One Perfect Spring

by Irene Hannon

  “Better than I expected. I invited Claire and Haley to dinner, and the three of us convinced him to join us.”

  “How in the world did you manage that?”

  “It wasn’t a hard sell.” She gave him a quick recap of the evening’s events.

  “The lasagna was an inspired idea. Offer any bachelor a home-cooked meal and he’s likely to cave.”

  “To be honest, I think he was hungry for more than lasagna. He and Claire might not have gotten off to the best start, but as of last night, I’d say your plan to convince your assistant there’s more to life than numbers is off and running. There was some serious electricity pinging off the walls in my kitchen.”

  “Interesting. So with all that went on, did you and he have much opportunity to talk about your project?”

  “No, but he did read through my files, and he took them home for further review. To be honest, though, I don’t think there’s much chance he’ll uncover anything the PI overlooked.”

  “Maybe not, but it can’t hurt to put some fresh eyes on it. And as far as I’m concerned, there’ve already been positive outcomes from this whole thing.”

  “I was thinking the same thing last night as I watched Keith and Claire. Wouldn’t it be something if they actually hit it off?”

  “Yes. But my comment had a more selfish motivation. If we hadn’t started this whole thing, I’d never have met you.”

  Her heart stumbled.

  Oh my.

  Talk like that could turn a girl’s head, no matter her age.

  But Hal had been a smooth talker too. And while her instincts told her David was more sincere, those same instincts had let her down big time two decades ago.

  “Thank you for saying that.” The temptation to return the sentiment was strong, but she resisted.

  “Moving on to another topic—I stopped by my daughter’s this afternoon, and we had a long talk while we pulled weeds in one of her many gardens.”

  “Wow. Between that visit and the hawk situation, you had quite a day. Was she still upset about finding the two of us together at lunch?”

  “At first. But by the time I left, I think we’d mended a few fences. She not only invited me to Bobby’s birthday party a week from Sunday, she said you’d be welcome to attend as well. I’m hoping you’ll accept.”

  He was asking her to a family event.

  As the implications registered, warmth flooded her heart. He wanted their relationship to be open and aboveboard. He wasn’t afraid to let her meet his family, nor vice versa. He was willing to share a very private, personal part of his life with her.

  What a difference from Hal.

  Her gaze fell on the small, framed verse from Jeremiah that she’d placed on her desk twenty-two years ago, when she’d been in desperate need of comfort and courage. Through all the ups and downs during the intervening years, those words of reassurance had sustained her.

  “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’”

  Funny. She’d written off romance long ago. She’d found her fulfillment instead in nurturing young minds, had assumed that was her destiny. But could it be that love was part of God’s plan for her after all, even at this late date?

  “I haven’t told her anything about your background, in case you’re wondering. But if you’d like to think about it, I understand.”

  David’s voice drew her back to the present. “No. I’d love to join you, as long as my presence won’t make things awkward.”

  “I can’t guarantee there won’t be a few uncomfortable moments, but those will have more to do with me and Debbie than with you. And you’ll love Bobby and Grace. They’re great kids—speaking with the objectivity of a doting grandfather, of course.”

  “Of course.” Her lips curved up. “Just tell me when and where.”

  They finalized the arrangements and ended the call, but her smile lingered as a feeling of lightness . . . of hope . . . enveloped her.

  And maybe that was okay. Maybe, after all the years she’d spent trying to fill up the lonely place in her heart with fulfilling work, God had saved the best for last.

  9

  “Do you mind if I borrow Dad’s drill?”

  Keith’s mother refilled their coffee cups. “Of course not. It’s on his workbench, where it’s always been. Problem at the condo?”

  He shifted in his seat. He’d been dreading this moment, trying to think of some excuse for needing the drill that didn’t involve a certain blonde schoolteacher who was making it hard for him to concentrate at work for the first time in his career.

  But short of lying—which he didn’t do—there was no way around it except try to play down the charms of said schoolteacher. Otherwise, his mom would start asking questions. A lot of questions.

  And he didn’t have any answers at this point—for her or himself.

  All he knew was his assessment of Claire Summers had gone from hostile to hot so fast it had left him reeling.

  “Keith?” His mother gave him a quizzical look.

  “Maureen Chandler’s neighbor has a sagging gutter, and she doesn’t have the right tools to fix it.” He took a sip of his coffee, keeping his tone nonchalant. “I offered to stop by on my way home tonight and take care of it.”

  She rejoined him at the table. “Is this neighbor the mother of the little girl who wrote that letter to your boss?”

  “Yes.”

  “Didn’t you say she was unfriendly on the phone the day you called her?”

  “She was. But we, uh, got to know each other a little better the other night at Maureen’s when she and her daughter, uh, came over while I was there.”

  “Her husband couldn’t take care of the gutter problem?” His mother watched him over the rim of her cup.

  “There’s no husband in the picture.”

  “Divorced?”

  He lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe she’s never been married.”

  Silence.

  He could guess what she was thinking, but he waited her out.

