Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(62)

“I can get you a contractor’s discount,” Carter offered as they walked through the entrance of the local building supply store.

“Oh, that’s not—”

“A problem? You’re right. What do you need?”

“Just a few supplies. A quart of paint for the front door. A bucket of primer for the kitchen.”

“No paint for the kitchen?”

“I’m still deciding. White is probably the best choice. Those old kitchen cabinets are in tough shape, but I’m waffling. White is so sterile.”

“How about off-white?”

She stared at him then, one of those looks women give men when they haven’t a clue.

“Okay, if you don’t like off-white, what would you paint the cabinets if the house were yours?” Carter asked.

“Celery green,” she said immediately, forgetting to mock him as she pulled a sample card from the rack in front of them. “With white subway tiles on the backsplash and cherry-red ceramic knobs.” She glanced up and slid the card back into place. “But, white is the sensible choice, and I might as well get the paint while I’ve got your truck to haul it.” She pulled another card from the rack. “This shade looks fine. Bright. Clean. I’ll get enough for the ceiling and walls, too. Then I’ll only have to mask off the floor.”

He grinned a little at that.

See? She had a sense of humor.

“And seeing as I’m here, I’ll get this for the dining room,” she pulled a paint chip out of the rack. “And this for the living room. Then I’ll be done.”

“Nicely decisive,” he said. “Okay, I’ll get the paint while you collect the other stuff on your list.”

“I’ll take a look at light fixtures. I’d like to replace the front coach lanterns. They’re badly rusted.”

“You might have trouble getting an electrician on short notice.”

“I think I can figure it out.”

But just to be sure, she scribbled ‘Home Electrical Guide’ on her shopping list.




CARTER JIGGLED HIS KEYS impatiently as he stood in line and hoped the cashier wouldn’t recognize him. They’d never actually dated, more hung out a few times at Lucky’s. He’d driven her home once. And while she’d clearly been hinting for more than casual barstool conversation, he’d exercised enough self-control to heed the warning bells in his head that had told him she was sweet but a little wacky.

For one thing, she liked to pretend she was twins.

The cashier caught his eye, and Carter fought a groan as she smiled. He nodded in return and searched the aisles for signs of Liz.

It wasn’t that he was a hopeless flirt—or an absolute Don Juan—but in a small town, it was hard being young and single and not run out of options after a while.

The line moved forward and the cashier—what was her name again? Jill? Marina? One of those—maybe both—was batting her mascara-laden lashes at him. He grimaced and she seemed to take it as a positive overture, because she waved coyly and tucked her hair behind the half-dozen earrings in her right ear. He remembered her hinting about having other piercings she was willing to show him.

Marina was the wild twin. He remembered now.

“What do you think of these?” Liz tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned, relief and inexplicable joy flooding his body. She pointed to a pair of light fixtures in her cart. “I know they’re more Craftsman style, but I really liked them, and they’re on clearance, so the price is right.”

“Nice. Very classic,” he said.

“That’s what I thought.” Liz absently tucked her hair behind her ear. Carter smiled at the small gold hoop. It was small, elegant and very Liz. “Is the paint ready?”

Carter pulled his mind off Liz’s earlobe to concentrate on her question. “Already in the truck. The cashier should have the slip.”

Liz set her purchases on the counter, oblivious to the dark looks Jill/Marina was now flashing her as she recognized that he and Liz were together.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I won’t be but a moment checking out.” Liz reached into her purse and frowned. “Oh, no.”

“What is it?” Carter peered over her shoulder.

“My wallet must have dumped.” She scrounged quickly amid the jumble on the bottom of her purse to find her credit card and handed it to the cashier. “No big deal. I’ll reorganize it later.”

Carter accepted the receipt from the cashier with an apologetic smile as Liz bundled her purchases into the cart.

It wasn’t as if the cashier wasn’t attractive or even friendly. But, as Liz fought to make it through the double-doors—the painting poles falling askew and one of the cart’s wheels wedging into a crack in the concrete—Carter couldn’t help but admire the fact that Liz wasn’t immediately turning around to find some man to bat her eyes at to save her from her plight, or worse, someone to blame. Instead, she laughed—a low, self-deprecating chuckle. Then she gave the cart a solid shove and grabbed the poles moments before they attempted to skewer an incoming customer.

Carter was used to women looking to him for something. Whether it was a good time, help opening a jar lid, or an attractive date to hang off their arm for the infamous family wedding. Women had turned to him again and again. Except Liz. A person had to admire a woman who wanted to do things for herself.