Build Me Up Page 6

  “I practically live on it,” Kristen smiled and stepped inside. He could tell that she was giving his hallway a scrutiny and kicked himself for not cleaning up the mess Annabelle had left behind. At least there weren’t clothes lying around – Annabelle didn’t like leaving anything of hers in his house when she went back to California.

  She still had her old room, of course, but it was decorated for a little girl, not a teenager. He’d offered to redo it, but Annabelle had shrugged and said it didn’t make sense to put all that effort into a room she never really stayed in.

  “It’s a nice structure,” Kristen said as she followed him into the kitchen. He hastily cleared the table of his papers and leftovers and pulled out a chair for her.

  “How do you like your coffee?”

  “I’ve been craving a caramel macchiato since I got here, but anything will do.”

  “Yeah, sorry, I was more asking whether you want sugar and/or cream,” Ford rubbed his neck.

  “Neither, then. Better stay away from the good stuff. I haven’t seen a gym anywhere in town.”

  “We’re more of the outdoorsy types here. There are water sports, if that interests you.”

  “It would, but it’s getting to be chilly now. I noticed coming over here that the tourists seem to be heading out?”

  “Yeah. Summer always passes too quickly,” he sighed, his mind drifting towards Annabelle. It would be about four months until he’d see her again.

  “What do people do here the rest of the year? I mean, people who live here.”

  “Lot of fishermen, some merchants… my contracting work never stops,” he shrugged. “We make do.”

  “Hm.”

  “What?”

  “It’s just… you don’t like tourists.”

  “Sure I do.”

  “Uh… no.”

  “Tourists keep our economy afloat, so yeah, I like them fine. What I don’t like is tourists that come here and think they’re better than us.”

  “And you know this how?” she raised finely sculpted eyebrows, daring him to lay into her.

  “You can usually tell.”

  “How?”

  “Well, they have this… air about them. They‘re brash, entitled, bossy…”

  “And that’s what you saw in me that made you hate me from the start?”

  “I never said I hated you. But yeah, walking in the middle of the road and then flipping me off when I didn’t drive circles around you wasn’t very endearing.”

  “I wasn’t…” she started, then pinched her mouth closed. “Okay. I apologize for coming off that way.”

  “Tell me about Bankhead. How’d you meet him?” he asked, leaning against the counter while the coffee brewed.

  “My father is in the real estate business. He recommended me.”

  “Ah.”

  “Ah, what?” she said, her eyes narrow. “You think I’m just a spoiled little rich girl who got her first ever job handed to her on a silver platter. Well, guess again. I’ve designed dozens of homes before this, and I’m good at what I do. That’s why people hire me. A man like Quinlan Bankhead wouldn’t be foolish enough to hire some business contact’s daughter for a multimillion dollar project if she didn’t have the goods to back it up.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got the goods…” Ford mumbled and turned around to grab two coffee mugs off the shelf.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped. Oh, great, she’d heard him.

  “I just meant I’m sure you’re very talented,” he threw over his shoulder.

  “I think I should go.” The voice was too low to register with him at once, and when he turned around, Kristen was already heading out of the kitchen.

  Kristen’s initial anger at being distrusted shifted suddenly and the hurt was enough of a force to send her out of the kitchen. Was she ever going to escape this kind of prejudice? If people weren’t thinking she had jobs handed to her because of her daddy, they were thinking she was a chip off her mother’s shoulder – sleeping her way up the ladder.

  Ford didn’t know anything about her family, and he’d still thought it. She felt dirty. She should be better than this – some random surly man’s insinuation about her character shouldn’t have her hands trembling and her eyes burning.

  But Ford Hamm wasn’t random, was he? He was supposed to work with her on the biggest project in her career. The other people she’d worked for were her friends, or friends of friends, and they trusted her sense of style because of who she was. Quinlan Bankhead wanted results, and if she failed to please him, he’d have no qualms about cutting her down and possibly ruining her budding career.

  She was almost at the door when he caught up with her.

  “Hey,” his hand landed on her arm and she turned towards him, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I suck at hosting.”

  “Yeah, you do,” she said, pushing down her feelings. Feelings were useless in work situations.

  “Coffee’s almost ready. I can’t eat all those buns by myself. Will you please join me? We could discuss that cable show you’ve discovered.”

  “The Grammar Aussie?”

  “Is that what it’s called?”

  “It’s pretty funny.”

  “Come on, then. Tell me about it. I think I’m in serious need of some fun,” he said with a half-smile and gestured towards the kitchen.

  “You totally are,” she nodded, the unshed tears retreating in response. Banter she could do. “So this woman, dressed up like a knight or something, rides across the globe – like you know, on an actual globe, the once they have in classrooms – on a kangaroo and wields this boomerang to fight what she calls ‘defilers of the English language’… and that’s just the opening credits.”

  Ford nodded and laughed as she told him about the show, alternately pouring her more coffee and offering her another serving of cinnamon rolls, until the sky turned dark and he had to get up and turn on the kitchen light.

