we’ll settle up the rest when I finish,” she said, pretending she hadn’t completely overlooked an important detail.
“Let me get my checkbook,” he said, leaving the dining room. He was gone only a moment before he returned with checkbook in hand.
While he was writing the check, Nati said, “I’ll bring the formal paperwork with me tomorrow. If I don’t see you, I’ll leave it for you to sign and then pick it up when I come on Monday. I probably won’t see you then, either, because I assume you’ll be at work.”
And why was she feeling slightly disappointed at the thought that she likely wouldn’t encounter him much—if at all—while she was doing this job?
No, she didn’t want an answer to that question. She just shooed away the feeling.
“I’m sure I’ll be here at various points,” he said as if it were a promise, looking into her eyes as he handed her the check. “But for now I’ve probably kept you longer than I should have—I know it’s Friday night and you must have a date or something planned with your… husband?”
She’d told him she’d quit her first job out of college to get married. She hadn’t said anything else about that. Was he as curious about her personal life as she’d been about his? Because that was how it sounded.
“I’m not married anymore. I’m divorced.”
“I’m sorry. For long?”
“It was final six months ago, but there was a year before that when it was… in process. And no, there isn’t a date, or a fiancé, or a significant other or even a whoever for me, either. But I do have a new bottle of bubble bath waiting for me….”
She stood, holding her materials like school books.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow or Monday… or maybe I won’t,” she said as she headed for the front door.
“Tomorrow or Monday,” he repeated.
Cade opened the door when they reached it and, as Nati stepped outside, he peered over her head and said, “Where’s your car?”
“I parked on the street.”
“Ah…” he said, following her as if he intended to walk her to the curb.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to come all the way out here,” Nati said.
“It’s after dark—this neighborhood is relatively safe, but still…”
He had manners. That was nice. He went ahead of her to her car door and waited while she unlocked it, then leaned in to open it for her.
“It sticks,” she warned.
But for him it opened just fine.
“From now on go ahead and pull into the driveway,” he instructed as she got in behind the wheel. “Use the side closest to the house—I’ll use the other side while you’re working here so you won’t have to carry things as far.”
Also nice. And considerate.
Not that that mattered, either. She was just doing a job for him. Here and gone. Don’t get sucked in.
“Drive safe,” he said as he closed her door.
Nati nodded and turned the key in her ignition, willing the aging car to start on the first try since Cade was still standing there, watching her.
Luck was with her, because the engine turned over instantly for once and allowed her to put the car into gear to leave.
But not before she let herself have one last glance at Cade standing there as if he were keeping her safe until she could get on her way. Tall, broad-shouldered and so handsome…
Nati raised a hand in a little wave and finally gave the car enough gas to actually put it into motion.
All the while unable to prevent herself from fantasizing about being back in that big Georgian house again.
And spending the rest of her Friday night alone there with Cade Camden…
Chapter Three
“I brought lunch.”
“I’m so glad! I’m starving,” Nati told her friend when Holly arrived at the shop around noon on Saturday. “Did you get your errands done?”
“Every one—thanks to you being here to share shop duties now. How was the morning?”
“You made a couple of nice sales. I’ve only had a few looky-loos, nobody bought anything.”
“But now you’ll have the money from doing the Camden wall—you were smart not to turn that down.”
Nati shrugged, unable to decide whether working for Cade Camden was good or bad. Certainly the money was good. The fact that she was working for a Camden—whom she’d actually had dreams about all night long in which one or more of them was hot and bothered and not entirely clothed—didn’t seem like such a good thing.
“What’s for lunch?” she asked, changing the subject.
“My throw-everything-in salad with the homemade dressing you like.”
“Yum. Thanks for this—I