Build Me Up Read online

“They don’t seem that distracted to me,” Kristen shrugged. How could she be distracting anyone when they were ignoring her?

  Ford looked at something over her shoulder, but before she could turn to look, his hands were on her coat – the finest fall/winter coat she could find at the Spend n’ Save – and his fingers were buttoning her up.

  “What are you doing?” she frowned and pulled away.

  “Eliminating part of the distraction. If you insist on standing around here, at least don’t tempt the guys to fall to their deaths trying to look down your top. My insurance doesn’t cover those kinds of accidents.”

  She should be furious with him for being a chauvinistic jerk, but his lips were twitching and they coaxed her to mirror his expression.

  “Fine. I’m due for a coffee, anyway,” she said, lifting her chin and walking away, bumping his shoulder in the process. It was a strong shoulder, but he let her push past him as if he was a cardboard cut-out.

  Ford watched Kristen walk over to the trailer, allowing his grin to widen. He enjoyed yanking her chain, enjoyed watching the sparks fly, starting in her eyes and trickling down to her fingertips. She was positively electric.

  Every night as they wrapped up the work for the day, he would grab his things from the trailer and catch her scent lingering there. He couldn’t describe it, nor would he want to – he wasn’t one for waxing poetically – but it didn’t make him want to air out his little office, that’s for sure.

  Kristen may be oblivious to the attention she was getting just by being on the site, but he sure noticed it. He’d had to have a stern talk with a couple of the guys and remind them they were hired to do a job, not ogle the pretty designer lady.

  Maybe he should give himself the same speech.

  Kristen sat down at the small table in the mobile office while her coffee was heating in the microwave. As there was not much to feast her eyes on in the cramped space except for blueprints and schematics and alike, she picked up yesterday’s paper, which was sprawled on top of a pile of flyers and brochures advertising everything from skin care to boil removal. She figured some of the guys could probably use both.

  Flipping through the Greenport Gazette, yet another flyer slid onto the table, freed from the crevices of the paper. It was brightly colored and piqued her interest, so she set the Gazette down and picked up the advertisement instead.

  Autumn Fest in Greenport! It read in bold letters. Splashed across the image of a brightly colored tree and a pile of pumpkins were the words ‘hayride’, ‘cider’ and ‘pie eating contest’. There were smaller pictures to illustrate each event, as well. Someone clearly had gotten their hands on Photoshop or Publisher and just gone wild.

  She had to admit it looked fun, though. It looked… rural. Like something you only saw on television, the romanticized view of small-town USA. She’d never come close to anything like it.

  Sure, she’d been to Oktoberfest in Munich, Fête des Vendanges in Montmartre, Spring Break in… never mind. But every event she’d gone to had been packed with people from all over the world – not a couple of hundred townspeople crammed into one place just to spend time together. Kristen put the flyer back down. Now look who was romanticizing…

  She could hear boots on gravel just outside and a light rattle told her someone was about to step through the door. She folded up the paper and checked on her coffee.

  “We’re winding down for the day,” Ford’s voice sounded close by – not a lot of space in the trailer.

  “Already? It’s like five o’clock,” Kristen frowned, turning around.

  “Most office people leave around this time,” he said and took off his hardhat, putting it on the table next to hers.

  “Only the lazy ones,” she mumbled and focused on her coffee.

  “It’s called having a life outside of work,” he said and was suddenly beside her, reaching into a cupboard over her head. “You should try it some time.”

  “Funny.”

  “I’m serious. You work twelve hours a day and what do you get? Not gratitude, that’s for sure.”

  “You get a steady paycheck and a lot of benefits. Like insurance, and a pension plan.”

  “Great. But when your body decides it can’t take the stress anymore and develops a terminal illness, what good is your pension plan, then? Are your last words going to be ‘damn, I wish I’d worked harder at my job’?”

  “Why are you all bleak and contemplative all of a sudden?” Kristen frowned.