  Spell broken, Kristen looked at the time. “Oh, wow. I’d better get going.”

  “Afraid Mrs. Breezer will lock the doors if you’re not in bed by nine?”

  “No. But if I wake Humphrey Bogart, there will be hell to pay. Assuming he’s real. I’ve yet to confirm it.”

  “This is your imaginary boyfriend?” Ford suggested.

  “The cat.”

  “Of course. So no imaginary boyfriend battling for bed space?”

  “Nope.”

  “Someone waiting for you back in California, then?”

  “Trust me, the guys I know wouldn’t wait a month for me to come back, much less a year,” Kristen scoffed and rose from the table. “Thanks for coffee – and the sugar kick that is sure to keep me up all night.”

  “You should probably have some real food.”

  “I’m stuffed. Really, I’m better off just heading straight home.”

  “How ‘bout I walk you?”

  “Is there a lot of street crime in Greenport?”

  “Now that you mention it, I think I’ve seen a couple of guys in masks rummaging through my trash.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. All gray and furry, with little black masks around their eyes. Scary little fellows.”

  “You’re hilarious,” she rolled her eyes.

  “I know. Come on, let’s go.”

  He grabbed two jackets off the hallway hanger and handed her one.

  “I’m gonna drown in this,” she said, inspecting the much too big leather jacket.

  “You’d rather try my work jacket?” he offered. It was covered with some sort of dust and stains originating in who-knows-what.

  “I’m good,” she said and slid her arms into the sleeves. Buttery soft leather. Yum.

  “Here, it catches,” he said and before she knew it, his fingers were on the hem, fiddling with the zipper. After a few false starts, it clicked and he slid it all the way up to her neck. “Good?”

  She nodded. Yeah, a little too good, actually. />
  “Great. After you,” he said and held the door open, a gust of cool air coming in from the outside. Where did summer go?

  “You okay walking along the beach, or do you prefer to stay out of the wind?” he asked, zipping up his jacket and stuffing his hands in its pockets.

  “I think I can handle it,” she said, feeling a challenge lurking beneath the surface.

  “All right then,” he said and locked his door.

  They walked down the gravel path that led onto the beach walk. It wasn’t paved, but it wasn’t impossible to walk on, either. The wind coming in from the sea tugged at the hair that wasn’t tucked inside the jacket and she could almost taste the salt in the spray.

  “Have you always lived in Greenport?” she asked when it became clear Ford was the strong, silent type even when he wasn’t being surly.

  “Yup.”

  “Did you ever consider moving somewhere else?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “Where would you have moved then?”

  “Somewhere else.”

  “Wow… you’re just a fountain of information,” Kristen muttered.

  “Sorry?”

  “Never mind. So do you have family here?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Sorry?” What kind of an answer was that?

  “My parents and grandparents are buried here, up at the cemetery.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. When you get to be my age, it’s to be expected, I guess.”

  “Your age? What are you, mid-30s?”

  “I’m 38.”

  “Oh, yeah, you’re right – you are old. Have you considered getting a walker?”

  “I would look for one, but I don’t know how to work a computer. Such newfangled machines,” he played along.

  “Aww, well, I’ll help you,” she patted his arm.

  “Thank you, young lady,” he answered, covering her hand with his own. Kristen pulled away before she could take note of how big and warm it felt against her skin. Well, maybe a split second too late.

  “Oh, I’m not that young,” Kristen shook her head and turned her face towards the shore. The cool winds felt good on her heated face.

  “My mother always told me never to ask a woman’s age or clothes size. So I won’t.”

  Kristen smiled and turned her head towards him again. “Very early 30s. And somewhere between a four and a six.”

  “Wow. Not at the numbers,” he added hastily, his hands up to ward off any clawing that she might attempt, “but at actually hearing a woman saying those things.”

  “You must meet a lot of boring women,” Kristen clicked her tongue in mock reproach.

  “I spend my days on construction sites. I don’t see a lot of women, period.”

  “Hm. Well, what about Hallie at the Sea Shack? She seems like she would be interested in letting you measure her?”

  He laughed. “Wow. Where’d you pick that up?”

  “Oh, come on. It’s pretty obvious.”

  “Hallie’s my friend’s little sister, not to mention about 15 years younger than I am. Not happening.”

  “Okay. But…”

  “Enough with the third degree,” he cut her off. “My turn. Tell me about your family.”

  “Well, there’s Dad, the business man, and Mom, his former trophy wife. No siblings.”

  “They’re divorced?”

  “Yeah. Mom’s on husband number three now. Dad’s on wife number four.”

  “How old were you when they got divorced?”

  “I was in college. So, in my early 20s, I guess. They were separated first, so I can’t remember the exact day.”

  “Were you upset?”

  Kristen pondered that. She hadn’t really grown up with her parents being lovey-dovey with each other, so she didn’t really see the difference once they separated. If they had an ugly divorce, she only saw the glossy parts – the parties, the trips, the clothes. She got everything she wanted and more.

  “I guess I didn’t care too much either way.”

  “Are you close with them now?”

