Dream Lake (Friday Harbor #3)(35)

Zoë was befuddled. “You … you want to pretend that what just happened didn’t happen?”

“It was a mistake.” Alex applied a bandage, meticulously sealing the adhesive edges.

“Why?”

Alex didn’t bother to soften the impatient edge of his tone. “Look, you and I don’t need to know each other any more than we already do. You’ve got nothing to gain and everything to lose. You need to find some decent guy to go out with—someone who’ll take it slow and talk about your feelings and all that sensitive crap. You need a nice guy. And that’s not me.”

“I’ll say,” the ghost chimed in.

“So we’re going to forget about this,” Alex continued. “No discussions, no repeat performances. If you want to find some other contractor for the remodel, I’ll totally understand. In fact—”

“No,” the ghost protested.

“I want you,” Zoë said, and blushed hard. “I mean, you’re the right person for the job.”

“You haven’t even seen the designs yet,” Alex said.

The ghost circled them. “You can’t quit. I need to spend time at that cottage.”

Shove it, Alex thought.

Scowling, the ghost folded his arms and went to lean against the pantry door.

Zoë picked up a few of the pages from the table, studying them.

Alex closed the first-aid kit. “That’s how the kitchen will look after the interior wall is taken out and replaced by an island.” He had added as much storage as possible, as well as a row of windows that let in abundant natural light.

“I love how open it is,” Zoë said. “And the island is perfect. Can people sit on this side?”

“Yes, you can line up about four bar stools.” Alex leaned closer to point to the next page. “Here’s the configuration on the other side—the microwave drawer, a spice drawer, and a swing-up mixer lift.”

“I’ve always wanted a mixer lift,” Zoë said wistfully. “But all of this looks expensive.”

“I listed stock cabinets in the specs—they’re a lot cheaper than custom. And I’ve got a supplier who deals in surplus building materials, so we can save on the countertops. If the wood flooring is salvageable, that’ll cut down on costs, too.”

Zoë picked up more pages from the table. “What’s this?” She held up a design of the second bedroom. “There’s a walk-in closet here, isn’t there?”

He nodded. “I included an option for converting that into a full bath.”

“A full bathroom in that little space?” Zoë asked.

“Yeah, it’s tight.” Alex reached over to find the design for the bathroom. He handed it to her. “No room for a cabinet. But I could put a recessed set of shelves in the wall for towels and supplies. I thought …” He hesitated. “I thought living so close with your grandmother, you’d probably like to have a little privacy instead of having to share the main bathroom with her.”

Zoë continued to look over the rendering. “It’s even better than I’d hoped for. How long would it take to get all of this done?”

“Three months, give or take.”

A frown puckered her forehead. “My grandmother will leave the nursing facility in a month. I can afford to pay for her to stay an extra couple of weeks, but probably no more than that.”

“Could she stay at the inn?”

“It’s not set up for her. Too many stairs. And every time we can’t rent out a room, it’s a loss of income. Especially during the summer.”

Alex drummed his fingers lightly on the table, calculating. “I could delay the garage and get some of the subcontractors working simultaneously … in six weeks I could make the house livable. But most of the finish work—moldings, casings, paint, would still have to be done. Not to mention replacing the air-conditioning. Your grandmother probably wouldn’t take well to all the noise and activity.”

“She’ll be fine,” Zoë said. “As long as the kitchen and main bathroom are done, we’ll put up with anything.”

Alex gave her a skeptical glance.

“You don’t know my grandmother,” Zoë said. “She loves noise and activity. She used to be a reporter for the Bellingham Herald during the war, before she got married.”

“That’s cool,” Alex said, meaning it. “Back in those days, a woman who wrote for a newspaper was probably a …”

“Hot tomato,” the ghost said.

“… hot tomato,” Alex repeated, and then snapped his mouth shut, feeling like an idiot. He sent the ghost a discreet glare. Hot tomato—what did that even mean?

Zoë smiled quizzically at the old-fashioned phrase. “Yes, I think she was.”

The ghost told Alex, “Ask how her grandmother is.”

“I was going to,” Alex muttered.

Zoë looked up from the design. “Hmm?”

“I was going to ask,” Alex said, “about how your grandmother’s doing.”

“The therapy is helping. She’s tired of staying in the nursing facility, and she’s impatient to move out. She loves the island—she hasn’t lived here in a very long time.”