Maggie Moves On(8)

“You’re a very smart woman, Maggie. I like that about you.”

“I’m no therapy dog school dropout, but I do okay.”

His laugh—a genuine one—tickled something inside her. Something that required squashing because casually dating contractors was a hard no after both Maggie and Dean had made that mistake early on.

“This is a big job. And it’s got cameras, but the work isn’t for the cameras,” she told him. “It’s got to be real. Because at the end of the day, this needs to be someone’s dream home, and they have to be inspired to pay me top dollar for it.”

“I wouldn’t be here if you or someone hadn’t already done the research,” he guessed. “My crew is good. Solid. Not just dependable, but we’re damn creative, too. I’d be happy to drive you around and show you some of my projects downtown,” he offered with a wolfish wiggle of his eyebrows. “You know. Prove my prowess to you and all.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Though, full disclosure, you’d be driving my partner, Dean, around because I’ll be busy demoing the hell out of every damn room for the next week or two.”

He leaned in close enough that Maggie thought for a second he might be lining up to kiss her. Which would mean she’d have to find herself another landscaper.

She was relieved when he stopped just outside the edge of her personal space. “Maggie Nichols, I don’t mean to scare you off, but I think you just might be the girl of my dreams.”

She gave him the eye. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Never in my life,” he said, making an X with his finger over his heart. “How do you feel about breakfast for dinner?”

She rolled with the change in subject. “I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t want pancakes and eggs every once in a while for dinner. How do you feel about being on camera?”

She heard the already familiar screech of the screen door behind her. This time the noise was interrupted by a clunk and a crash. The hinges gave up their decades-long fight and surrendered, sending the door crashing to the porch floorboards.

“Maggie, if you don’t burn this hellhole down to the foundation, I’ll do it for you,” Dean bellowed.

“I’ll fix it,” she called back cheerfully. “Come over here and meet the landscaper before you make any more arson threats in front of witnesses.”

Dean clomped over in jeans and sneakers that were too nice to do any dirty work. He had an iPad in one hand and a very large coffee in the other.

Juggling both, he freed a hand and offered it to Silas. “Morning,” he said with slightly less grump.

“You must be Dean,” Silas said, shaking hands.

“That’s me. Has the tour of this three-story garbage dump scared you off yet?”

“One man’s garbage dump is another’s mountain of hidden potential,” Silas responded.

Maggie grinned.

Dean shook his head. “Great. Now there’s two of you.” He looked pointedly at Silas’s backward cap and then at Maggie and smirked.

She shook her head and mouthed, Don’t. You. Dare.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you, Silas?” Dean asked.

Maggie elbowed Dean hard in the ribs.

The landscaper watched their exchange with interest. “Thirty-seven.”

“He’s thirty-seven, Maggie,” Dean repeated with as much subtlety as Kevin the borderline-obese pit bull.

“I heard,” she said dryly. “Don’t you have some calls to make? Dreams to crush with your heartless budgets, Dean?”

“Sure do. And I’ll be doing all of that from the comfort of the inn because a ceiling tile just missed my head by inches when it crashed to the floor in the hellscape you call a kitchen.”

“After you finish the B-roll of the sunporch and library,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah. Silas, it was nice to meet you. Give us a good deal.” With that last demand, Dean squared his shoulders and stomped back inside.

“He’s a mercenary at heart and definitely not a morning person,” she explained.

“I bet he doesn’t like pancakes for dinner either,” Silas predicted.

She laughed because it was the truth.

“Couple more questions,” he announced.

“Shoot.”

“You married?”

“Not anymore,” she said. “Do you have any problems using advertiser products for the job?”

“Not as long as it’s a product that does what it’s supposed to. I’ve never been married, by the way,” he said when she didn’t ask him. “Early bird or night owl?”

“Bird,” she said. “How big of a crew do you need to get this done by, say, mid-July?”

“Bigger than I’ve got currently, but I know where I can find a few new recruits who wouldn’t mind getting dirty. Are you seeing anyone?”

“I’m too busy to see anyone. Can you turn on the charm for the camera?”

“As long as there’s someone to hold my hand, I think I can manage,” he told her.

“I’ll see if Dean is available for the hand-holding,” she deadpanned. She tucked her hands into her pockets and studied him. “Can you do this job, Mr. Wright?”