Fixer-Upper

by Linda Seed

  How to phrase the question delicately? “Have you … had trouble finding someone to restore it?”

  “I’m going to do it myself.” He closed her door, came around to the driver’s side, and got in beside her. His seat had been repaired with silver duct tape.

  “Do you know how?” she asked. “To restore an old car, I mean?”

  “No. That’s why it’s taking so long.”

  The car started with a roar, and they headed toward town.

  If Chris’s choice of car had surprised Martina, his restaurant selection did, as well. She’d thought he would want to go to Neptune or possibly The Sandpiper, or some other fine dining restaurant where he could eat in luxury and order the most expensive wine on the menu.

  Instead, they went down Highway 1 to Duckie’s Chowder House in Cayucos, a place next to the pier where you could order fish and chips and a Coke and have them at a counter facing the sidewalk as tourists in bathing suits and flip-flops walked by.

  “You like fish and chips?” he asked as they stood in line waiting to order.

  “I’m a vegetarian.”

  He nodded. “I should have known.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It just means … look at you.”

  She looked down at herself: peasant skirt, Birkenstock sandals, white top—linen trimmed in lace. Her usual stack of bracelets, and rings on two of her toes.

  She had to admit, he had a point.

  He ordered the fish and chips, a cup of chowder, and a beer, and she had a garden salad with a side of garlic bread. They sat at a tall booth underneath a surfboard that had been mounted to the wall and waited for their food.

  Initially, Martina wasn’t sure what this was. Business? Social? Once he started asking questions about her interior design business, she relaxed a little. Clearly, it was business.

  He asked about how she’d gotten her start in interior design, and she told him she’d always had an interest, starting from the time she’d made curtains and throw pillows for her Barbie DreamHouse. She’d gotten a bachelor’s degree in interior architecture at the Rhode Island School of Design, then had gone to work for a firm in Los Angeles after she graduated.

  While she was talking, the waitress arrived bearing plates full of salad greens and fried fish. Chris poured some ketchup onto his plate, dunked a french fry, and bit off the end. “So, how did you end up in Cambria?” he asked.

  She felt a knot in her gut, the way she always did when the subject came up. She tried to keep her face and her voice pleasant and neutral.

  “I grew up here. And after I left, my parents still lived here. When they died a few years ago, my sisters and I inherited their house. It’s a historic log cabin that used to be a brothel. We talked about selling it, or one of us buying out the others, but … I don’t think any of us could bear to give it up, because the house meant a lot to my mom and dad. They renovated it themselves.” And, damn it, there she went—she could feel tears pooling in her eyes. She wiped them away with the tip of her napkin and forced out a laugh. “I’m sorry. It’s an emotional topic.”

  “I didn’t realize—”

  “How could you? It’s fine.” She smiled to reinforce it. “And I’m fine, really. It just hits me sometimes.”

  She worried he might ask the next natural question: How did they die? Instead, mercifully, he changed the subject slightly.

  “So, you live there with your sisters?”

  “Two of them. Benny—that’s short for Benedetta—and Sofia. And Sofia’s fiancé. My other sister, Bianca, used to live there, too, but she moved out after she got married. She and her husband have a place across town.”

  All of this talk about her, her family, and her personal life was unsettling. Martina took a big bite of salad so she’d have an excuse not to go on about it. Then, when she’d had a moment to regroup, she shifted the conversation back to Cooper House and the redesign.

  “So, how did you find me? I mean, you can afford anyone you want. I would have thought you’d call some celebrity designer up in the Bay Area and bring them down for the job.”

  He nodded. “That’s what Alexis wanted to do.”

  “So, why didn’t you?” She took a sip of her iced tea.

  He shrugged. “Your name was on the front of Central Coast Home magazine, and that issue just happened to be lying around when Alexis and I started talking about a remodel.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “You didn’t ask around? You didn’t … I don’t know … get competitive bids?”

