Almost Like Being in Love (14 page)

So much for his superhero status—his “It's working now” assessment had been pronounced not quite two weeks ago. According to the notes on the paper, she'd called back in with the same complaint: the circuit breaker flipped. She turned it back over. No air-conditioning. Again.

While he hated that Jessica's A/C wasn't working, it was another opportunity to stay busy. Air conditioners he could fix. And the broken-beyond-repair ones, he could replace. But when it came to figuring out how to fix his mother's broken heart . . . convincing her that drowning her sorrows . . . her life . . . in a nonstop stream of alcohol wasn't helping . . . well, that he couldn't do.

Caron had smoothed over their argument from the other night with a brief voice message this morning. An
I-love-you-we'll-talk-and-it-will-be-okay run-on sentence that, once again, covered any tension between them and ended their brief standoff.

Things were back to normal. Pleasant and peaceful.

This appointment wouldn't take too long. He'd check the unit again, but he already knew he'd have to deliver bad news and recommend Jessica buy a new one.

She answered the door, a smile lighting her pale blue eyes behind her glasses. “Hi. I didn't know if you'd be the one to come back today.”

“Afternoon.” He tipped his hat. “The company tries to send the same repairman out to a job when we can.”

“It's nice to see you, but please take this the right way: I was hoping I wouldn't see you again.”

“Most people feel that way about repairmen. Part superhero, part bearer of bad news.”

“Think you can maintain your superhero status today?”

“I'll do my best—”

Small footsteps sounded behind her as a young boy with the same strawberry-blond hair as Jessica's ran up, wrapping his arms around her leg. “Who's this, Mommy?”

“This is . . .” Jessica stopped to read the name patch on his shirt. “Mr. Alex. He's going to fix our air-conditioning.”

“Yay!” The little boy hopped from one foot to the other, still clinging to her leg. “It's hot in here.”

“Yes, it is.”

Alex squatted down so he was eye level with the boy. Well, almost eye level. “You know my name. What's yours?”

“Scotty.”

“Nice to meet you, Scotty.” So Scotty was her son, not a boyfriend. Alex eased to his feet. “Named after his dad?”

Jessica wrinkled her nose at him. “No. He's named after Mr. Scott in
Star Trek
. I'm a huge fan.
I can show you my action figure collection if you need proof.”

“No need.” Alex held his hands up in mock surrender. “But I'm a die-hard fan of the original series.”

“Of course.” She stepped back, holding Scotty's hand. “Why don't you come through the house to the backyard?”

Alex stayed where he was. “I don't want to tromp dirt through your house.”

“Are you kidding me? I'm the mom of a five-year-old. I spend hours sweeping up dirt. Scrubbing it off of him, too.”

Alex allowed Jessica to lead the way through her house, Scotty in between them. The rooms were furnished with the bare essentials, most of which looked worn. But everything was clean. Neat. And soft music came from an iPod dock set on a bookshelf in the living room.

“So, the same thing happened?”

“Yep.”

“I'll take another look and let you know what I find.”

A few minutes later, Jessica and Scotty reappeared in the backyard as she brought Alex a cup of water in the same plastic blue cup as before.

“I thought I wouldn't wait until the end of your visit today.” She motioned Scotty away. “Don't bother Mr. Alex while he's working. Go play with your trucks while I start the burgers.”

Alex's stomach rumbled at the word
burger
. His dinner would have to wait, and it wouldn't be fresh-off-the-grill anything. As he worked, the aroma of grilling meat wafted through the air, causing Alex's mouth to water. Jessica hummed a familiar popular tune as she entered the house again, admonishing Scotty to behave until she got back.

“Whatcha doing?”

Alex couldn't hold back a grin.
He knew the little boy would make his way over here, but he needed him to stay back.

“Trying to figure out why this big old thing isn't working.”

“Can I help?”

“Sorry, I can't let you do that. You have to go to school to learn how to do this.”

“Really? Did you go to school?”

“Yep.”

“I'm going to kindergarten soon.”

“Well, that's a start, but you have to go to a few more years of school than that to repair air conditioners.”

“I bet you're smart—”

“Scotty!” Jessica slid back the screen door and crossed the backyard. “I told you not to bother Mr. Alex.”

“I just wanted to help him, Mommy.”

“And I explained to Scotty that he needed to go to school a while longer before he could be my helper.”

“I'm sorry. I really thought he'd obey for longer than three minutes—”

“Are you married, Mr. Alex?” Scotty squinted up at him. “My mommy's not married—”

“Scotty! That's not something you need to ask Mr. Alex.” Jessica's fair skin flamed red as her hands pressed to the sides of her face. “I am so sorry. He just says whatever he's thinking—”

“It's okay. And I have a girlfriend, Scotty.” His phone buzzed on his hip, indicating a text. “Let me take this and then I'll tackle your A/C.”

His father—adding yet another appointment to his day.

As Jessica flipped the burgers, she glanced over at him. “Everything okay?”

“Just another emergency call added to the list.”

“So I'm not your last job?”

“You were, but things changed.”

“Don't you get a dinner hour? Aren't there union rules or something?”

“We do what we have to do to keep our customers happy.”

She motioned to the air conditioner. “Well, I'll stop interrupting you so you can finish up here and get going.”

Less than a half hour later, Alex knew he wasn't going to maintain any sort of superhero status today. No matter what he did, even pulling out every trick in the book, the unit refused to start.

Tipping back the brim of his cap, he shook his head. He'd like to find that home inspector and give him a piece of his mind. He—or she—hadn't done Jessica any favors letting this unit pass inspection. She could either buy a new unit or sweat out the upcoming Florida summer.

