by Jane Graves
“Waste of money,” Charlie said. “What’s wrong with beige?”
“Beige?” Bea said, making a face. “What do you think this is? A 1970s tract home?”
“Don’t knock 1970s tract homes. At least they don’t look like Shanghai whorehouses.”
Alison was horrified. Her father had known Bea an entire five minutes, and already he was talking whorehouses? She glanced at Heather. What am I going to do with him?
But Bea seemed unfazed. “Which begs the question, of course—what were you doing in a Shanghai whorehouse to know what color the walls were?”
“You don’t know what men do in whorehouses?”
Bea rolled her eyes and poured the paint into a pan. She picked up a roller. Then Charlie did the same, only to stop and watch as Bea swiped her roller down the wall.
“You’re not doing it right,” Charlie said.
“Yes, I am. I know how to paint.”
“You’re not getting the right coverage.”
Bea slumped with frustration, then turned around. “I suppose you can do better?”
“In my sleep.”
“Then why don’t you show me?”
“Your problem is that you’re not getting enough paint on the roller. Here. Watch and learn.” Charlie collected paint on his roller and rolled it on the wall.
Bea frowned. “That’s fine, as long as you go back over the places where you’ve gooped the paint up on the wall.”
“There’s no gooping,” Charlie said as he rolled over one of the goopy places.
Bea turned to Alison. “Is he always this aggravating?”
“Yeah,” Alison said. “I’m sorry.”
“No apologizing for your old man,” Charlie said. “I can apologize for myself.”
All three women turned and waited.
“As soon as there’s something to apologize for.”
Bea just shook her head and kept painting.
Alison and Heather finished up the kitchen windows and moved to the dining room, then the living room, following Tony and Brandon as they moved furniture and rolled rugs so they could come back later and polish the floors. Alison was pleased to see that the two men always seemed to be chatting about something sports related or laughing or otherwise having a good time. When lunchtime rolled around, Alison ordered pizza for the whole crew, cringing when her father ate four pieces of pepperoni.
In the early afternoon, Alison and Heather cleaned the second-story windows, and Alison was happy her father had brought a telescopic pole so she didn’t have to use a ladder. By early afternoon they’d finished all the windows, and the sun pouring through the just‑washed glass made the rooms positively glow. Once Brandon and Tony were through with the floors, they made some minor repairs on kitchen cabinets and light fixtures and cussed their way through unsticking a sticky bedroom door. Alison and Heather cleaned up the patio area and put the planters that Simpson’s Nursery had donated on either side of the old wooden glider, and the whole area looked positively charming.
Later that afternoon, Heather and Alison were inside the house again rolling the rug back out in the living room when Alison heard something out front. Glancing out the window, she saw a man get out of a truck parked at the curb. A very large man. A very large, very intimidating man.
“Oh, my,” she said, feeling her own eyes grow wide.
Heather came up beside her and looked out the window, too. “Oh, my God. Who’s he?”
“Judging by the name on his truck, he’s Brandon’s landscaping guy. He’s here to give an estimate on trimming the magnolia tree in the backyard.”
“Yeah? Well, judging by his face, he just escaped from prison.”
“Brandon!” Alison called out.
A few second later, he ducked his head around the doorway. “Yeah?”
“I think your landscaping guy is here.”
“Oh. Good.”
Brandon went to the door and greeted him, then led him through the house to the backyard.
“That is one scary-looking man,” Heather said as soon as they were out of earshot.
“Will you stop?” Alison said. “I’m sure he’s very nice.”
“Maybe. But if I had a choice between walking down two dark alleys and that guy was at the end of one of them, I’d definitely pick the other.”
Marco Perrone gave Brandon a decent price to trim the old magnolia, then offered to cut that in half when he found out Brandon was getting his house ready for a charity event. Brandon thought about his grandmother’s note in Marco’s file: He’s a very sweet man. Remind him to smile a lot.
It looked as if his grandmother was right. Marco seemed like a really good guy. Unfortunately, he still didn’t seem to have a handle on the smiling thing.
Marco checked his watch. “I have a few hours before my next job. If you’d like, I can do the work right now.”
“Sounds like a deal to me,” Brandon said.
Marco went to his truck for a ladder and a chain saw, and a few minutes later, he was sawing off low-hanging branches to raise the canopy of the tree. Then he actually climbed up into the tree to thin out the foliage. Branches dropped one by one, and soon the yard was littered with them.
During a moment when the chain saw was silent, Brandon heard a screen door slap shut. He looked over the fence to the house next door to see Delilah step onto her patio. She wore a pair of gardening gloves, and she had a pair of shears in one hand and a basket in the other. She knelt down by one of the rosebushes that lined the back of her house, feeling gingerly along the stem of one of the roses before clipping it.
Brandon glanced back up into the tree, and strangely, he saw Marco just sitting there on a branch. Not a single muscle so much as twitched.
He was staring at Delilah.