  At last she carefully set down her cup. “I know I mentioned grandchildren to you the other day, but I wasn’t thinking of the ready-made variety.”

  “Don’t jump to any conclusions. Besides, Haley’s a very nice little girl.”

  “I’m sure she is. But a single mother . . . she could have a lot of issues.”

  “Who doesn’t? From what I’ve observed, she’s strong and independent and very capable. She even sealed her own driveway. And she seems to be an excellent mother. Haley comes across as well adjusted and happy. I have a feeling she’s also very good with the second graders she teaches.” Hard as he tried to suppress it, a thread of defensiveness crept into his voice.

  “My. You certainly managed to learn a lot about her and her daughter from a quick, casual conversation.”

  His mother would have made an excellent police detective.

  “Maureen invited me to stay for dinner. I couldn’t pass up homemade lasagna. Claire and Haley were there too.”

  “Sharing a meal with someone is a good way to get to know them, no question about it.” She picked up her coffee and took another sip. “And it was nice of you to offer to help with the gutter—but I thought you bought a condo so you wouldn’t have to deal with home repair issues.”

  “I did—and I don’t plan to make this a habit. But she cut her arm trying to do it herself. I figured I could spare a half hour on my way home tonight to help her out.”

  “Where does she live?”

  He was hosed. Claire’s house wasn’t remotely on his way home.

  “Ballwin.”

  His mother arched an eyebrow, and he braced for her comment.

  Much to his surprise, however, she finished off her coffee and stood. “I expect you’ll need to leave soon, then. Why don’t I cut you some carrot cake to take along? Your new friend and her daughter might enjoy some home baking.”
r />   “They’re not exactly friends. We just met.”

  “It doesn’t take long to know if you click with a person. I pegged your father as special ten minutes after we were introduced. The zing was there from the very beginning.”

  He coughed on his swig of coffee.

  How had she known he’d felt a zing with Claire?

  “Don’t get any ideas about this, Mom.” He wiped his lips on his napkin and stood. “She might be nicer than I thought at first. And pretty. But it takes more to build a relationship than zing.”

  “So there is zing.” She gave him a pleased look as she set a generous wedge of cake on a plate and covered it with plastic wrap.

  Busted again.

  He was out of here.

  “I’m going to take the fifth—but warn you again not to jump to conclusions.”

  “I only reach conclusions when evidence supports them.” She handed over the cake. “Your Claire sounds very nice.”

  “She’s not my Claire.”

  “She still sounds nice. I’m glad you finally met a woman who made you sit up and take notice. Since you’re not the impulsive type, I doubt I have to warn you to take your time and be careful.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Glad to hear it. Now you go on and fix that nice lady’s gutter. I put enough cake on the plate for you too, in case you decide to stay for a chat afterward.”

  “I’m not staying. I have work to do at home.”

  “Then they’ll have an extra piece to share tomorrow. But it’s there if you change your mind.”

  “Good night, Mom.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead.

  “Good night. And have fun.”

  After a quick detour to his father’s work bench, he strode down the front walk, cake plate in one hand, drill in the other.

  Tonight’s dinner had not gone the way he’d hoped. His mom had ferreted out far too much information—and despite her denial, she was jumping to conclusions about him and Claire.

  Sheesh.

  Three weeks ago, he hadn’t known the woman existed. The two of them had never even been on a date.

  Not that he was planning to ask her on one.

  Not yet, anyway.

  Down the road, however . . .

  He stowed the cake on the passenger seat, put the drill in the trunk next to his toolbox, and backed down the driveway. It would be interesting to see if this zing, as his mom called it, led to anything more than a surge of hormones.

  Interesting . . . and unsettling.

  Because his mother was right about something else too.

  He and Claire both had issues. And if hers were half as entrenched as his, things could get very complicated.

  “How come you’re wearing lipstick on a weekend, Mom?”

  Claire recapped the tube and dropped it in her makeup bag on the bathroom vanity. “I’m in a lipstick mood.”

  “Is it because Mr. Watson is coming over?”

  Her daughter was growing up way too fast.

  As she tried to think of a truthful but evasive response, the door chimes pealed.

  Saved by the bell!

  “Can I answer that?” Haley was already halfway down the hall.

  “Sure.” Taking a long, slow breath, she tried to put the brakes on her racing heart. This was ridiculous. She was thirty-two, not sixteen. The man had stopped by to do a home repair, period. This wasn’t a date. He’d be in and out in less than fifteen minutes. She was letting herself get all worked up over nothing.

  Except the man she found waiting in her foyer sixty seconds later was far from nothing.

  Gone was the high-end corporate business casual look. Today, he wore sport shoes, worn jeans that sat just right on his lean hips, and a black T-shirt that hugged his broad chest and revealed impressive biceps.

  Add in tall, dark, and handsome . . .

  Whew.

  Thankfully, he was angled away from her as he chatted with Haley. That gave her a moment to regain her composure—and quash the urge to fan herself.

  Haley spotted her first. “Hey, Mom, look! Mr. Watson brought us some homemade cake from his mom’s house.” She lifted a plastic-wrapped, dinner-sized plate.

