Home Sweet Home. Kim Watters
worthwhile in life ever was, but the Lord would see him through and steer him in the right direction once his obligations were fulfilled.
“It’s not your fault.” Abby pulled away from Cole, not understanding why she suddenly wanted to rest her head on his shoulder. “Who knows what we’ll discover while we’re fixing this place up. Someday you’ll have to tell me about them but not now. Too much to do.”
And that “too much to do” didn’t involve sitting next to Cole, being lulled into a sense of companionship and trying to figure out why she should keep her distance.
“I agree.” Cole stood and held out his hand to help Abby to her feet.
Another shift of energy passed between them, leaving her out of breath and out of sorts. Fortunately, the tremors in her heart didn’t show in her voice. “Come on. Let me show you the rest.”
Hours later Abby and Cole sat back down at her kitchen table, a legal-sized pad of paper between them. “You’re in luck, Abby. From what I can see, this place is structurally sound, and aside from some water damage to the front and side porches, the work is all cosmetic. There may be problems we can’t see though.”
The timer dinged from the coffeemaker as Cole drew bold slashes across the first yellow page. Abby refilled their cups and returned to the table before he flipped it over and started drawing on the next sheet. By the fifth page, Abby’s curiosity increased. With his head bent slightly to his left, she could see the tip of his tongue protruding from his lips as he worked. Strong, firm fingers wrapped around the pencil, and from Abby’s earlier experience, she knew they were rough from hard work, yet gentle when he’d held her hand in the living room.
The almost schoolboyish image he portrayed when he shoved the pencil behind his ear, and the excitement dancing in his eyes when he gazed up at her, made breathing more difficult. She definitely should have never let him into the house.
“Okay, Abby, here’s what I think needs to be done.” Cole shifted the pad across to her and then stood to reposition his chair around the table next to her. His nearness threatened her sanity again. Instinctively, she shied away even though she never moved her seat. “We need to get rid of all the wallpaper, the paneling and carpet and see how bad it is underneath. All the wood needs to be stripped of the paint and re-stained its original color. The walls can either be repainted or wallpapered. There should be original pictures that we can refer to somewhere in the town archives if there aren’t any here. That would also give us a sense of the furniture, too.”
More excitement laced his voice as he flipped over the first page. “The main floor should be our initial focus because that’s what people see first. The living room needs to be warm and inviting so your guests can unwind and relax after a long day. The French double doors can close and separate the parlor from the reception area, which could double as a temporary office for those who need to work, and you could offer Wi-Fi services for those who can’t live without internet for a few days. The dining room might be a little small depending on the number of guests, but in the summer months, they could sit out on the front veranda and enjoy the views and the weather.”
All Abby saw in his scribbled notes was sand sifting quickly through an hourglass. Her stomach clenched. What the man outlined would take way more time and money than she’d budgeted for and she hadn’t even started to furnish or decorate the place yet. She should have known this wasn’t going to be easy. Nothing in life ever was. Yet, selling wasn’t an option because she was determined to stick it out and put down roots so she could find an inner peace that had eluded her for her entire life.
“When does your crew arrive? Are you sure we can do all this in two months? How much money?” Abby had better get a time frame and a figure before she trudged to apply for a bank loan. Her fingernails dug into her palms, tamping down his enthusiasm before it could wear off on her.
“I don’t have a crew anymore.” Cole squeezed the bridge of his nose and his shoulders slumped.
Ragged breathing forced air into her lungs. Obviously Abby wasn’t the only one with past issues. A piece of hopelessness fell away and she fought the longing to comfort Cole as he had done for her.
Cole’s strained sigh filled the gap between them. “I’ll get it done. As for money, we’ll figure out what we’ll need in materials when you tell me what you want. Fortunately, your grandparents already added more bathrooms upstairs and converted the servant’s hallway into a powder room, but they need to be redone along with everything else in this house. You’ll also have to decide whether you want to convert the space in the attic into living quarters or take the room your grandparents used, and how big of a kitchen you think you’ll need. I’d suggest taking the butler pantry and enlarging the entire room, but that’s your choice.”
Everything Cole said spun around in Abby’s mind like a top. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the table and she squeezed her eyelids shut, blocking out his drawings and scribbled notes.
“Abby?” His voice filled her ears, his warm breath tickling her lobe. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her heart wedged in her throat when she opened her eyes and turned to stare into his. The hammering in her brain intensified and swallowing became a chore.
The trill of the phone shattered the invisible thread binding them together. After scraping her chair’s legs against the linoleum floor, she lunged for the phone hanging on the wall next to the outdated refrigerator. At least this one was a little more current than the one in the office. “Hello? I mean, Bancroft Bed-and-Breakfast, Abby speaking. How may I help you?”
Abby listened to the voice on the other end. She stared at Cole, who still sat scribbling more notes on the paper, a slight frown hugging his lips. White knuckles protruded from his long, lean fingers as he squeezed the pencil. His actions contradicted his earlier words. “You’d like to book a room?”
Cole’s eyebrows rose, his brown eyes piercing her.
“Of course we do.” Turning away from the contractor, Abby found a piece of paper and wrote down all the necessary information to transfer to the ledger later. “Thanks, Mrs. Andrews. We’ll see you at the beginning of May.”
Lifting her chin, Abby twirled around and leveled her gaze on Cole again. Determination filled her. She was her mother’s daughter after all and until the end, nothing could stop Sharon Bancroft when she set her mind to something. “Great. Another reservation. I sense some conflict in you, Mr. Preston. I’m here for the long haul. I have to make this work. We have two months to pull this place together. If you don’t feel you’re up to the task, then leave. I won’t hold it against you.”
A dog barked from the neighbor’s yard, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“The name’s Cole. And I’m more than capable of the task.”
She hated pushing Cole, but she needed to know where he really stood. Her voice softened. “Fine. Then we’d better get started, hadn’t we? We can begin on the main floor and do the bedrooms as we need them. Right now I have two reservations, so that leaves four rooms we can work on later unless I book more guests.”
A knock at Abby’s front door caught their attention.
With the frown still hugging his lips, Cole set down the pen on the paper and stood. “Sounds doable. Are you expecting anyone?”
“No.” Abby pushed away from the counter, glad for the distraction as she headed for the sound. “It must be Mrs. Wendt again. She’s probably brought me something else to eat. She thinks I’m too skinny.”
Cole intercepted her, his gaze traveled slowly from the tips of her sneakers to the bandanna on her head. When his fingers tenderly brushed away a piece of dust from her hair, her breath caught in her throat and refused to move into her lungs. His appreciative glance finally settled on her face. “I think you look fine.”
“Thank you. I think.”
“You’re welcome.” He turned and strode from the room. “I’ll get it.”