Almost Like Being in Love (27 page)

“I wish you were here, too.” Right now he ached to hold Caron. To be held.

“Where are you now?”

“Sitting outside my house in the work truck.”

“Enough talking.” Caron's voice lowered as if she was reading him a bedtime story. “You need to go inside. Go to bed. You'll feel better after you get some sleep.”

“I'd feel better if you were here.”

“I'll be home soon. Go on now—get some sleep.”

“I love you, Caro.”

“I love you, too. Everything's going to be okay, Alex.”

Everything's going to be okay.
He clung to the assurance of Caron's words as he lay in his darkened bedroom. How many times had she told him that, her words the promise he believed when his mother's
headaches
ruined yet another family meal? And how many ways had he redefined what was
okay
so that life could include his mother's behavior?

I
t was a good thing Kade couldn't dock her pay based on what her office looked like.

Caron shoved her chair away from the desk that was obscured by magazines piled one on top of the other, as well as pages torn from various ones that flowed from the desk onto her office floor. A tumbler half full of sweet tea sat near her computer, where at least a dozen tabs were open—diverse images of lamps, carpets, floral arrangements, and children's bedrooms.

Miriam, Mitch, and Kade had left hours ago, but they weren't staring down a calendar of disappearing days trying to stage Eddie Kingston's house. She'd get back to an organized life—one where she slept—when she got back to Florida. For now, it was back to making decisions. Tomorrow she'd be visiting another furniture store to see if they'd want to donate items for the family room.

“I knew I'd find you here.”

At the sound of Kade's voice, Caron bolted to her feet, scattering magazine pages to the floor. “Stop!”

Kade paused in the doorway. “I wouldn't think of stepping one foot into your office. It looks like the periodical section of the library exploded in here.”

“Very funny. It's my decision-making process, thank you very much.”

“You need a bigger office. Why didn't you go to the conference room?”

“Because my computer is here.” Caron rescued papers from the floor, mindful of her bare feet—and her high heels abandoned beneath her desk.

“Have you had dinner?”

“What?”

Raising his arm, Kade shook the brown paper bag in his hand. “Food? Have you eaten?”

“No. I lost track of time.”

“That's what I figured. Can't have one of my employees starving to death. So, dinner is served. Get your stuff organized here and meet me in the break room.”

Kade disappeared before she could argue with him, leaving her to shut down her computer and stow everything else in her desk drawer. She ran her fingers through her hair, debating whether she should take the time to touch up her makeup. But Kade had already seen her end-of-the-day disheveled. No shoes. He was being nice to her, but that was no reason to primp.

She'd keep it real.

Kade had set two places at the table in the break room, and put a plate with several deli sandwiches in the center, a variety of chip bags beside it.

“I didn't buy drinks because I figured sweet tea would suffice.”

“You figured right.”

“Go ahead and pick what you'd like.” Kade removed the
pitcher of tea from the fridge. “But I did get a ham and Swiss cheese with lettuce and tomato, light on the mayo and mustard, in case you're interested.”

Her favorite.

“Thanks.” Her tummy rumbled. “I guess I was hungrier than I realized.”

“When I called in earlier, Miriam mentioned you'd skipped lunch.”

“Part receptionist, part intel asset.” Caron accepted the glass of tea with a nod as she settled into a chair across the table from Kade. “I see how it works now.”

“Every good receptionist keeps the boss informed about what's going on around the office, you know that.”

“True. Sometimes I wondered if my father really needed three receptionists or if he just wanted more access to office intel.”

“You have a point. Your father definitely believed the boss needed to have his finger on the pulse of his business.” He chuckled. “Pardon the cliché.”

“I'll overlook the cliché, but only because you brought me my favorite sandwich.”

“Oh, I see—you can be won over with ham and Swiss cheese, is that it?”

“Absolutely.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” A wink accompanied another chuckle. “Anything else?”

“Chips, of course.” Caron selected a bag of salt-and-fresh-ground-pepper potato chips. Had Kade remembered she preferred those, too?

Caron fought to open the chip bag. Kade remembering her favorite sandwich and chips didn't mean anything.

“Need some help?”

“No.”
The bag refused to open. “Yes.”

“Allow me.”

When Kade's fingers brushed hers, Caron refused to be tripped up by an electricity-tingled-through-her-hand moment.

Talk about a cliché.

Still, she couldn't help but remember the times Kade had held her hand. Twined their fingers together, his skin warm against hers. The evenings he told her to stretch out on his couch at the end of a long day, rest her head in his lap, and then ran his fingers through her hair until she'd fallen asleep. And then he'd woken her up with a trail of light kisses from her temple to the corner of her mouth, whispering, “Dinner's ready.”

“Voilà!” Kade rattled the bag. “Your chips.”

“Thank you. I always have a problem opening those things and I end up spilling half the chips all over the floor.”

“Well, your chips are saved this time.” Kade put a roast beef sandwich on his plate. “So, do you want to share any details about the Kingston house with me?”

The house. Safe ground. Much better than remembering Kade's kisses.

“I'm focusing on the children's bedroom tomorrow. And I'm meeting with Lacey at the house in the afternoon so we can talk about possible photographs.”

“Sounds great.”

“Yes. Thanks for suggesting her.” Caron savored a bite of her sandwich, washing it down with a sip of sweet tea. “I'll be meeting with a florist next week to see if they'll donate flowers during tour week. And yes, I'll offer to mention them in our advertisements.”

