by Clare Revell
She tilted her head and studied him. “What’s that frown for?”
“Are you planning on sealing all the windows?” He couldn’t sound more disapproving if he tried.
Her stomach lurched. “For now; and it’s not as if I’ll have the windows open in the winter anyway. I can’t afford replacement windows for a while yet.”
“And what if there’s a fire? How will you get out or how will the fire brigade get in?”
“I hadn’t thought that far, but it was cold last night with the wind howling through the windows. And I can’t afford double glazing at the moment. Nor can I afford to heat the house for said heat just to escape through rotten window frames. However, it is just plastic.”
Why was she even attempting to justify this to him? It was her house. Her grandfather had done it every winter for years, and he’d lived to be over a hundred.
“OK. The plastic is this way.”
He really was the most infuriating man. One minute he wouldn’t give her the time of day and the next he was almost pushy in his concern.
Well, she didn’t need it. Not now, not ever.
They paid and headed back out to the car.
Elliott loaded the boot. “Are we taking this to the house or shop? Just so I know which side of the road to park.”
“The house.”
“OK.” He held the door open for her.
“Thank you.” She leaned back in the seat, watching the scenery as he drove.
“Will you come to church with me on Sunday?” he asked.
“I can’t. I have far too much to do right now. With trying to get the business up and running, Sunday is the only day I have to work on the house.”
He glanced at her. “Please, just think about it. The service only lasts an hour and a half. That gives you twenty-two and a half hours to work on the house.”
“OK,” she said. “I’ll give it some thought.” Hoping that would be a good enough answer, Grace watched the rain hit the windows. “I don’t suppose you know how to get mold off of walls, do you? Well, ceilings, actually. The bathroom has a large patch in the corner. I meant to ask earlier and forgot.”
He nodded. “I have some stuff in the shed in the garden. I’ll bring some over when we get back.”
“Thank you.”
~*~
Elliott helped Grace take her shopping inside, and then ran home. He picked up the tub of mold remover from the shed and headed back.
Grace answered the door, once more covered head to toe in dust.
Elliott resisted the urge to laugh, even if she did look cuter than normal. There was a vulnerability about her that set his heart aflame at the same time warning signals curled around the pit of his stomach. “This is getting to be a habit.”
Grace shrugged. “What can I say? Dust seems to be attracted to me. I’m a veritable dust magnet.”
“Here you go. Just mix this in water and paint over the ceiling. The directions are on the label.”
She took the tin, grasping it tightly. “Thank you.”
He glanced past her at the wallpaper and caught his breath. Was that really what it looked like? Or was he worrying too much and making a mountain out of a molehill? “Is that water damage? May I take a look?”
“If you want.” She stepped aside to let him in. “I figured it was just condensation.”
Elliott ran his hand down the wall. It wasn’t a mere trickle or condensation. The alarm bell in his head turned into a klaxon. “No, it’s more than that.”
“Must be it’s a loose tile or something, then.”
“I’ll go up on the roof and have a look. If that’s all right with you?” He studied her, fully expecting her to say no. He tilted his head, almost daring her to, so he could insist.
“It’s raining out there.”
“All the more reason to check out the roof tiles. Put the kettle on, and I’ll be back in a few.”
He shot her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and headed back to his place for his ladder and tools. Let me be wrong here, Lord. Let it be something as simple as a loose tile. But things just aren’t adding up. Or rather, they are, and they’re making far more than just two. If I’m right, it could spell disaster.
He spent the next hour on her roof fixing several loose tiles. He took his tools back home and changed out of his wet clothes. Then he popped back next door.
Grace opened the door holding out a cup of steaming coffee. “My turn to make this,” she said.
“Thank you.” The cup was hot in his cold hands. “That’s sorted the roof for now, but you will need it replaced at some point.”
Grace groaned. “More expense. Let’s just hope people want to buy my flowers. I rang both of the girls on the books. It turns out that neither of them have new jobs, and they’re starting tomorrow. We’re aiming to reopen January second—assuming I can get flowers delivered for then.”
“That’s great.”
“Yes, a weight off my mind. Come through and sit down for a few.”
He followed her into the lounge, frowning as his footing went beneath him. Slowly he backtracked. The floor wasn’t level.
Grace looked at him. “It’s a loose floorboard. Something else I need to fix.”
He glanced up. “Perhaps.” The alarm bell in his head rang louder.
3
Grace gazed at Mandy Battle and Shana Wilkins, the two girls Aunt Tilja had on the books, and she’d re-employed. She shouldn’t feel pride in her work, but she did. It bubbled up and spilled over. “I did it.” She stood back from the arrangement.
Mandy laughed. “Yeah, boss. On the seventh attempt.”
Grace laughed with her. “Way to go to take the joy out of something. Could have been way worse.”
The three of them had hit it off instantly and a week on were functioning as a team. Word of mouth had brought the customers back to the shop. The Internet side was also working well, and Grace was hopeful of at least breaking even in her first month. OK, she’d only been here a week, and it was January, but people always needed flowers.