  He shrugged, the motion disturbing the very air around her. Not to mention it made the coffee in her mug tremble like the water in Jurassic Park. “Sometimes I think you people over there miss out on a lot of the good things in life, that’s all. Not a lot of time to stop and smell the roses in all the smog, right?”

  “Us people?” Kristen raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “We’re a different species now, are we?”

  “Oh, come on. California people are different than East Coast people, you have to agree with that.”

  “Yeah. We’re way more tanned.”

  “Look who’s being funny now,” he grinned and bumped her hip. Kristen almost lost her marbles. Or, at least her balance. And maybe her mind was blown just a little bit. Like with a fire cracker.

  “I was actually looking at this flyer before you came in,” Kristen said and reached for the colorful paper. “I was thinking I should go. You know, to experience small-town life.”

  “To study us Greenportians in our natural habitat?” Ford said and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “Exactly. I figured I could write up a report and send back to the mothership.”

  “Excellent idea. Not that I think you’ll get much of a chance to report anything.” He walked around to sit down at the table while his coffee mug took a spin in the microwave.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because Marnie’s cider has more punch in it than… well, punch.”

  “Marnie?”

  “Marnie Fellman. She and her husband own the hardware store.”

  “Ah.” Kristen sipped her merely warm coffee, deciding she needed the caffeine more than the heat.

  “You’ll meet a lot of locals if you come to Autumn Fest. I think old lady Breezer enters her cats in the beauty pageant.”

  Kristen splattered coffee all over the table before she could cover her mouth with her hand. “What?” she managed to croak out after the initial shock.

  Ford calmly rose from his seat and walked over to the sink to grab a washcloth. “The Pets and Poultry Pageant, it’s called. No pigs or cows allowed, which if you ask me is kind of elitist. Don’t you think?”

  “Sorry, still processing… so you’re saying people dress up their pets and have a panel of judges decide who’s prettiest?”

  “No, of course not. That’s typical Californian behavior right there. The judges decide which animal has the healthiest fur or feathers, which animal has the best voice, and which animal is most affectionate toward its owner. What they do is line them up and the owners call their pets – or poultry – and the animal that makes contact with their owner first wins.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Not in the least. You should come – see for yourself.”

  “Are you going?”

  “It’s a town event. There’s no escaping it.”

  “Are you going to enter any pets in the pageant?” she teased.

  “Sadly, no pigs allowed. Perry is very disappointed. Don’t tell him about the pageant.”

  Kristen couldn’t determine if he was pulling her leg or not. “Perry the Pig? You… talk to him much?”

  “Not for a while now.”

  “Doesn’t that hurt his feelings?” Kristen said carefully. Maybe he was a little bit loopy, after all. He seemed to have himself together, but then again, Mrs. Breezer operated a business and talked to her cats. You could just never tell about a person.

  “He’s a stuffed animal, Kristen. Do I look like the kind of man who k
eeps a pet pig?”

  “I don’t know,” Kristen said, tilting her head and giving him a searching look. “What would a man like that look like?”

  Ford shrugged and drank his coffee. Clearly, when he didn’t have a snappy comeback, he just ignored whatever was just said. Kristen let him act the cool guy and changed the subject. Well, almost.

  “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a guy who kept a stuffed animal – of any kind.”

  “It’s not mine, he just lives with me.”

  “Uh… so it’s like a temporary arrangement?”

  “He’s my daughter’s.”

  “Oh.” Whoa! Ford had a daughter? How come this was the first time she’d heard of it? “How old is she?”

  “Older than I’d like,” he sighed. “I’m gonna get going. You need a ride?”

  “Um. Yeah, actually, that’d be great.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  Kristen couldn’t help wondering about Ford and his daughter. She’d asked him about his family and he’d said his parents were dead. Why wouldn’t he mention that he had a living, breathing daughter? Unless she wasn’t living… No, he’d said she was older than he’d liked, so she must be living somewhere else. With her mother, then. Did that mean Ford was divorced? Or he’d just never married the mother? He didn’t have a tan line on his finger, so if he had been married, they must have split up at least a year ago.