  He turned then, smiling as he gave her a quick but thorough sweep. She resisted the impulse to tug at the hem of her soft cotton top and rub her damp palms down the denim of her jeans. He looked a thousand percent better than she did, even in dressed-down mode. The man probably spent more on the shoes in his closet than she’d spent on her entire wardrobe.

  Nevertheless, those brown irises warmed as he completed his perusal. “She insisted. I hope you like carrot cake.”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I have a piece now, Mom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Awesome. Thank you, Mr. Watson.”

  “You can call me Keith . . . if it’s okay with your mom.”

  “Yes.”

  Good grief. She sounded like a parrot.

  Say something else. Anything. Just keep it innocuous.

  “You, uh, look nice tonight.”

  The blush started at the base of her neck and crept up to the roots of her hair.

  So much for innocuous.

  Keith gave her a lazy smile. “So do you.”

  She bit her lip. Did he think she’d been angling for a compliment? Since her social skills were as rusty as the wobbly wrought-iron table on the deck left by the former owner, that was a very real possibility. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d bantered with a good-looking single guy.

  When the silence lengthened, she swallowed and gestured to his hand. “I see you brought the drill.”

  “Yes. I have a few other tools in the car too. I wasn’t sure how well-equipped you were—um, with tools, I mean. Not that you aren’t . . .” He gave her another fast scan as his voice trailed off, his complexion turning slightly ruddy.

  Maybe she wasn’t the only one with rusty social skills.

  “How come you guys both have red faces?” Haley looked from one to the other as she rejoined them, fork in hand.

  Claire recovered first; Keith’s awkwardness helped level the playing field a bit. “It’s a little warm in the house. Did you cut yourself some cake?”

  “Yes. Do you want any?”

  “Maybe later. Keith came to fix the gutter, so I need to help him do that first, before it gets dark.” Claire led him toward the kitchen, speaking over her shoulder. “I left the ladder out there.”

  At the sliding door, she gripped the edge to pull it open. Immediately another hand with a sprinkling of dark hair on the back grabbed it above hers, from behind.

  He was so close she could smell the spicy scent of his aftershave. Sense the heat radiating off his chest. Feel the whisper of his breath on her temple.

  The temptation to lean back was almost overpowering.

  “Ready?”

  She blinked at his question. For what?

  Oh.

  The door.

  “Yes.”

  They tugged together, and it slid open—with a noisy protest.

  “I might have to move this up on my to-do list.” She snagged the hammer and gutter spike from the edge of the counter, willing her lungs to kick back in.

  His touch on her arm sabotaged that effort. “How’s the cut?”

  “Better.” Keep breathing, Claire. “You did a first-rate patch job.”

  “Nice to know my scouting skills can still come in handy.” He gestured for her to precede him through the door. “Is there somewhere out back I can plug in the drill? I have an extension cord in the car if I need it.”

  “There’s an outlet over there.” She gestured to the wall of the house at the end of the deck, near the gutter. “Let me do it—I know which boards are safe to stand on.”

  After inserting the prongs, she rejoined him as he started up the ladder, gripping the legs to hold it steady.

  “Where’d you get this ladder?” He popped a bit into the drill.

  “The
previous owner left it in the garage. I figured it was either a housewarming gift or trash no one bothered to haul away. I can’t imagine which, can you?”

  She hoped her teasing tone would elicit a smile. Instead, he frowned down at her. “Do you use it a lot?”

  “When I need to. I had to clean the gutters last fall after the leaves fell. Mostly I use it inside.”

  “You might want to get a new one.”

  “It’s on my wish list.”

  “What else is on there?” The furrows were still embedded in his brow.

  Time to lighten the mood.

  “Well, let’s see. My most recent house-related wish was that a genie would magically appear to repair my gutter.” She cocked her head and gave him a once-over. “You’re not wearing the right clothes, and you didn’t pop out of a bottle, but you’ll do.”

  His lips quirked, and the frown eased. “In that case, I guess I’d better get to work.”

  He drilled through the center of the sagging gutter, bent the metal back into shape, and positioned the sleeve inside. Then he pushed the nail through the gutter and the sleeve and hammered it in.

  The whole job took less than five minutes.

  “I guess you do know your way around home repairs.” She stepped back as he descended.

  “A lot of this stuff is simple, if you have the right tools. Let me put the ladder away for you.” He started to fold it up.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  He froze. “Are you going to get mad if I do?”

  She shoved her hands in her pockets and exhaled. “You mean like I did with the driveway sealer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I owe you an apology for that.”

  The taut line of his shoulders relaxed. “I was afraid you were going to whack me with the squeegee.”

  “That thought did occur to me. I don’t have a lot of tolerance for domineering, autocratic men.”

  He winced. “Ouch.”

  “However, I think I was wrong in your case. I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

  “Apology accepted. And nice job on the driveway.”

  “Thanks. If I never do it again, though, it will be too soon.”

  “A professional sealing job isn’t that expensive.” He studied her, gaze probing. “Is money really that tight, Claire?”