She’d even gotten a standing order for flowers every day from David Painter. He said he needed twenty daffodils first thing every morning. Fortunately she'd been able to find them, which pleased him and made him her first regular customer. Either he or his sister, Hanna, came in to pick them up, usually before ten o’clock.
Grace just wished she could get Elliott out of her mind. He came over every morning with coffee, a smile, and an invitation to church. But when she’d pass him later in the day, or see him going in or out of the house, she’d wave or say hi, and only get a blank stare.
Maybe he really did have a split personality and only wanted to be friendly sometimes. Either way, she just wished he’d make up his mind and either speak to her constantly or ignore her. It’d be far easier on both of them if he did.
Grace tied the ribbon around the base of the bouquet and glanced up at the others. “You know what would make this perfect?”
Shana nudged Mandy. “We do it?”
“No. Give it to the customer in a glass vase. The cellophane could go over the whole lot, and we package it in a box kept upright.”
“That’s a brilliant idea,” Mandy said. “Want me to look into it?”
“Sure.” Grace stood and laid the bouquet on the shelf. She adjusted the display. “I was thinking we could do other things along with the flowers. Teddies or something. Maybe chocolates or balloons as well. Something similar to what the bigger chains do.” The shelf moved slightly. “Don’t you even think about falling,” she warned it, waving a finger at the wall.
The shop door opened, the bell jangling at the same moment the shelf fell, sending the contents sliding to the floor. Grace grabbed the one end, dust and plaster covering her. “I told you not to do that,” she sighed.
“Oops,” said an all too familiar voice. Tanned hands grabbed the other end of the shelf. “What happened?”
Grace looked sideways at him. “As much as I
love your visits, Elliott, your timing leaves a lot to be desired.”
“You mean you don’t wear dust and break things as a matter of course?” Elliott looked at her innocently, his eyes twinkling.
“Only around you. Do you wait for disaster to strike before you come over?”
“Every time.” He laughed, as he set the shelf on the floor and looked at the wall. His fingers traced the holes. “Easy to fix. You had the wrong fittings. You need plaster plugs not wall plugs. Give me two minutes. Drink this.”
Grace took the coffee. “Thank you.”
Mandy winked at him. “Maybe you should just bring your tools rather than bringing Grace coffee each morning, Mr. Wallac.”
“Don’t give him ideas.” Grace sipped the coffee.
Elliott laughed. “I’ll be right back.”
“I should pay you for the number of times you’ve said that. Never mind the amount of free labor I’ve been getting.” She watched him leave. Everything about him from the way he moved, to the way his clothes fitted, set her nerves aflame—and she had no idea why. She just wished they didn’t. Especially as half the time he acted like she either didn’t exist or he had no idea who she was.
However, she didn’t have time for a relationship, nor did she want one. The less she had to do with men, so called Christian men in particular, the better.
“He likes you,” Mandy told her from the desk.
“What gives you that idea?” Grace put the cup down.
“Numerous cups of coffee for one thing. And he’s always here, if he isn’t working.”
“He’s just being neighborly. So, going back to the business for a moment, can you look up teddies, vases, balloons, and chocolates, while you’re on the Internet?”
“Yes, boss.” The phone rang. “Carnation Street Florist. Sure, let me check the diary.” She covered the phone. “Grace, can we do a wedding on January twenty-eighth? Customer got let down, and they need someone fast?”
Grace shook her head at Mandy. “I don’t know. That’s three weeks.” Panic filled her. She had no idea how to do a formal bouquet. How could she commit to an entire wedding? “I…”
“We’ve done loads. We’ll help, show you what to do,” Shana said encouragingly. “Besides, there’s nothing like a wedding to advertise the business. We do it right and we’ll get heaps more orders.”
“OK. Book it in. I guess its buttonholes, corsages, table decorations, and so on, but make sure you get exact lists of what they want.”
Mandy grinned, shooting off a mock salute and turning back to the phone.
Once again, the bell rang. Elliott had returned, and he set down his tools. “Were you serious about paying me, Grace?”
She nodded, keeping the flippant response of why wouldn’t I be to herself. “Of course I was. Any other bloke would have billed me in triplicate by now.”
“Great. Then pay me in flowers. It’s my sister’s birthday today, and she loves carnations.”
Grace smiled. “One bunch of carnations coming up. I’ll make the arrangement in the back, keep out of your way.”
“Before you go…” Elliott’s voice made her turn back. “I was hoping you’d come to church this weekend.”
“I can’t, sorry.”
“Why not?”
“I’ll be busy working on the house. Why do you keep asking?”
His fingers paused over the box of plaster plugs. “Because I’m an elder.”
She tilted her head. “I can’t see any grey hair or wrinkles, so you can’t be that old.”
He winked. “Not that kind of an elder. So, why won’t you join us?”
“I haven’t been to church in years. Not since I left home and had a choice in the matter. Faith, my sister, has enough faith for the both of us, and it hasn’t gotten her anywhere.”
“It doesn’t work like that, and I think, deep down you know that.”
