What a Bachelor Needs (Bachelor Auction Book 4)(9)

“That’s what she says.”

She led him down the wide hallway that ran from one end of the house to the other. “The house is big – there’s a distinct possibility that I’ve been a little too ambitious when it comes to first home ownership.”

“Why this particular house?”

“Because underneath the years of neglect, there’s beauty here. The main rooms get good sun. The garden’s big. I can walk to town and the school is close by. And,” in service to honesty, “I couldn’t afford better. I can barely afford this.”

She should have known that a tumbledown old house on the edge of the right side of town would be a money pit. She should have had more patience, saved a little more money, and not put every last cent she had towards buying it. Instead, she’d seen the place and fallen in love.

This old house was what dreams were made of.

“Right now, it’s dingy, but the bones are good,” she assured him.

“You like betting on dark horses?”

Not really. She thought she’d grown out of it. “I should probably warn you about the kitchen. I can’t defend it. Can’t defend the bathroom either. My rose colored glasses fail me and I may as well say it plain – I don’t have the money to do anything with those rooms. Not yet.”

“Nothing wrong with a long goal,” he murmured. “Shows focus.”

“That I have.”

“Ella Grace said something about a swaying porch.”

“Yes, but same thing again. You’d have to be a magician to fix it without going over my budget. However.” She walked him down the long central hallway that went from one end of the house to the other and opened the door to the front room – to the job she had in mind for him this week. “This is the living room.”

He wrinkled his nose.

“Exactly. And that smell is coming from the carpet and I have tried everything to make it disappear. I stand defeated. I want the carpet ripped out and I want the floorboards beneath sanded back until this room smells like a forest. Can you do it?”

He nodded, looking around. “What’s with the missing skirting board?”

“You mean, apart from the fact that it’s missing?”

“I’ll bring a piece in.”

Claire babbled at him in sudden solemn reply and Jett smiled. “What was that, baby girl? You want a safety rail around the fireplace?”

“I don’t use the fireplace,” Mardie told him. She wasn’t here enough to justify it.

“Would you like to?” He smiled crookedly. “Open fireplace, polished floorboards, a couple of comfy sofas and a coffee table…that big bay window framing it all.”

“Yeah.” She could picture it. “I have a sofa and a couple of chairs in the garage. They’re not new but I still didn’t want to put them in here until I got rid of the smell.”

“Truly, I get it. You want to show me the porch next?”

Mardie looked at him and a thought streaked through her. “You and Ella didn’t do some kind of deal whereby you fix the porch and she pays for it, did you? Because that’s not happening.”

“There’s no deal beyond me being here for the week and at your disposal, handyman wise.”

“Good.”

“I still want to take a look at the porch. If I can stabilize it without running into too much expense, I will. The floor won’t take me all week.”

“Feel free to do the floor in the hallway as well.”

“Okay. What else?”

It was official. A Jett Casey who wanted to work on her house was her favorite thing. “I made a list. Loose handles, cupboard doors that don’t shut properly, a hole in the wall…it’s a long and detailed list. In my imagination, there was coffee involved when you looked at it. So that you didn’t weep.”

“I could do coffee,” he said with a whole lot of wistfulness.

“Well, then, come and meet the kitchen.” She ushered him back along the hall and into the green and brown nineteen-seventies psychedelic swirl that was her cooking and eating space. It had bright orange counters, a light fitting that doubled as a UFO. If she had to hazard a guess, she would have said that the wall-to-wall glossy red and black cupboards were a later addition. It was glorious.

“It’s retro,” she said, and tucked Claire back into the high chair, where the congealed remains of a banana bran breakfast awaited. Yum.

“I can’t even…” Jett finally murmured. “My eyes are bleeding.”

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Black with one.”

She gestured towards a bar chair beside her orange counter and put the kettle on. “I’ll be in and out today. From Tuesday through to Thursdays I start work at eleven and finish at ten, with a mid-afternoon break. I could get back here during the break if you need me to. On Fridays and Saturdays I start at eleven and finish in the early hours of Saturday morning.” She worked Sunday too, but he’d be gone by then. “Help yourself to tea, coffee, and anything else you feel like while I’m out.”

“Long hours,” he said. “What do you do with Claire?”

If there’d been any hint of condemnation in that question, she wouldn’t have answered. As it was…maybe she was simply a sucker for a man who asked the questions he wanted to ask and seemed prepared to listen to her answer.