For the span of a solid minute, Marco never moved. He held the chain saw in one hand and a nearby branch in the other and continued to look down at her. Totally unaware, Delilah held one of the flowers up to her nose and drew a deep breath.
And Marco couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Hmm, Brandon thought. Isn’t this interesting?
Eventually Marco turned back to his work, and a few minutes later, he came down out of the tree and started gathering up the branches to toss out at the street for the city to pick up.
“You stopped working up there for a minute,” Brandon said.
Marco grabbed another branch. “Just taking a breather.”
“Nah. I think you were watching Delilah.”
Marco froze for a couple of seconds, then reached for another branch. “Delilah?”
“That woman next door you couldn’t keep your eyes off of.”
Brandon wouldn’t have thought it possible, but that rugged face actually blushed.
“Delilah is a client of mine,” Brandon said. “I’m been looking for the right man for her. Would you be interested in going over there to meet her?”
Marco whipped around. “No! I mean, I’m…you know. Working right now.”
“You’re the boss. You can give yourself a break, can’t you?”
“No. I’m not interested in dating anyone.”
“Yeah? You sure seemed interested in Delilah.”
Marco didn’t respond. He just started toward the gate with an armload of branches. Brandon grabbed a few himself and walked alongside him.
“So you’re not attracted to her?”
“Nope.”
“Hmm. I could have sworn—”
“I told you I’m not interested.”
“She’s smart. Personable. Owns her own house. Has a good job. I can show you her questionnaire if you’re interested.”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Look at her,” he said, still walking. “And then look at me. This isn’t a face women flock to.”
“I don’t think she’s going to get all that hung up on looks.”
“Think again.”
“But—”
“I know you’ve ta
ken over your grandmother’s business. But don’t think you have to do anything for me. Your grandmother already tried. Once women saw my photo, she couldn’t even get anyone to agree to a first date.”
“Are you sure that’s why?”
He heaved the branches into a pile at the curb. “Your grandmother was nice enough to say it wasn’t. But I knew the truth, because it was nothing new. It’s always been that way for me. Eventually I just told her to forget it. So that’s what I want you to do. Forget it.”
He started back toward the gate to gather more limbs, and Brandon followed. “Come on, Marco. Don’t you want to meet someone?”
Marco spun around, then leaned in and spoke intensely. “Look, I know this is hard for a guy like you to understand. I’m sure women line up all over town just hoping you’ll speak to them. So there’s no way you could possibly understand how it feels to have every woman you meet look at you as if you’re going to steal—”
“She’s blind.”
Marco stopped short. “What did you say?”
“Delilah. She was in an accident, and now she’s totally blind.”
Marco’s brows drew together as if he couldn’t quite reconcile that. “But just now…just now she was out on her patio. Clipping roses.”
“She’s not helpless.”
“I-I didn’t mean that. I just didn’t think…” His voice faded away.
“When she lost her eyesight,” Brandon went on, “she lost her fiancé, too. Once he found out she was blind, he was out of there. So she’s kinda gun-shy now, Marco. Same as you.”
Marco glanced back toward the house next door, swallowing hard.
“So I guess you just ran out of excuses,” Brandon said.
The jaw muscles of that craggy face tightened, and Brandon could tell he was thinking about it. But just as it looked as if he was going to agree at least to meet Delilah, he suddenly turned away.
“I’ll get the rest of these limbs cleaned up,” Marco said, starting for his truck again. “Then I need to get on to my next job.”
Before Brandon could say anything else, Marco turned and headed for the backyard again, leaving him standing there in frustration. He didn’t know how his grandmother had done this for thirty years. How had she dealt with people whose hearts had been broken too many times to try again?
Then he had an idea.
He figured most couples liked going the traditional route. Boy calls girl. But this time…this time he had the feeling that it was time to turn tradition on its ear.
As soon as Marco was gone, Brandon grabbed his phone and dialed Delilah’s number.
Chapter 19
As the workday wound down and Tony and Heather were leaving, they suggested everybody meet up at the bar that night for dinner, which was enthusiastically embraced by all. Alison saw them out the front door, then headed for the kitchen to see how her father and Bea were doing. As she approached it, she heard her father’s voice.
“See? Now that’s a damn fine paint job. I hope you’ve learned something today.”
“Yep,” Bea said. “I learned how easy it is to get a pompous know-it-all of a man to do my work for me.”
“And I learned how much women need men no matter how much they say they don’t.”
Aaargh! He was at it again.
When Alison came into the room, Bea rolled her eyes. “Your father is hopeless. And you’re such a nice girl. Who would have thought it?” She turned back to Charlie. “I suppose you’ll be at McCaffrey’s tonight just to annoy me?”
“It’s the only reason I’m coming.”
“Jesus,” Bea muttered as she left the room. “The crap I have to put up with.”
As soon as she was gone, Alison wheeled on her father. “Dad! You can’t talk to Bea like that!”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s rude! You told her she was painting wrong.”
