* * *
Tuesday and Wednesday it rained, and softball practice was moved to later in the week. Business at the shop was brisk early in the week, and Mark felt a surge of hope. Slowly, but surely, he was catching up with the Antique Market’s late rent. The problem was, it wasn’t fast enough.
Monday morning a woman in a business jacket and narrow skirt strode into the shop with a list in her hand. She scanned the room, then saw him at the counter and gave him a professional smile—brisk and tight. Curious, he let her come to him.
She walked over without a wobble on her high heels. Before she even reached the counter, her hand extended in greeting. “Melanie Roberts.”
He took her hand, mind racing to remember if he should know her.
“Callie mentioned me? Callie Hargrove?”
He hesitated, trying to recall if Callie had or not. “I’m sorry,” he said with a small chuckle because Melanie Roberts’s stare looked as expectant as her arrival. “She may have, but I’m not sure.”
The lady clucked her tongue. Her hair was up in a loose bun that may have been fashionable on some women, but it made her look like a cranky seventh-grade English teacher. “I’m not surprised. Callie hasn’t returned my emails since Sunday.”
“I’m sure she’s just busy,” Mark said in her defense. Callie wasn’t one of those people who spent all of her time on her phone, she was just distracted easily. Kind of like Hadley. “What can I do for you?”
“Well,” Melanie said, “I’m with Deep South Realty in Burlington, and Callie said you had some nice bed frames.”
“That I do,” Mark replied. He came around the counter and motioned with his arm across the room but let the lady lead. Once she had the bed frames in her sights, she made a beeline, marching over things in the way without even looking. She slipped the paper in her hand under her arm and started sorting through the frames without his help or encouragement.
“Any size in particular?” he asked.
Melanie nodded but didn’t reply. He waited. She seemed to know what she wanted. Right when he was going to return to the counter, she stepped back and took a lingering look at the long rails stacked on the floor that went with the headboards. “I’ll take the king there with the cherry finish, and all the twin beds you have.”
Mark blinked in surprise, then realized she was waiting for him to respond. “Okay, that’s great.”
Before he could say anything else, she said, “I won’t haggle you over price, but can I get some kind of bulk discount?”
Mentally counting the twin beds he had, he replied, “I have three sets of twin frames. I can do fifteen percent off.” The king bed he’d marked up, and he’d bought it for a steal.
She gave a sharp nod. “That’ll do. I have two empty houses to fill. You deliver, right?”
The Antique Market occasionally delivered, more like personal favors for neighbors and friends, but Mark realized his reply could make or break the deal.
“Sure, yes,” he said, grateful he’d never traded the truck in for something with better gas mileage. Times were changing. People were busy. His mind raced to recall Jake’s schedule for future reference should he ever be asked to deliver something heavier than bed frames.
“That’s perfect. I’m actually on the far side of Burlington, so it’ll be close to an hour drive. We’ll cover gas.”
Mark exhaled, careful not to let it come out as a sigh, and licked his lips, thinking. “Well then, I can deliver after hours during the week or in the morning on Saturday.”
Melanie looked pleased. “I work until seven. Can you drop them off by tomorrow then?”
“Sure.” He gave her his most charming smile and held out his hand.
Her brittle facade softened, and she shook his hand.
“I’ll check you out at the counter,” he added.
She gave a swift nod and waited while he pulled the tags off the bed frames she wanted. He rang it all up and even with the discount, it came to just under four hundred dollars. She didn’t blink an eye, and he cheered silently at his success in connecting with an agent at one of the biggest realty companies in the region.
After she took her leave, he added the sale to the books and started all over again, admitting it was time to use a computer program instead of his father’s old register with crisp, aging pages. If he started charging a delivery fee, it’d bring in a little bit more cash. Callie sending Realtors his way was an enormous help, and he didn’t have any more valuable collections to sell. Besides the spoons.
A familiar country song began to play on the speakers overhead, and the singer said something about his girl, his gift. Mark smiled. Callie Hargrove might not be his girl anymore, but she was certainly a gift and an answer to his unspoken prayers.
* * *
Tuesday morning, a sharp knock on Callie’s office door made her jump. Her boss, Mr. Martin, strode in with a terse face. She sat up straight. “Have you been out to the farmhouse lately?”
She shook her head. “Not since yesterday.”
“I just got a call. A window was left open, and it rained inside the house.”
The window! Her mind whirled.
Mr. Martin threw up his hands. “We just listed this thing Monday afternoon, Callie.” His voice rose, and she saw the frustration, and worse, the accusation in his eyes.
“Well,” she admitted, “I was there for the final walk-through before the listing and to work on a showpiece in the back.”
“Did you open the window?”
Callie hesitated.
“How many showings have we had?” He glared.
She bent over the keyboard and typed in a few phrases. “Just the one, this morning,” she said, trying to look somewhat cheerful. They’d scheduled a showing in the first week.
