Thomas Kinkade - The Inn at Angel Island

“At least Claire is still here,” he said. “I’m sure she’s a big help.”

A godsend, she nearly said aloud.

“No question,” she agreed. “So… you came to check that leak? Do you need me to show you where it is?”

“Claire told me. I’ll just go down and take a look.”

“All right.” Liza stepped back and watched as he slipped off his jacket and hung it on the coat tree.

She didn’t mean to keep looking at him. He had broad shoulders and a good build. It wasn’t just the jacket. His black sweater was nearly the same shade as his thick dark hair; the collar of a denim shirt underneath peeked out from the neckline. Sort of stylish for a handyman, she thought.

He walked down the hallway and opened the door to the basement with an easy familiarity. He seemed very at home here. But her aunt must have called him frequently. The inn must have needed a lot of repairs. Still did, she reminded herself.

That was all going to be someone else’s headache in a little while. It was one thing she wasn’t going to inherit from her aunt. That was for sure.

Liza returned to the big front parlor and started to work on a bookcase. She considered running upstairs to wash her face and fix her hair, which had more than half escaped from a ponytail, then rejected the idea. What did she care what Daniel Merritt thought of her? She wasn’t here to win a beauty contest. She was here to work and get this house on the market.

She had loaded two boxes of books when Claire walked into the room. She looked like a real country woman today, Liza thought, wearing a long brown skirt, thick leather walking shoes, and a red down vest over a yellow sweater. Her long hair was pinned up in its usual style, parted in the middle and coiled in a big bun behind her head, emphasizing her round face and large gray blue eyes.

Liza thought Claire was a pretty woman for her age, which, if Liza had to guess, was probably late fifties. She had very smooth skin, almost wrinkle free, but otherwise seemed older. Perhaps it was her steady, quiet manner or the way she dressed. Her style was sort of a mix of hippie-Earth Mother and country bumpkin.

“I packed a load of bags in my car and brought them right out to the carting station,” Claire reported as she walked in. Her round cheeks were red from the cold, and Liza felt guilty, knowing she had done all that work alone.

“You should have told me. I would have come to help you.” Liza stood up and wiped some dust off her hands with an old cloth.

“It wasn’t very heavy. Just bulky stuff. Besides, someone needed to be here for Daniel. I saw his car outside. Did he repair that leak downstairs?”

“He’s taking a look at it right now.”

“He’ll fix it. He can fix just about anything.”

“Does he paint?” Liza had meant to look for a painter today, but she’d gotten too busy.

“I believe so. Here he is. You can ask him yourself,” Claire suggested.

“Hello, Claire,” Daniel greeted the housekeeper with a wide, friendly smile. While he and Claire exchanged greetings, Liza took a moment to notice his impressive set of dimples.

Now, now, Liza. Handyman, remember? He’s definitely not your type.

“So how’s the leak? Can you fix it?” Liza asked abruptly.

“It wasn’t much. It’s already history.”

“Oh, good. Thanks.” He was efficient at least.

“Anything else you need me to check?”

Liza met his glance and looked away. His eyes were brown, a shade almost as dark as his hair, and were filled with a deep, serious light, even when he was smiling. It was an odd thing to notice about a stranger, but she instinctively felt it was true.

“I was wondering… do you do any house painting?”

“What did you have in mind?” He crossed his arms over his chest. She couldn’t tell if he was interested in the work or not. He didn’t act very eager like some contractors. He didn’t act as if he needed work at all.

“My brother and I have inherited the house, and we plan on selling it. As soon as possible,” she added. “The real estate agent suggested that we have the exterior painted-a quick job, just to freshen it up-and paint some of the rooms, too.”

“A quick job on the outside of this place?” She could tell from his expression he was trying hard not to laugh at her.

“Why? How long will it take? I just mean a quick coat of paint. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’re in no danger of that.”

Liza started to say something, then stopped. So he was the clever type on top of it. Did she really need that?

And he had never even told her if he did painting, she suddenly realized.

“If you don’t take paint jobs or aren’t interested in the work, just say so, Mr. Merritt. I just thought I’d ask you first, since you seem to do so much here.”

“I never said I wasn’t interested.”

“You never said if you paint or not.”

“I do paint. And I’m interested. And it’s Daniel.”

He smiled again, meeting her gaze. Liza intended to brush him off-the last thing she needed was a sarcastic painter-but she relented.

“Well, that’s what we want. A quick coat of paint on the outside, just to freshen it up. The main rooms down here seem all right, but there are a few upstairs that need work. There’s a big brown stain on the ceiling in one bathroom.”

He nodded. “A leak last winter. Your aunt never got around to having the ceiling repaired.”

“I have a list somewhere. But that’s basically it.”

He looked surprised. Then amused again. “That’s it?”

She nodded, feeling off balance. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“That’s a drop in the paint bucket, that’s all.”

“Well, that’s all we intend to do. We just want to sell the property,” she repeated.

“And leave the big headaches for the next owner,” he finished for her.

She smiled at him. “Exactly.”

So now he was questioning her ethics? For goodness’ sake, it was done all the time. People didn’t bring a place like this into tip-top condition before they sold it. It wasn’t their responsibility. Buyer beware, everybody knew that.

“You know what this place really needs?” he told her. “A new roof and new windows. That will save money on heating and protect the whole building, especially with all the rain coming this spring.”

Liza shook her head. “We wouldn’t dream of doing anything that extensive.” Expensive, she really meant. But he understood her. She could tell.

“Besides,” she continued, “those kinds of repairs might be a waste. Somebody could buy this place and just… knock it down.”

Daniel tilted his head. “That wouldn’t bother you?”

She was taken aback by the question, by the way this conversation had suddenly turned personal. “I don’t think it really matters if it bothers me or not. It could happen,” she said, sidestepping the real answer.

“It would be a shame if it did, I think. This old building is a real landmark. It’s one of only a few in this area built in the Queen Anne style. I’d hate to see it destroyed. But I guess there’s going to be a lot of bad development around here now unless somebody steps up to stop it.”

Liza sighed. “I don’t want to see the inn knocked down. That’s not what I’m saying at all. But this place needs so much work, it’s amazing the building hasn’t fallen down all on its own by now.”

And how had she even gotten into this argument with him? She was just trying to find a housepainter, for goodness’ sake.

“That much I agree with. Maybe the spring storms will do the job. Do you want to wait and see what happens? Or go through with the painting?”

“I’d like an estimate. If that’s not too much trouble. By tomorrow?”