“Speaking of flowers, I suppose I have you to thank for the arrangements that have shown up on Miriam's desk?”

“It's no big deal, Kade.”

“I wanted you to know
I noticed them and appreciated them, too. Quite honestly, it's not something I'd thought about.”

“Well, now you have—and you can have Miriam keep it up after I leave.”

“I'll do that. You've reminded me that our clients appreciate little things like flowers in the reception area.”

The brief sense of satisfaction at Kade's praise disappeared. He probably didn't even realize what he'd said.

Our clients.

It shouldn't matter that much that Kade noticed something as insignificant as her putting flowers on Miriam's desk. She shouldn't be trying to earn his approval. And any clients were his and his alone.

•  •  •

She either had come up with a brilliant idea or Kade was going to remind her that he was paying her to stage Eddie Kingston's home—and nothing else. Not even floral arrangements.

The only way she'd know was by presenting her proposal to him, and then waiting for his reaction.

“Mr. Webster just pulled up.” Miriam leaned into Caron's office, her dreadlocks framing her smile.

“Thanks. His morning's free, right?”

“No appointments on his calendar. I triple-checked.”

“Okay. Well then, I'm going to wait in his office for him.”

“You want me to hold his calls?”

“Unless it's something urgent, yes. This won't take long.” Caron slipped past Miriam. “Wish me luck.”

“You asking for a raise?”

“No, nothing like that.” The sound of the front door buzzer had Caron scurrying out from behind her desk. “Get back up front.”

By the time Kade walked into his office, Caron sat in one of the chairs, a tumbler of sweet tea in hand, another waiting on Kade's desk for him.

“Good morning.” Kade paused. “Did we have a meeting scheduled that I forgot about?”

“No, we didn't. But I wanted to discuss something with you.”

“About the tour?”

“No . . . and yes.”

Kade deposited his faded briefcase beside his desk, sitting on the front edge and lifting up the tumbler. “This for me?”

“Yes. I've noticed you've been partaking in the sweet-tea pitcher in the fridge.”

“Guilty. Miriam's a fan, too.”

“Not a problem.”

“So what's on your mind?”

“Your suggestion for Eddie Kingston to retrofit the house was a gamble and it paid off. The house is beautiful and functional. I know it's already getting some pre-tour buzz.”

“Thank you.”

“I know Mitch, or someone like him, would love to live there.” Caron clasped the plastic cup in her hands. “It's too bad the home is more expensive than Mitch can afford. When Lacey saw it the other day, she loved it.”

“I'm not surprised. And I admit I've thought the same thing myself. I've even had a few discussions with Eddie about it.”

“Really?” This was even better than she'd hoped. “We both know he's a businessman, Kade. We can't expect him to just give Mitch the house.”

“I know the financial realities, Caron. It just seemed like maybe we could work out something. Mitch wants to buy a house. I'm looking for a house for him.” He held up his hand. “And that
information I just shared with you is confidential. I know Eddie has already built the perfect house for Mitch and Lacey.”

“For a hundred thousand more dollars than Mitch could probably afford.”

“So did you come in here this morning to talk about why this house is more than ideal for Mitch, but then remind me why he can't have it? I can think of better ways to start the day.”

“I wasn't reminding you why it wouldn't work.” Caron set her cup on the floor, jumping to her feet. “I mean, on the surface it looks like it won't work, but maybe if we get creative, we can think of a way Mitch can buy this house.”

“What? Maybe we should take up a collection?”

“That's exactly what I was thinking.”

“A collection . . . to help Mitch buy the house?”

“Why not, Kade?” Caron rested her hand on Kade's forearm. “You already said the subcontractors donated time and supplies to retrofit the house. What if . . . what if Eddie sold the house at cost? And . . . what if we took up a collection for the down payment? Mitch already has some kind of down payment, doesn't he? Or was he going for a VA loan?”

“He has a down payment of ten thousand dollars.”

“So, we take his ten thousand . . . and we raise more for a bigger down payment—and lower his monthly payment. We could talk to some of your Ranger buddies . . . relatives . . . I don't know. We'd have to brainstorm. Maybe you could cover closing costs—”

He gave a brief laugh. “Of course I will.”

“This is for Mitch—”

“Keep talking, hotshot.”

“I'm still brainstorming this.” The warmth in Kade's brown eyes urged Caron on. “I wanted to talk with you before I got too far into it.
Will you let me draft a letter to send to people about donating money to the down-payment fund?”

“Yes, just let me see it before you send it out. I'll talk to Eddie. He did mention that a few buyers were already interested in this house, so I need to get to him sooner rather than later.” Kade covered her hand with his. “What else do you need from me?”

“Any suggestions on who to send the letter to. Family. Friends—both his and Lacey's family and friends. Military buddies. I'll talk to some of the Tour of Homes folks, see if they want to chip in—”

“They've already donated time and materials—”

“I know that, Kade.” She took a breath, scrambling to keep her thoughts focused on the original topic. To not be distracted by Kade's nearness. His touch. What was she doing clinging to his arm? How unprofessional. She slipped her hand from beneath his and stepped back. “I . . . I'm just giving them the opportunity. Every dollar helps, right?”

“Can't argue with that.”

Taking her seat again provided a few seconds to gather her thoughts, as well as the needed space. “So, is it okay for me to ask Miriam to help? I mean, could she type up the letter once I draft it and get your approval? Mail it from here?”

“I don't see why not. Just remember, Mitch works here, too.”