  “What?” Ford’s question snapped her out of her silent study of his features and her attempt to glean his mind for information without asking questions.

  “Sorry,” Kristen blinked. “Just… thinking.”

  “About?”

  “Aren’t you going to offer me a penny?”

  “With inflation, that should be a nickel, at least.”

  “Hey, offer me a million dollars and I’ll spill,” Kristen winked.

  “You’ve already told me your age and your clothes size – what else could you possibly divulge that’d be worth a million dollars?”

  “My bra size?”

  Kristen had the pleasure of seeing Ford’s jaw tense and his knuckles turn a beige shade of white.

  “Sorry, I’m fresh out of cash at the moment,” he said after a few moments, when his grip on the steering wheel had relaxed.

  “Your loss,” Kristen said easily and turned to glance out the window. “So, where do they get all the pies?” she asked after a few minutes of silence had passed.

  “Sorry?”

  “The pies. For the pie eating contest. Who bakes them all? Or do they have a pie baking contest first?”

  “Mary Crenshaw and her group,” he answered. “They’re about six or seven women who meet twice a month for cooking and baking sessions.”

  “Sounds… quaint.”

  “Not your scene, huh?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Kristen instinctively objected.

  “What is your scene, then?”

  “My ‘scene’? I think those are dolls or something. But if you’re asking what I like to do for fun on my spare time, then, no, it’s not baking or cooking. I prefer eating out.”

  “What foods?”

  “Most. I tend to stay away from carbs if I can help it, though. I think I’ve gone up a cup size just from being out of L.A. for two or three months.” Kristen glanced down at her buttoned-up chest. Yup, her bras were definitely starting to feel a bit tight these days…

  “I…”

  Ford’s uttered grunt made Kristen look over, only to see his jaw clenching and unclenching and his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Hard. She waited patiently for him to formulate himself.

  “I thought that’s why women went to L.A. in the first place.”

  It took Kristen a moment to figure out that a) he’d attempted to make a joke, and b) that he wasn’t shying away from the topic of her bra size even though it clearly bothered him.

  “Touché.” The least she could do was let him off the hook. “So, what’s the record for number of pies consumed?”

  “Uh… I’m not sure. I haven’t followed the contest.”

  “What? You have an annual pie eating contest and you’re not watching it with the rest of the town, foam fingers and all?”

  “No foam fingers. And I’m usually busy working.”

  “Working? Mr. I Stop Working At Five Sharp?”

  “I man the booth for Mary while she judges the contest.”

  “What booth?”

  “The best pumpkins in Massachusetts,” he said and grinned. “Well, at least if you ask the Crenshaws.”

  “Sounds fascinating,” Kristen smiled. “Mind if I stop by?”

  “And miss the pie eating contest? I could never ask that of you.” He was teasing, but it was still sweet of him to say.

  “Okay, I’ll stop by before or after, unless you’re doing something else then?”

  “I usually help out with the hayride, but I should be around. Greenport is not exactly L.A.”

  “Wow… stuffed animal keeper, guardian of pumpkins, and now assistant hayride driver, as well? Today’s just been a day full of surprises.”

  “Is your head spinning?”

  “Like I just got off a merry-go-round,” Kristen smiled.

  “We’ll have that at the Autumn Fest as well. Word of advice – don’t fill up on cotton candy before getting on it.”

  “Thanks. I’ll remember that.”

  “Well, here we are,” Ford said and put the car in park. “Have a good night, Kristen.”

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  SEVEN

  It was like walking into a different world. Greenport had transformed overnight into a vibrant palette with people laughing and dogs barking. Warm cider was served out of barrels, and she could smell the cinnamon donuts a mile away.

  As Kristen walked from booth to booth, exchanging pleasantries with local merchants showing off their produce or crafts, she was aware that she couldn’t help searching the milling crowd for Ford’s face. Why was she so obsessed with him?