He exhaled. “You must have opened a window.” His eyes flickered with barely controlled anger. “No one has been in the house since you, and the agent who showed it this morning called Amanda and told her the floors were wet.”
Callie took a deep breath. “You’re right,” she said, talking fast before his head exploded. “It was stuffy in there, and I opened a window in the dining area.”
He put his hands on his hips and glared at her. Jumping up from her chair, Callie held out a hand like a stop sign. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll get right over there. The floors are probably dry already.”
He gave her a hard look. “It rained all night. I have a limb down in my front yard from the wind.”
Callie tried to look sympathetic and totally in control at the same time. “Don’t fret, I’m on my way. I was going to work on the hutch anyway.”
He gave her a sharp nod. “Well, you’re going to be working on the floors now, and I need it done by tomorrow.”
Callie forced herself to give him a meek smile and cleared her throat. “Yes, sir. I’ll head right over.” Her stomach slunk down into her shoes until she felt like she was going to throw up. “On my way,” she repeated, hurrying past him in the doorway.
It wasn’t until she got into the car that she remembered he said the people looking at the house had called Amanda. Resentful, she peeled out of the parking lot and around the square.
The Antique Market was on her way, and the memory of the long conversation she’d had with Mark on the phone last night washed over her, helping her panic ebb. He’d called to thank her for telling Melanie Roberts about the shop, and they’d ended up talking for almost an hour. She said she owed him lunch for the canoe trip, and he insisted her business referral more than paid for it.
“At least somebody thinks I’m getting it right,” she said out loud. The cars in front of her braked, and she stopped. Through the passenger window, she saw she was directly in front of the Antique Market’s front door. With an impulsive twitch, she waited for traffic to continue, then pulled into a tight parking spot and hopped
out. If anyone in town knew anything about water damage, Mark would.
She hurried into the shop. Mark stood on a two-step ladder, wiping off the tops of the picture frames hung along the wall in front of the pile of bedroom furniture.
Breathless, Callie called, “Hey!” and he looked over his shoulder. “Nice feather duster,” she added, unable to resist teasing him despite the urgency of the situation. “Is Hadley at school today?”
“So far.”
Stopping herself from sighing with relief, she gushed, “I need a favor,” as he stepped down from the ladder.
“Oh, yeah, what’s that?” His easy, unruffled demeanor felt instantly soothing.
“I messed up.” She swallowed down a shard of tension in her throat.
“What happened?” Mark tossed the bright blue feather duster aside and strode over to meet her. His indigo eyes widened with concern.
“I left a window open at the farmhouse.” Callie felt tears coming but held them back. She took a deep breath. “I opened a window yesterday while I was at the Pierce house. I was working on that hutch and got a phone call and had to leave, so I did, thinking I’d get back later. I mean,” she rushed on, “I left my tools and everything. I meant to go back, I just haven’t had time, and I didn’t realize I’d left the window open.”
Mark finally put it together. “And it rained last night.”
“Yes, and from the sound of it, it poured into the house.” Callie grimaced. “I was hoping... I—I thought...”
“I’ll come out and have a look,” he said. It was like he’d read her mind. She almost jumped into his arms but restrained herself. Instead, she clasped her hands and held them to her chest.
“Oh, please. If there’s any damage, I have no idea how I’m going to be able to get it fixed before the next showing.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, moving past her to the counter. “It’s almost my lunch anyway. I was going to lock up for an hour. Let me call Lois and see if she can come in after lunch, and I’ll ride with you out there and have a look.”
“That would be awesome. Thank you so much, Mark.” She felt her eyes water. “I’m hoping there’s no major water damage. I could really use a second opinion.”
“We’ll see,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. He locked up the register, and Callie went to the front door to wait. Relief lifted the weight off her shoulders. He went to the back and returned carrying an old toolbox and a crumpled grocery bag. “Let’s go.”
Callie pushed the door open with determination. On the way to the Pierce farm, Callie explained that the house had just been listed. “We had a showing this morning, and the agent from another company was kind enough to call it in.”
“That was good of her.”
“Him,” corrected Callie. “I can’t remember his name, but I think we’ve met. Mr. Martin has a luncheon every quarter where he invites real estate agents from all over to come and network, and of course, to pass out flyers of our listings.”
“Smart man. Is that where you met Melanie Roberts?”
“Yes.” Callie kept her eyes on the road as they headed to the house. “I met several people and a few asked me about staging. That’s when I mentioned your shop.”
“You have no idea how much I appreciate that.”
“You’re welcome. I’m surprised you don’t do that kind of thing already.”
“Oh, no,” he said, tapping his fingers along the side of the passenger door. “My parents just ran the shop. They didn’t worry about marketing and advertising back then. Their idea of an ad was paying a couple of dollars to be in the local newspaper.”
Callie glanced over and smiled. “Times have changed.”
“Right,” Mark agreed. “I realize it’s time I start a website.”
Callie nodded and sped down the highway like a madwoman until they came upon the Pierce property. She slowed down so she didn’t send Mark flying into the dashboard when she careened into the driveway. A giant white realty post stood in the center of the yard. Her sister’s name and face were on the small sign hanging beneath it.