“Maybe…” Increasingly uncomfortable, Grace grabbed the bucket of carnations. Tears pricked her eyes. Why did her conscience have to kick in at the most inopportune moments? “Besides, I make it a rule, never to go to church with a man I hardly know. I’ll go do your flowers.”
In the workroom, Grace chose forty flowers in a mix of pink, white, and red and laid them onto the cellophane wrapping. She tried and failed to arrange them several times, before finally succeeding. She fastened the stems with an elastic band and rubbed her sleeve over her eyes. She really did need to stop crying at the drop of a hat. It was irksome and embarrassing.
Elliott came in, wiping his dusty hands on his jeans. “All done.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s a temporary fix; you’ll need new ones eventually.” He paused, his intent gaze not fooled by her attempt to hide her tears. “Are you all right?”
Grace sucked in a deep breath. “I’m fine. I’ve done your flowers.”
He crossed the room. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”
“You’re just saying that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Grace, I never say anything I don’t mean.”
She sighed. “I’m an accountant not a florist. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m not Aunt Tilja, yet here I am, living in her house, running her business…” She stopped herself. “Sorry, you don’t want to hear this. So, these new shelving units, you say I need. How much would they cost?”
“That depends what you want.”
“I have no idea, to be honest.”
He nodded. “OK. Well, the girls were chatting about your plans for this place as I repaired the old ones, so I was thinking. May I?” He pointed to the notebook on the side.
“Go for it.” Grace slid it across to him.
He drew rapidly, the detailed images coming to life under his long, tanned fingers. “How about this?”
She looked at the drawing and then up at him, amazed. “That’s brilliant. But it would cost way more than I can afford.”
He winked. “Nah.” He scrawled a price on the side of the paper. “Plus, a couple more bunches of carnations and that will cover it.” He held her gaze for a moment.
Grace looked at the piece of paper, trying to get her head around the low figure. Then she looked up. What was it Aunt Tilja said—never look a gift horse in the mouth? She smiled. “You’re hired. How long would it take?”
“They’ll be done by the end of the week. Bill will be due end of the month. I’m assuming you’d like me to do them?”
His boyish prompt made her laugh. “Yes, please, I would. Thank you.”
~*~
It was dark, and late, and Elliott had worked a full day on the building site, but he wanted to get this bit of the shelving unit finished. He’d promised Grace a few days, and that’s what he’d do. He ran his fingers over the surface of the wood. It was still a little rough, so he reached for the sandpaper.
The shelf reminded him that Grace was not quite the finished product that she was designed to be.
“What is it about her?”
“Huh?” He glanced up.
Joel stood in the doorway, leaning against the wood frame. “You’ve been distracted ever since you met the woman next door. Why is she so different?”
“There’s something about her, something lost. I…” He paused, wiping his sleeve across his brow. “She’s lost her faith. I’m not sure why, as she’s good at changing the subject. But I’m sure she used to love God as much as you and I do now.”
“So are you planning on killing her with kindness until she gives in and goes back to church?”
“Something like that.”
Joel pushed away from the wall and crossed over to him. “Caroline wants me to have Bradley this weekend. Is that OK?”
Elliott raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“She’s going away with Bryan and doesn’t want Bradley around. She’ll bring him down after school on Friday.”
“You should file for full custody.”
“I don’t have a house.”
“So buy one.”
Elliott laughed. “You could always help me with this.”
Joel laughed with him. “Only if you want it lopsided.” Then, he sobered. “Be careful with your heart, El. Don’t give it to the wrong woman.”
“Not every woman is like your ex-wife, Joel. And, of course, we can have Bradley this weekend. We’ll take him to the match. I’ll book another ticket as soon as I’ve done this.”
Joel smiled. “He’ll like that, thank you. I’ll text Caroline back and let her know.”
He nodded and turned back to the shelves. “Some coffee would be good if you’re making some.”
“Sure. Coming right up.”
Elliott sanded the shelf harder than necessary.
What was it about Grace that drew him?
~*~
By Saturday morning, Grace was exhausted. She’d plastered all the fissures she could find in the bedroom and begun to strip the paper in the hallway. Only to find more cracks—some large enough to fit two fingers in. She’d filled them as well. In the remaining few minutes she had between closing and going over the accounts each evening, she barely had time to eat. She’d thought sitting behind a desk all day was tiring. Right now, her old desk looked very appealing.
She ran across the road to open the shop, in what seemed to be constant rain. Had it actually stopped since she moved in? Now that she paused to think, she didn’t think it had. She unlocked the door, shook the water from her coat, hung it out the back, and then checked the order book.
The bell signaled Shana and Mandy had arrived. “Morning.”
“Morning, boss,” they chorused. “How’s it going?”
“I just got here. We have that arrangement for the church and two deliveries to the hospital—one to maternity and one to the cardiac unit. Mandy, when you get a minute, can you contact the supplier and order the flowers for the wedding on the twenty-eighth, please?”
“Sure. I’ll do it soon as I’ve hung up my stuff.” She tilted her head. “Can we order uniforms, too?”
“Uniforms?”