  “Closer than before, I think. But no, we’re not a close-knit family, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “What made you accept the job with Bankhead?”

  “Prestige. The challenge of it. Adventure.”

  “Adventure? Spending a year in Greenport?”

  “You said it yourself – a California girl stranded in a small East Coast town for a year. Now what part of that isn’t a challenge and an adventure?”

  “How are you finding this adventure so far?”

  “Well, every day I wake up I don’t know if that’s the day that Frank Sinatra or Charlie Chaplin – or Humphrey Bogart, for that matter – is going to get me.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m pretty sure those cats are plotting to kill me in my sleep. They’re just waiting for the right time – until they’ve lulled me into a false sense of security. I’ll accidently leave the door open one night, and they’ll sneak in and pounce on me.”

  “That’s… disturbing.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “How’s it working out with Mrs. Breezer otherwise?”

  “Well, I don’t see much of her. I think she has a bunch of rooms where she spends her days, and only come out when I’m gone. Maybe Humphrey Bogart’s in there with her.”

  “Are you looking to move out?”

  “I’ve been asking around, but people seem to be fed up with tourists and want their private time. No-one’s renting out rooms or cottages.”

  “Yeah, I guess a lot of people that leave Greenport during the summer and rent out their places have returned now. I can ask around, too, if you like.”

  “Yeah, that’d be great, actually. Thank you.”

  They walked in silence the rest of the short way to the Breeze Inn.

  “Thanks for walking me,” Kristen said and reached for the zipper on the leather jacket.

  “Keep it. I mean, until you get a proper coat or something. It’s only going to get colder from here on out.”

  “I’ll go shopping tomorrow morning,” she said and unzipped the jacket, sliding it off and handing it over. “It’s way too big. But thanks.”

  “Okay, then. Have a good night, Kristen.”

  “You too, Ford.”

  She watched him walk away, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets and the leather jacket tucked under one arm. All in all, this had been a good day.

  Ford had a lot of thinking time as he walked all the way back to his house. Finding out that Kristen’s parents were divorced, and how that had affected her relationship with them – well, he couldn’t help but grill her about it, could he? Not when he had the chance to get an insight into his future relationship with Annabelle.

  He tried to keep his thoughts strictly on his daughter, but his mind kept nudging him elsewhere. More specifically, to Kristen Barnes. From the second she’d showed up at his door, it had felt like he was on a rollercoaster ride. He couldn’t figure her out.

  She was feisty and stubborn, but there was a vulnerability to her, as well. He could see the hurt in her eyes when he suggested she didn’t get the job for Bankhead on merits alone. If her relationship with her father was strained, he could imagine she’d be touchy about his influence on her career advancement.

  As for her troubles of finding a new place to stay, he could imagine why. The people around town that had spare rooms to let out were all couples who either didn’t have children yet or whose children had grown up and gone off to find a place of their own. No woman in her right mind would let someone who looked like Kristen within ten feet of her husband.

  There was, of course, the nagging voice that reminded him that he had a spare room – Annabelle’s. But there was no way he could offer it to Kristen. Just spending a few hours with her when they weren’t arguing was a trial by fire. There was no denying she was a very attractive woman, and like he’d told her – he didn’t
meet many like her.

  But none of that was supposed to matter. They would inevitably have to work together, and the only thing he should be thinking of was how to make their business relationship run as smoothly as possible.

  SIX

  Kristen looked up from under her bright yellow hardhat. It was threatening to swallow her whole, but Ford had insisted she wear it on the construction site. Well, his exact words had been ‘wear it at all times or you’re out of here’.

  Over the past couple of months, they’d made a lot of progress. The old lighthouse keeper’s cottage remained untouched for now, but Kristen still held hopes the historical society and building committee would come around. They’d better, or Quinlan Bankhead would have her head on a platter. A silver one.

  The building site was teeming with activity. She’d learned that Ford worked with a number of sub-contractors and that he also had short-term employees to handle the work load. He made an excellent team leader, and she’d caught herself admiring his intensity and, yes, his strong, stubbled jaw, on more than one occasion.

  She wasn’t strictly needed on the site, but Mr. Bankhead wanted her to oversee the entire project, and that’s what she was determined to do.

  It was late October now, and the weather was bleak and chilly. She was happy for the office trailer that Ford kept heated and stocked with coffee, and spent more time than necessary in there, supposedly studying her designs and working on the interior plans.

  Right now, though, she was overseeing the replacement of the old staircase in the lighthouse. She couldn’t help making comments and offering helpful suggestions to the workers, but they didn’t seem to pay her much attention.

  “Stop bugging my men,” a rich voice grumbled in her ear and Kristen flinched.

  “I’m not bugging anyone,” she huffed and straightened. “This is my job, Ford.”

  “No offense, but you don’t know a thing about this kind of work.”

  “Gee, how could I not be offended by that?” she said drily.

  “It’s just plain facts, Kristen. You’re distracting the guys by hovering here. Don’t you have designs to work on, deals to hammer out, that sort of thing?”