  Okay, so they worked together, sometimes in pretty close proximity. Okay, so he had his funny moments in amongst the surly bits. And okay, he was pretty easy on the eyes. But even so. She wasn’t supposed to be looking for him in a crowd.

  Just when Kristen had decided to stop being ridiculous and start focusing on what was actually being displayed in the creatively crafted little booths, a familiar voice sounded behind her.

  “If you want to make the pie eating contest in time, I’d stay clear of Captain Jensen.”

  Kristen resisted the urge to spin around, determined to act like she’d seen him coming a mile away. The little flinch when he first started talking may have outed her, though.

  “Why’s that?” she asked, picking up a miniature lighthouse crafted entirely in stone and eyeing it as if she were appraising jewels.

  “He used to be a fisherman, as was his father and grandfather before him. He has fond memories of the lighthouse, and he’ll tell you all about it if you stand idly by for more than a minute.”

  Kristen looked over to see an elderly man with a fisherman’s cap and a full, white beard talking animatedly with a woman and her young son. The freckled boy was pulling on his mother’s hand, apparently eager to get moving, possibly in search of cotton candy.

  Kristen put down the miniature lighthouse and headed over to the produce stand. She didn’t check to see if Ford followed her, but she tried to hide the grin that spread across her face when he stepped up beside her and picked up a red apple.

  “You think it’s poisoned?”

  She looked over at him, her eyebrows raised. “Really? You see any little old ladies walking around scouting for people to put into an eternal sleep?”

  Ford made a show of craning his neck and looking around. “Old lady Breezer is lurking around.”

  “Trust me, if she wanted me dead, she’d have poisoned the cereal by now.”

  “Who’s saying you’re the target? Maybe she’s working for Bankhead – wanting to do
away with anyone who opposes his project?”

  “You’re working for him, so I’d say you’re safe.”

  “Doesn’t mean I won’t make trouble for him any way I can,” Ford shrugged and handed over a couple of quarters to the fruit stand keeper in exchange for the hopefully non-toxic apple.

  “What do you mean?” Kristen turned towards him, frowning. “You’re not going to sabotage the build, are you?”

  “What do you take me for? No, I’ll do my job just as I would for anyone, but as a citizen and a member of this town, I intend on making my voice heard when it comes to how the land and buildings are used.”

  “You won’t let him incorporate the old cottage into the new house, will you?” Kristen said, understanding dawning on her.

  “Not if I can help it, no.”

  “Why not? It’s an old house. One more storm raging in the bay and it’ll fall in on itself.”

  “That house has withstood decades of storms. I wouldn’t count it out just yet.”

  “Why do you care so much? Sure, I get that the lighthouse is a big part of the Greenport heritage and all, but the cottage? It’s just a house.”

  “To you. To some of us it’s a part of our history.”

  “But…”

  “Pie eating contest is about to start. I need to get over to Mary’s booth to relieve her. See you around, Kristen,” Ford said and before she could object, he was gone. Kristen couldn’t help but wonder if he had a personal connection to the old cottage and, if so, why he wasn’t telling her about it. Not that he was an over-sharer by any means, but still…

  She didn’t have much time to ponder the mystery that was Ford Hamm, as she was swept up in a tidal wave of people heading for the contest area. Clearly, pumpkin pies were all the rage in Greenport.

  Kristen felt sick. The pies had smelled great for the first ten minutes or so, but the sight of the contestants treating their plates like troughs and making not so pleasant sounds while eating quickly dispersed all pleasantness of the event. When the losers caved and the consumed pies resurfaced in a different shape and smell, she’d had enough.

  She didn’t mean to end up at Mary Crenshaw’s pumpkin booth – heaven knows she’d had enough of pumpkins for one day – but even so, there she was, finding Ford Hamm all by his lonesome. She was more relieved than she liked to admit when he smiled as she approached.