  “Well, I suppose we would have, but Alexis liked your ideas about the master bedroom dressing room thing, so …” He shrugged again.

  “You let Alexis decide.”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  So much of this just wasn’t adding up. It seemed off. Should she ask the question that was on her mind? That might put him off, and it might be unprofessional. Still …

  “Can I ask you something?” she said.

  “Shoot.”

  “You were going to let Alexis have your house redone. You were going to let her—or, really, her and Margaret—decide the whole thing.”

  “That’s not a question.”

  She poked at her salad, then continued. “It’s just … your style is completely different than hers. And you don’t want the same things for the house that she does. And you two seemed to be on shaky ground.…”

  “That’s still not a question.”

  She looked up from her plate and focused on him. “Why were you going to let her do it? Why were you going to let her change your house in ways you didn’t want, when I’m guessing you knew the relationship was almost over anyway?”

  He hesitated only a moment, then said, “You’re right. I knew it was almost over. I was trying to make her happy, that’s all. But I couldn’t. It didn’t work.”

  Shit. He hadn’t meant to tell her that. He hadn’t meant to lay out all of his vulnerability—and, let’s face it, his idiocy—to someone he’d just met. But he hadn’t talked to anyone in an open, honest way in a long time. Certainly not to Alexis. He couldn’t seem to stop himself.

  Now that it was out there, he wanted to take it back. Because Martina was looking at him with pity. He wanted her to like him, not pity him.

  And, now that he thought about it, how pathetic was that? Here he was, trying to get his interior designer to like him because so few other people did. If she pitied him, he deserved it.

  “I don’t mean to pry,” Martina said, “but have you talked to Alexis? Maybe if you—”

  “I don’t want to talk to Alexis. And I don’t want to talk about Alexis.” He picked up another french fry and popped it into his mouth. “So, what do you do when you’re not working?”

  “You invented a dating app,” Martina said. “Have you tried—”

  “Have I tried my own app? That’s kind of problematic given my high profile.” And my high income, he thought. He didn’t want to be targeted by someone looking to use or manipulate him—though that’s what had happened anyway with Alexis. He changed the subject. “This tartar sauce is really good. How’s your salad?”

  By the time Chris had taken Martina back to Cooper House and she’d picked up her car, she knew a few important things about him.

  One, he was lonely as hell. Two, his love life was a mess. And three, he was living a lifestyle that didn’t fit him.

  Cooper House wasn’t the real Chris Mills. The Mustang with its duct tape and its primer spots—that was a lot closer.

  So what the hell had he been doing with a woman like Alexis?

  And, for that matter, what was he doing living in an opulent Victorian mansion, when what he really wanted was his action figures and the mess of his computer desk?

  How had he gotten to this place in his life, a place where he was playing the part of a rich man, a part he was ill-suited to portray?

  That night, it was Martina’s turn to cook. Since
she was putting a certain amount of work into it, making a butternut squash risotto recipe she’d found online, she’d invited Bianca, TJ, and TJ’s son, Owen, to join them. After Bianca had told Martina how overwhelmed she was with the pregnancy and the demands of her job, the least Martina could do was feed Bianca’s family for one night.

  By seven o’clock, the risotto was on the stove, and Martina had assigned Owen, who’d just turned thirteen, to stir it while she cut vegetables for a salad. Sofia and Benny had poured themselves glasses of white wine and were loitering in the kitchen, and TJ and Patrick were drinking beer in front of the television. Bianca, the best cook of the four sisters, stood by with a glass of sparkling water. Martina was certain Bianca was restraining herself, with some effort, from critiquing Martina’s culinary skills.

  Instead of criticizing her sister, Bianca focused on her stepson. “Owen? Sweetie, keep stirring.”

  “I am.” The boy peered into the pan. “It’s not runny anymore. All the liquid got soaked up.”

  “Great. Then—” Bianca began.

