Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
ANDI
As we measure the bedroom, I realize Reece’s grumpy act is just that. A facade to keep people away. When Kellie sent me to measure the house, I had hoped he’d be out. Or that he’d leave as soon as I showed up. After his behavior at the fest, his offer to help took me by surprise.
His gruff comments put me off until I realized he’s trying to be funny. Once I recognized his dry humor for what it was, I couldn’t help but be entertained. Too bad it took most of the morning to catch on.
He seems to have become accustomed to my presence. As we return to the living room, he nods toward the kitchen. “Lunch?”
I pause. My opinion of this man has flipped several times. Will spending more time with him send us back to a negative place? Maybe I should quit while I’m ahead. On the other hand, free food sounds attractive. But I doubt Kellie would approve of lunching with the client. That’s her job. “Thanks, I’m fine.” My stomach growls in protest, betraying me loudly.
“Sounds like it.”
“A gentleman does not comment on a lady’s… bodily noises.” My face goes even hotter at the phrase.
This surprises a rough laugh out of him. “My apologies, milady. But the offer stands. I have sandwich stuff and Diet Coke in the kitchen.”
“I won’t hold that against you.”
His brows come down in puzzlement.
“I’m a Coke Zero gal. Not a fan of the diet.” I shove my tablet and measuring tape into my backpack. After Friday night, I can’t believe I’m considering having a meal with him. But his help this morning has mostly made up for his boorish behavior.
“There’s a difference?” He takes the backpack strap from my hand, dumping the bag on the couch, and heads for the kitchen.
I give a mock gasp as I follow. “There is an enormous difference.”
He opens the fridge and pulls out a red and black can, putting it on the counter. “My mistake, I got the zero kind.” Then he gets a real-sugar Pepsi for himself.
“Yes!” I snatch the can off the counter, pop the top, and pour the elixir of life directly into my mouth. “I forgive you for everything. Except saying diet and zero are the same. That is unforgivable.”
“I was going to offer you a glass.” He smirks as he sets two tall glasses on the linoleum, then opens the green refrigerator. “Roast beef, turkey, chicken, ham…” He stacks the deli bags next to the glasses.
“Do you have horseradish?”
He peers into the fridge. “Mayo, mustard, pickles. Nope, no horseradish. Is that a problem?”
I snicker and shake my head. “No, not at all.”
With a puzzled frown, he sets out the condiments, then retrieves a bag of bread from the other side of the tiny galley kitchen.
“Is that fresh sourdough?” I poke the oval loaf gently.
“I guess. Got it at Helmut’s yesterday. It looked good.”
“It’s fantastic. My favorite.” I open a few cupboards until I find a meager selection of mismatched plates and take out two. I try his dry humor. “Nice china pattern.”
His lips twitch. “They came with the house. Don’t worry, I washed them.”
I pause with a slice of bread in my hand. “I wasn’t worried until you said that.”
“I washed everything. This house was empty for years.” He piles layers of meat and cheese onto his bread.
I find a knife and slice into a beautiful tomato. “Where’d you get this? It’s gorgeous.”
“Rolf’s Produce, out by the highway.”
“Ah, I see. You are made of money.” I layer two thick slices on top of my turkey.
“Not really. But Rolf’s is worth it.”
We finish making our sandwiches and pile everything back into the fridge. Reece opens a cupboard revealing a stash of colorful foil bags. “Crisps? Or chips, if you prefer.”
“We use both words back home, but in Oregon they’re definitely chips.” I take a familiar red and white striped bag and walk to the little table in the dining room.
We eat in silence. Helmut’s fresh sourdough tastes heavenly, as always, and the turkey’s slightly smokey flavor and firm texture contrasts dramatically with the cheap pre-packaged stuff I’ve been living on since I got back to Rotheberg. Don’t even get me started on the tomato—it’s perfect.
In fact, everything about this meal is pretty close to perfect. Reece doesn’t talk much in general, but the lack of chatter doesn’t bother me. When he speaks, it startles me so much I almost drop my soda.
“You do this a lot?”
I set the glass on the table as I consider his question. “Eat with clients? No, that’s not usually one of my perks. In fact, it’s probably best if you don’t mention this to Kellie.”
He frowns, then picks up a chip and gestures at the wall. “I meant measuring rooms. Renovating houses.”
“As you pointed out, I’ve been working for Kellie for a little over a month. I haven’t had the opportunity to contribute to the design process, yet.”