“You must be proud of her,” Mark said as they climbed out of the car.
“Yes, I am.” As they climbed the porch stairs, she added, “But I’m not so sure it’s the other way around.”
He chuckled as they passed through the door into the house. “You’re awfully hard on yourself. She and Todd talk about you like you hung the stars.”
The metaphor made her smile.
“Come on,” he said, “show me this window.”
Callie’s steps slowed as she walked into the kitchen. Mark walked around the table first and looked at the floor. She could see, even from where she stood, that the floor was different colors. Her heart pinched. The drywall under the window was wet, too.
He crouched down to look at the floor more closely. “It’s just a few boards.”
Callie walked around the table and stopped behind him. She let her hand rest on his shoulder. “Oh, no,” she groaned. “They’re swollen. Look how they’re all raised up.” She put a hand to her heart. “Mr. Martin’s going to kill me.”
Mark reached for her hand, holding it in his to comfort her. “He’s not going to see it, is he?”
She hesitated. “He said I have to get this fixed by tomorrow.”
Mark’s expression fell. He let go of her fingers and scratched his neck. “That’s a tall order.” He looked down and studied the floor, then pushed the table and chairs back.
Callie huffed. “I can dry out the wall and windowsill with a hair dryer and touch them up if I need to, but there’s no way I could get the flooring out here before next week, even if I laid it myself. That’s it. I’m done. They’re going to fire me so fast I’ll drive out of here in flames.”
Mark gave a soft laugh. “You aren’t going to get fired, honey. I’ve got stacks of wood from old houses in the back of the store we can match up. I’ll cut them, and we can sand them down and stain them if you have some stain left over.”
Conflicted, Callie hesitated. “I can refinish floors, I know how to do that. I just need the pieces and the... Well, I don’t know what to do about what’s underneath, but I can stain them.”
“Sounds like a team effort.” Mark eyed her seriously, but it was a question, too.
“I can’t take you away from your business just to save myself.” She closed her eyes. Her dream of a boutique seemed to be even further out of reach. “I needed this temp job. I know I need to answer for my own absentminded mistakes, but I need this job to have some money for the boutique, or else it’s back to Nashville and working for someone else.”
He nodded in understanding. “It’s no problem. I had a delivery I can move to tomorrow night. Lois is minding the store until closing, and if I open a little late in the morning, no big deal.”
Callie laughed dryly. “Business is that slow on the square?”
“For some of us. The cleaners on the corner closed up, but for others, things have picked up with all of the growth.”
She sighed. “What about Hadley?”
Mark looked around the farmhouse. “If you don’t mind her running around in here while we work, I’ll have Lois pick her up and drop her off after the Market closes.”
Callie closed her eyes. “God bless Lois.”
“I know,” Mark agreed. “She’s all I have.”
“I have no choice but to take you up on this, and I’ll owe you big time—you’re a lifesaver.”
Mark frowned at her. “Seriously, hasn’t anyone ever done anything for you without expecting something in return?”
Her laugh was doused in sarcasm. “No. Well,” she relented, “maybe my sister, but...nope. She got me the job, and I’m her official babysitter now.”
Mark smiled. “Let me have your keys, and I’ll head back to the shop and get the replacement bo
ards. You stay here, move this stuff out of the way and start removing the ruined pieces, if you know how.”
She arched a brow at him. “I know how. I helped Dad lay wood floors in our house.”
He winked. “Then you’re a pro.”
She watched him leave, thankful for his help. When she heard the car start up outside, she wiped her eyes and pressed her fingers to her forehead. Operation Salvage Callie was underway.
* * *
It was by far the best all-nighter Mark could remember having in a long time. He and Callie worked as a team, cutting, staining and replacing the boards while taking turns running with Hadley, who played hide-and-seek upstairs until she fell asleep on the couch.
Callie stood back a few feet, admiring their work. Her hair was up in a high ponytail with strands that had worked their way loose throughout the night. Makeup had faded, giving her face a natural, outdoorsy look, except for the dark smudges under her eyes from lack of sleep. When she spoke, her voice sounded raspy.
“That looks amazing. It’s hardly noticeable.”
Mark pushed the plastic sheeting with brushes and stain cans away from the drying floorboards and leaned back on his hands. “When it dries, the stain will be lighter. No one will ever know.”
Callie leaned back and folded her arms. “How long do you think I should wait until I seal it?”
He glanced back to study her. She looked much calmer than she had yesterday when she’d rushed into the shop on the verge of panic. “I’d wait about two days,” he suggested. “Don’t you think?”
She nodded in agreement, then joined him, collapsing onto the floor beside him. Her black trousers were ruined, with a small hole above one knee and several sticky swipes of dark maple-colored wood stain. “I can’t thank you enough for this. I had absolutely no idea how I was going to get this repaired in twenty-four hours. He asked the impossible.”
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