  “That’s perfect.” Martina cut off Bianca in an effort to avoid letting her sister take over the cooking. “Just add another ladle of broth to the pan and keep stirring.”

  Owen, whose new teen status had come with a growth spurt that had made his arms and legs look too long for his body, did as instructed. “This is kind of fun,” he said. “Bianca never lets me cook at home.”

  “You want to cook?” Bianca looked at him with surprise.

  “Well … maybe.”

  “Hmm,” Bianca said.

  Martina had known it wouldn’t be long before someone brought up Chris. She was right—it happened before she even got the meal on the table.

  “So, how’s the cute rich guy?” Benny asked, sipping her wine.

  Martina did think Chris was cute, and the fact that Benny did, too, gave her unexpected pleasure. She would have to analyze that later.

  “You mean Chris Mills?” she asked, feigning innocence.

  “You know more than one cute rich guy? Wait, you probably do,” Benny said. “I mean, there’s the whole Delaney clan. That’s a lot of eye candy in one family of rich people.”

  “Yes, she meant Chris Mills,” Sofia put in. “You were at his place today, right?”

  “I was.” Martina diced a tomato and put it into the salad bowl.

  “So?” Bianca prompted her. “Was it all fabric swatches and curtain measurements? Or did you get the story on him and his girlfriend?” Bianca leaned on the countertop on her elbows the best she could with her belly in the way.

  Martina sliced a cucumber and slid the pieces from her cutting board into the salad bowl. “We did discuss that a little. At lunch.” She kept her voice as casual as possible in the hope her sisters wouldn’t make more out of it than it was.

  Of course, they did make more out of it than it was.

  “At lunch? You went to lunch with him?” Benny’s eyes widened. “You had a date with a mogul and you’re just now mentioning it? Jeez, you know how to bury the lead.”

  “It wasn’t a date. It was just … lunch.” She kept her eyes on the salad, kept her hands busy. “We went to Duckie’s. It was nothing.”

  “Oh. Duckie’s. That’s pretty casual for a date,” Sofia agreed. “Did he suggest Duckie’s, or did you? Because if he wanted to go somewhere nicer and you nixed it …”

  “He suggested it,” Martina said. “And it wasn’t a date! He felt bad about me having to witness the whole Alexis fiasco, so he wanted to take me to lunch to make up for it.”

  “There were a few times I inconvenienced my drug rep,” Bianca remarked. “I’ve never taken him out to lunch to make up for it.”

  “Your drug rep is sixty and bald. And married,” Sofia pointed out.

  “He’s got a certain charm,” Bianca said.

  “I heard that,” TJ called to them from where he was seated on the sofa. “You’re carrying my baby. You’re not going out with your drug rep.”

  “Fair. But disappointing,” Bianca said.

  “Can we get back to Martina’s date?” Benny demanded.

  “It wasn’t a date.” Martina carried the bowl of salad to the table and set it down. “It was just … fish and chips. And a salad. Nothing more.”

  “Fine. So, what happened on this non-date?” Sofia asked.

  Martina stalled by going over to where Owen was still stirring the risotto. She checked the rice, looking for residual moisture, checking the texture and the seasoning. “This looks good. Thanks, Owen.” She took the pan off the heat and transferred the risotto into a big ceramic bowl.

  Part of her didn’t want to talk about it, and part of her did. There was a lot about her exchange with Chris that was confusing her—a lot she needed to sort out. And maybe her sisters could help her do that. On the other hand, she didn’t want them making assumptions or ribbing her.

  In the end, her need to sort things out won. As they all sat down at the table to eat, she launched into it.

  “Alexis is gone. And he seems lonely. Which is weird, because as far as I could see, they didn’t even like each other very much.” Martina passed the risotto to Patrick, who was sitting between her and Sofia. “When I asked him about her, he mostly changed the subject. But he did say the only reason he hired me in the first place was to get her to stay.”