His lips twitch. “Is that the polite way of saying Kellie only lets you do the grunt work?”
“If by ‘grunt work’ you mean the stuff she doesn’t want to do, then yeah.”
“That is a generally accepted definition of the term.” He pops the chip in his mouth and crunches it. “But you’d like to do more? I thought you were going to do logo design?”
I shrug one shoulder. “If it will pay the bills. I’m an artist. So far, most of my work has been paint on textiles, but I want to try all the things.” I wave at the room. “I’m good at colors and textures, which is what the decorating part of this business is about. I haven’t really gotten my hands dirty with any real renovations. Kellie contracts that part out.”
He pushes his chair back and picks up our empty plates. “You’re missing the best part. Demo!”
Brows raised, I wait for him to elaborate.
Busy putting plates in the dishwasher, he doesn’t notice.
I clear my throat daintily, a skill I learned in my princess classes. Actually, my cousin Victoriana drilled it into me. She’s the most princessy royal in existence and has perfected a delicate noise that draws attention without sounding gross. Even after years of hounding, I’m not in her league. “I assume by ‘demo’ you are not referring to a recording contract? Because I definitely can’t sing. Ask Teo if you don’t believe me.”
That surprises a laugh out of him. It sounds rusty, as if he isn’t accustomed to levity. “Demolition.” He mimes swinging something—probably not a baseball bat, but I’m not sure what.
I raise my brows higher.
He reaches out and takes my hand, pulling me toward the living room. A little zing goes up my arm at the touch, but I try to ignore it. He pushes through the swinging door, towing me along behind, then twirls me toward the couch. “Sit. If you want to be in the business, you need some education.” Dropping beside me onto the groaning sofa, he clicks on the television and scrolls through the menu to HGTV.
“I’ve heard of the Property Brothers!” I point at the handsome twins in the little thumbnail.
His brows drop. “Too pretty for me.” He clicks through a few more channels and finds one called Demo and Reno . “These two are the real deal. Although I usually fast forward through the arguments.”
On screen, a paint-splattered woman yells at a dust-covered man. The camera shakes a little and moves back. They argue about the location of the wood stove, then she flicks her paintbrush at him. White splatters across the man’s face. Reece hits mute. “They use some pretty salty language sometimes, but they show real work, not just pretty results and manufactured drama like some of the professional shows. I think their kid does the filming.”
He scrolls through the show until he finds a video of the couple swinging big hammers at walls. “This is demo. They’re taking out those ugly cabinets and replacing the whole kitchen. It’s dirty but fun. Great way to work out frustrations.”
We watch the dust fly as they slam the long-handled tools through walls. Smashing a few walls would be therapeutic. I wonder whom Kellie will hire to do the demo on this job. Maybe I can get a few extra paid hours and work out my stress at the same time.
My watch vibrates with a text from Kellie asking when I’ll have the measurements done. I jump to my feet. “Thanks for lunch and the recommendation.” I nod at the TV as I grab my backpack. “But I need to get back to work or Kellie will fire me.”
Reece rises, frowning. “Kellie doesn’t seem to treat you very well. Maybe you should look for another job.”
“She’s… a challenge sometimes. And I might have to find another job. Or get deported. How do you stay in the country?”
He frowns in confusion. “I’m American—born and raised. My mum is British, so I have dual citizenship. Are you having visa problems?” He stops in front of the door.
“Not yet.” I bite my lip and look away. I probably shouldn’t share my personal problems with Reece. He’s almost a stranger. But I feel an almost uncontrollable urge to unburden myself—throw all of my problems on his broad shoulders. “I’ve been coming to Rotheberg since I was a kid. Six weeks every fall. We come over before Thanksgiving, to open the Feltz Ornament stall at the Polkafest.”
He looks puzzled but doesn’t interrupt.
“Instead of a homecoming dance, the town opens the Christmas market with a polka festival.” That probably inspired more questions than it answered, but I plow on. “We stayed until Christmas, then went home. When I started college, I stopped coming with the family. And I assumed, since Teo lived here all year, that I could too. But it turns out he got a green card. I don’t have one of those.”
A speculative look crosses his face then vanishes.
“What?”
“What what?”
“You were going to say something. Do you know how to get a green card?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “The movies would have us believe getting married to a citizen is the easiest. I have no idea if that’s true.”
I laugh as I reach for the doorknob. “Yeah, that’s probably not going to work for me. You kind of need a partner for that.”
His hand closes around mine. “I know a guy.”