She scooped half a dozen burgers off the grill onto a chipped white plate as he approached. A bag of buns, sliced tomatoes and onions, and lettuce were arranged on another plate, next to plastic bottles of ketchup and mustard. Scotty straddled the bench, munching on potato chips.

“It's not good news, is it?” Jessica poured her son a cup of lemonade.

“How can you tell?”

“It didn't start back up. I feel like Captain Kirk when McCoy says, ‘He's dead, Jim. He's dead.' ” Her smile wavered. “And my A/C is one of the red-shirt guys who doesn't survive the expedition.”

Her attempt at bravado was endearing. “I hate to have to put on my bearer-of-bad-news alter ego, but you need a new unit.”

Her voice barely registered a whisper. “I was afraid of that.”

“I can see about finding a sale unit, cutting back on labor costs.”

“Are you okay, Mommy?”

Jessica put a bright smile on her face as she turned toward her son. “Of course, sweetie. Mr. Alex and I are talking about that silly old air conditioner. It's being cranky and doesn't want to work.”

“But Mr. Alex said he went to school, so he knows how to fix it.”

“Well, yes, but sometimes things can't be fixed.”

“Like the washing machine—”

Jessica refused to look at Alex. “Yes, like the washing machine. But don't worry about that.”

“Maybe Mr. Alex knows how to fix washing machines, too. You could ask him—”

“Mr. Alex fixes air conditioners, not washing machines. And he has another job to go to.” She refocused on Alex. “Don't mind him.”

“Your washing machine is broken, too?”

“It's an older model that came with the house. Obviously it and the air conditioner are in cahoots.” She shrugged. “Isn't that the way it always goes? They say trouble comes in threes, but I'm hoping to dodge the third problem somehow. Maybe get off for good behavior.”

“Here's hoping.” Pulling a blue bandanna out of his back pocket, Alex wiped his hands. “Listen, would you mind if I washed up in your bathroom?”

“No, of course not. It's down the hall, first door on the right.”

When he came back outside, Jessica greeted him with a paper plate loaded with two hamburgers on buns, along with a couple of packets of ketchup, all covered with plastic wrap. A plastic sandwich bag filled with tomato, onion, and lettuce slices was set on top. Scotty bounced up and down beside her, holding a bottle of water and a bunch of napkins.

Alex faced off between mother and son. “What's this?”

“Dinner.”

“What?” Alex held up his hands, even as the sight of the impromptu dinner-to-go caused his mouth to water again. “No—”

“It's all packed and ready for you.” Jessica held the food out to him. “I hate to think of you missing dinner. Besides, I always make extra food, just in case a friend or even a stranger drops by. It's something I learned from my mother. She was always taking meals to neighbors and people in the church when I was growing up.”

“So what does this make me?”

“Well, you're not a stranger—”

“You're Mr. Alex.” Scotty bumped against his leg, offering the bottle of water.

“Exactly. You're Mr. Alex.” Jessica moved the plate closer so that he could smell the aroma of the burgers fresh off the grill. “And now, Mr. Alex, your girlfriend doesn't have to worry about you not eating a decent meal.”

T
he key to the conversation was to be impersonal, professional—and to not sound desperate.

Kade tossed his cell phone on his desk, shoved his chair back, and stared at a framed photo of Pikes Peak at sunset on the opposite wall. The competing demands of “Have to” and “How?” clawed their way across his nerves, forcing him to make a choice he'd never imagined.

Would he do everything possible to showcase Eddie Kingston's house for the Tour of Homes?

Yes.

Then he needed to replace Sheila with the absolute best home stager he could find. His repeated attempts to contact the three stagers she'd recommended had been a waste of time. The last thing he wanted to do was start searching Google for random recommendations.

Which left him with this farfetched option.

Might as well make the call, hear the no, and move on—to what, he had no idea.

Funny how even after two years, he still remembered Caron's cell phone number.

“Hello, this is Caron Hollister.”

Her greeting, after just one ring, caught him off guard. All he had to do was stay focused. Ask the question. Get it over with. It wasn't as if Caron Hollister hadn't rejected him before—only this time she'd actually do the rejection straight up.

“Hello?”

“Caron. This is Kade. Kade Webster.”

A moment's silence and then: “Kade. I wasn't expecting to hear from you.”

If that wasn't the understatement of the year.

“Understandable.” He sat up straight, anchored his feet to the ground. “How are you?”

“I'm . . . good. You?”

“Enjoying Colorado, even if it is a landlocked state. A friend keeps telling me to buy one of those artificial sound machines since I miss the sound of ocean waves so much.”

“There's a thought.”

A brief response, without a hint of humor. He needed to ask the question and be done.

“I'm sure you're wondering why I called—”

“Yes.”

Kade tugged at his tie, loosening it. “I want to offer you a job.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, I heard what Margo said when I was showing her the house—about you needing to find another job. I assume that means you aren't working for your father anymore.” His statement was met with silence. “Am I correct?”

“Yes, you're correct. I'm no longer working at Hollister Realty.”

She wasn't sharing details. Fine. He didn't need to know if she was fired or if she quit.

“I'm not calling to pry into your personal life—” Might as well settle that from the start. “But if you haven't found a job yet, I'd like to offer you a temporary position with Webster Select Realty.”

“You want me to come work for you—temporarily—as a Realtor? Kade, you know that's not possible—”

“No. I need a home stager for a major project. That's the job I'm offering you.”