at the figure Travis had scratched on a yellow pad. Kylie swallowed. “That much, huh?”
He slid her Internet printouts under her nose and picked up a pencil. “If you cut this and this—”
“Nope. Gotta have those.”
“What about these?” Faye said.
“I’ve had my eye on those for months. Spied them in InStep Magazine. ”
“You could cut cost by renovating the interior only,” Travis said.
“Yeah,” Faye said. “It would save time, too. Also, Spenser would only be half as mad.”
It was the exact wrong thing to say. Kylie shook her head. “I want the whole sushi roll.” She nabbed the pencil from Travis and scribbled her own figure. “This is how much I have to spend on supplies and labor. Obviously, I need someone who’ll work cheap. And fast. Oh, and I’ll throw in free shoes.”
Travis looked at the figure.
Faye looked at the figure. She whistled. “You’re taking that out of the business account? Without Spenser’s approval?”
“No. I’m dipping into my personal account.”
“Dipping? It’ll wipe you out! What about your dream trip?”
“It’s just that, Faye. A dream. Sometimes you have to make lemonade out of lemons.” She shrugged. “Or in this case, cider out of apples.”
“I can’t believe you’re giving up,” Faye said. “You’ve worked so hard. Skimped and saved. Again. I can’t—” Her cell phone blared—ringtone of the month, Evanescence’s “Bring Me to Life.” “I have to take this,” she said after checking the screen. “Hi, Miss Miller.” Sting’s kindergarten teacher. “He did what? He…I can’t hear you. You’re breaking up. Hold on.” Faye gestured to Travis and Kylie she needed to move outside.
Kylie wondered what planet she’d been on when she’d thought about enlisting Faye and Stan’s help. They had full lives. A business. A family. A marriage. They didn’t have time to indulge her life crisis. Especially when they were, possibly, immersed in their own crisis. Except, if that were the case, why hadn’t Faye confided in her? Which brought Kylie back to her initial worry that Faye’s anger was actually directed at her, not Stan. But why?
Dang.
“What about me?”
Kylie blinked out of her musings and focused on Travis. Her temples throbbed as she processed. “You’re offering to help me renovate?”
“I am.”
“But you work full-time and I’m on a tight schedule.”
“I have vacation time coming.”
“Wouldn’t you rather spend that time somewhere else? Somewhere out of Eden?”
“I would, but I can’t.”
Hmm. Maybe he was strapped for funds. “You could relax—”
“I prefer to keep as busy as possible these days.”
Or maybe he didn’t want to travel alone. She suspected keeping busy kept his thoughts off of his deceased wife. Three months back, Mona Martin had succumbed to cancer. Travis had been devastated. He was still damned somber. How long did it take to get over a spouse’s death? She hoped to never know.
Kylie crossed her arms over her middle, trying to decide what to make of the man’s offer. She asked straight out. “Why would you want to do this?”
“To shake up my life?”
Had he been in the bar last night? Had he heard her rant?
“Maybe you miscalculated that figure I jotted. To be clear, I can’t pay you close to what you’d deserve for your time and effort.”
He almost, sort of, smiled. “Happy belated birthday.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
A T 10:00 A.M ., T RAVIS entered his boss’s office and put in for vacation time. If Hank had refused, he’d been ready to quit. But it didn’t come to that. The man felt sorry for him. Assumed he was still mourning Mona—which he was. Only this wasn’t about Mona. This was about two people stuck in a rut.
By 10:45 a.m., Travis had loaded several cans of paint and various other supplies into the bed of his truck. Hank didn’t carry the kind of lighting fixtures Kylie wanted. Not wanting to wait weeks for an order to come in, she’d
He slid her Internet printouts under her nose and picked up a pencil. “If you cut this and this—”
“Nope. Gotta have those.”
“What about these?” Faye said.
“I’ve had my eye on those for months. Spied them in InStep Magazine. ”
“You could cut cost by renovating the interior only,” Travis said.
“Yeah,” Faye said. “It would save time, too. Also, Spenser would only be half as mad.”
It was the exact wrong thing to say. Kylie shook her head. “I want the whole sushi roll.” She nabbed the pencil from Travis and scribbled her own figure. “This is how much I have to spend on supplies and labor. Obviously, I need someone who’ll work cheap. And fast. Oh, and I’ll throw in free shoes.”
Travis looked at the figure.
Faye looked at the figure. She whistled. “You’re taking that out of the business account? Without Spenser’s approval?”
“No. I’m dipping into my personal account.”
“Dipping? It’ll wipe you out! What about your dream trip?”
“It’s just that, Faye. A dream. Sometimes you have to make lemonade out of lemons.” She shrugged. “Or in this case, cider out of apples.”
“I can’t believe you’re giving up,” Faye said. “You’ve worked so hard. Skimped and saved. Again. I can’t—” Her cell phone blared—ringtone of the month, Evanescence’s “Bring Me to Life.” “I have to take this,” she said after checking the screen. “Hi, Miss Miller.” Sting’s kindergarten teacher. “He did what? He…I can’t hear you. You’re breaking up. Hold on.” Faye gestured to Travis and Kylie she needed to move outside.
Kylie wondered what planet she’d been on when she’d thought about enlisting Faye and Stan’s help. They had full lives. A business. A family. A marriage. They didn’t have time to indulge her life crisis. Especially when they were, possibly, immersed in their own crisis. Except, if that were the case, why hadn’t Faye confided in her? Which brought Kylie back to her initial worry that Faye’s anger was actually directed at her, not Stan. But why?
Dang.
“What about me?”
Kylie blinked out of her musings and focused on Travis. Her temples throbbed as she processed. “You’re offering to help me renovate?”
“I am.”
“But you work full-time and I’m on a tight schedule.”
“I have vacation time coming.”
“Wouldn’t you rather spend that time somewhere else? Somewhere out of Eden?”
“I would, but I can’t.”
Hmm. Maybe he was strapped for funds. “You could relax—”
“I prefer to keep as busy as possible these days.”
Or maybe he didn’t want to travel alone. She suspected keeping busy kept his thoughts off of his deceased wife. Three months back, Mona Martin had succumbed to cancer. Travis had been devastated. He was still damned somber. How long did it take to get over a spouse’s death? She hoped to never know.
Kylie crossed her arms over her middle, trying to decide what to make of the man’s offer. She asked straight out. “Why would you want to do this?”
“To shake up my life?”
Had he been in the bar last night? Had he heard her rant?
“Maybe you miscalculated that figure I jotted. To be clear, I can’t pay you close to what you’d deserve for your time and effort.”
He almost, sort of, smiled. “Happy belated birthday.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
A T 10:00 A.M ., T RAVIS entered his boss’s office and put in for vacation time. If Hank had refused, he’d been ready to quit. But it didn’t come to that. The man felt sorry for him. Assumed he was still mourning Mona—which he was. Only this wasn’t about Mona. This was about two people stuck in a rut.
By 10:45 a.m., Travis had loaded several cans of paint and various other supplies into the bed of his truck. Hank didn’t carry the kind of lighting fixtures Kylie wanted. Not wanting to wait weeks for an order to come in, she’d
Similar Books