“That’s because she was.”
“But you can’t tell her that!”
“I already did,” Charlie said. “See you at the bar later, sweetie.”
Alison dropped her head to her hands, hoping Bea wouldn’t hold her father’s behavior against her forever. He was like a time bomb. He sat there just ticking away softly until the moment he blew up right in your face.
As her father was leaving, Brandon came into the kitchen.
“One of these paint cans is still half full,” Alison told him. “You can keep it for touch‑ups.”
“Thanks.”
She turned and looked at the newly painted walls. “The color is pretty, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It looks nice.”
“I’m getting ready to go, but before I leave…can I ask another favor?”
“Do I want to hear this?”
“Don’t worry. It’s not a big one. I saw an old wardrobe in one of the bedrooms upstairs. It was so gorgeous that I just had to open it up to see inside.” She held up her palm. “No, I wasn’t trying to be nosy. I just love old furniture.”
“Your point?”
“I found some of the most beautiful vintage clothes inside. And I was wondering…”
“What?”
“Come upstairs. I’ll show you.”
He followed her up the stairs and into the bedroom. She opened the wardrobe with a flourish. “Look at these dresses. They’re from the early nineteen hundreds, which means they were probably your great-grandmother’s.” She pulled out a blue empire dress and held it up. “This is my favorite. Isn’t it pretty?”
Brandon shrugged. “It just looks like an old dress to me.”
“No. It’s way more than that. It’s your family history.”
“Uh…okay.”
“Anyway, would you mind if I wore it on the day of the home tour?”
“You want to wear that? It smells like mothballs.”
“It would have to be cleaned, but I can do that.”
Brandon shrugged. “Sure. I don’t care.”
“If you don’t mind me taking the dress…” Alison opened a lower drawer and pulled out a matching hat. She rested it carefully on her head and struck a pose. “How about a hat, too?”
“What’s a dress without a hat? And the feathers are definitely you.”
Alison pulled it off again. “This is going to be so much fun. I can’t wait.”
Then she looked again at the clothes in the wardrobe. “Brandon?”
“Yeah?”
“There are men’s clothes in here, too. I don’t suppose…”
“What?”
“Maybe on the day of the tour, you’d like to—”
“No! No. Absolutely not. Are you kidding me? I’m not wearing those clothes. I’d look like a total idiot.”
“No! You’d look so handsome. Come on. We’d look like the lord and lady of the manor.”
“I said no.”
She dropped her chin, then slowly peered up at him.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No way. You’re not conning me again with that look.”
“What look?”
“That one,” he said, pointing.
She tilted her head. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Heavy sigh. “Oh, well. It was worth a try.”
“I draw the line at donating my house. I have no intention of donating my dignity, too.”
“For now.”
“Forever.”
“Sure, Brandon. Whatever you say.”
He looked at his phone. “It’s getting late. I need a shower before we go to dinner.”
“Okay. I’m out of here.”
She carried the clothes back down the stairs. They went to the front door, where she grabbed her purse and tossed it over her shoulder.
“I’ll see you at McCaffrey’s,” she said. “Thanks for the clothes.”
“No problem.”
“And thanks so much for agreeing to wear the suit on the day of the tour.”
“And that would be another no.”
“
Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she said with a smile. “See you tonight.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Brandon had just stepped out of the shower when his phone rang. He swiped a towel over his dripping hair and grabbed it. He looked at the caller ID, then answered it.
“Hey, Marco. What’s up?”
“Didn’t I tell you I didn’t want you to match me up with anyone?”
“Uh…yeah. I believe you did.”
“But you had her call me, anyway.”
“Yeah. I did.”
“I was in the middle of planting a dozen holly bushes.”
“Surely you had time for a short conversation.”
“She asked me out, Brandon,” Marco said, sounding a little panicked. “She asked me out.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Yes!”
“Why?”
“Because I told you I didn’t want a match!”
“So you don’t like her?”
“Don’t like her? What’s not to like? Of course I like her!”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I haven’t been out with a woman in five years!”
“Well, then I’d say you’re due, wouldn’t you?”
Long silence.
“So…” Brandon said. “Are you going out?”
“Yes, we’re going out,” Marco snapped. “We have a date Saturday night.”
“You agreed to go? That’s great!”
“What else was I supposed to say? Huh? She caught me by surprise.”
Brandon smiled. That was exactly what he’d hoped would happen. “Don’t worry, Marco. You’re going to have a good time.”
“I wouldn’t bank on that if I were you. If I make a fool of myself—”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Listen to me, Brandon. I didn’t want this. I told you I didn’t want it. So if this date goes wrong, I’m going to be blaming you.”
And then the line went dead.
Brandon sat there for a moment, the phone still pressed to his ear, his elation fading away. He’d thought it was just a matter of pulling any strings he had to in order to get them together, and then nature would take its course. But had it been a mistake after all? Marco might be so uptight that even if the date was going well, he’d never know it.