  “How hot is she?” TJ wanted to know. “She must be pretty hot if he was willing to do all that.”

  “She is,” Martina admitted. “But that’s not the point.”

  “So, what does that mean for the job?” Bianca wanted to know. “If he was only doing it for her, and she’s gone …”

  “It’s still on,” Martina said. “But now it’s different. He wants me to forget the things I was going to do for Alexis. The big dressing room? The expanded master suite? It’s over. Now he wants me to redesign the kitchen to look less like it belongs in a five-star restaurant and more like it belongs in an authentic Victorian house. Which I can’t wait to do.”

  “And which, I’m assuming, Alexis would have hated,” Sofia put in.

  “Right,” Martina went on. “And it really seems like it’s for him this time. Like he’s the one who wants it. Before, he was so disengaged from the whole thing he didn’t even care who he was hiring.” She shook her head. “It’s like he’s unplugged from his own life. I mean, he picked my name out of a magazine without learning anything about me. Who does that? Especially for a house like that?”

  It was a small speech, and now that she was done, she waited for everyone’s responses.

  “It seems like you’ve given a lot of thought to his love life,” Patrick said. “Not that I’m judging. It’s just … that’s more personal analysis than you’d expect from your interior designer.”

  “He’s not wrong,” Bianca said.

  “I don’t know. It’s just … I want to help him.” Martina looked at her plate and not at her family.

  “Oh, no,” Benny groaned.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Martina was indignant.

  “It’s like the time you brought home that stray dog. The one with the fleas and the mange,” Benny said. “And then you spent a small fortune on vet care for him just to give him to the neighbor. This sounds like that. But with a rich guy. And with emotions instead of mange.”

  “It’s emotional mange,” Sofia said.

  “Exactly.” Bianca pointed one finger at Sofia.

  “Nobody has emotional mange,” Martina insisted. “And I’m not going to … to take him to the vet and then give him to the neighbor.”

  “Maybe you want to get him a nice grooming and a flea collar and keep him for yourself,” Benny suggested.

  “Can we talk about something else?” Martina said.

  “This risotto is great,” TJ said. “But the dinner conversation is a little weird.”

  10

  Chris tried not to think about Alexis—or about women in general—over the next few days. Clearly, he needed
something to fill the empty time now that he’d sold his company and didn’t have a job to go to. Of course, there would eventually be a new business enterprise, a new app, a new … something. But for now, he needed a project.

  He’d been neglecting the Mustang sitting in his garage until he’d taken it out with Martina. Being in the car had felt good. Being in it with Martina had felt even better, but that was something to think about another day.

  For now, he would think about the car.

  He’d told Martina he was restoring it himself, but the fact was, he hadn’t done anything with the car since he’d bought it. It had always been a project for another day.

  Why not now? What was stopping him? What else did he have to do?

  He didn’t know much about restoring cars, but at the moment, he had plenty of time to learn.

  As Martina had pointed out, he could hire someone to do it—someone who could bring the car back to its full glory. But what fun would that be?

  Standing in his garage on a bright, chilly morning, assessing the car, he decided to pick one small thing and start with that. Otherwise, the job would seem overwhelming.

  Because he was standing near the passenger side door, that was what he chose as his first task. The door had a dent that prevented it from opening and closing without the screeching, scraping sound of metal on metal. So, he would replace the door panel.

  That seemed doable.

  Thinking about the car made him think about the last time he’d driven it, which made him think about Martina.

  He wasn’t sure thinking about Martina was a wise thing to do—after all, he was fresh out of a troubled relationship and therefore unlikely to make good romantic decisions—but he found himself doing it anyway.

  She was different than the women he usually went out with. Very different. The women he usually went out with were like Alexis, and that hadn’t worked out as well as one might hope. Maybe a little change was good. Maybe a little change was just what he needed.

  No. You’ve been stupid with women. Maybe figure out how to stop being stupid before you jump into something again.