Susan Mallery - Yours for Christmas

“Nice house,” Kenny said as he approached.

“Thanks.” She waited until he stopped in front of her. “So, do you know anything about houses?”

He grinned. “Regretting your impulsive request I be here?”

“Not at all. Just wondering if my assumptions are correct.”

“That because I’m a guy, I know something about electricity and plumbing?”

“Um, yeah. That would be it.”

He put his arm around her and turned her toward the house. “I am more than a pretty face. Growing up I helped my dad with all kinds of projects. I can lay tile, replace a light fixture and repair most plumbing leaks.”

“Good to know.”

The words sounded so normal, she thought. But on the inside, there was quivering and shrieking. Mostly because of how close she was to Kenny and how warm his arm was around her body. He made her feel small and delicate. Like an ordinary woman, as opposed to the widow and single mom she’d been for the past couple of years.

Before she could do much more than breathe in the scent of him and indulge in a little PG-13 make-out fantasy, a small pickup drove into her driveway. Bailey recognized the name of the inspector her real estate agent had suggested. All thoughts of Kenny fled as the enormity of what she was doing crashed in on her.

“I want it to be perfect,” she admitted in a whisper.

“Be willing to settle for sound,” Kenny advised. “Everything else is a bonus.”

Good advice, she thought as she walked over to meet her inspector.

Paul Jennings was a man in his fifties. He was pleasant, but seemed more interested in the house than making small talk. He had a large rolling toolbox with him and began the inspection by walking around the outside of the house.

“We start from the ground up,” Mr. Jennings told her. “Foundation to roof. I’ll tell you what I find as I go, then get you a written report via email by this time tomorrow. But before I leave, you’ll already know everything I’ve found.”

“I appreciate that,” she told him.

“Then let’s get started.”

Three hours later Bailey knew more about the house she wanted to buy than she’d ever known about any other building in her life. Even better, she was comfortable with her decision. There were a couple of small problems. The chimney needed to be cleaned before she and Chloe could use it, there were three electrical outlets that didn’t work and the faucet that connected the water to the washer had lost its turny thing.

A small list of easy repairs, she thought as the older man drove away. There hadn’t been any roof leaks, the basement was dry and the furnace put out plenty of heat. Even better was the series of stickers on the side of it, showing that it had been serviced regularly.

“Feeling better?” Kenny asked as they stepped back inside.

She nodded. “Thank you so much. You were great.”

He had been. He’d let her take the lead, but had stayed close by and asked plenty of sensible questions. He’d insisted she go into the attic herself to see into the deep corners so she understood about the insulation and venting. Because of him she now knew where the water and gas shutoffs were.

“As soon as I get the inspection report, I’ll contact my real estate agent,” she said. “We’ll get a list to the seller.”

“Don’t forget about the chimney cleaning,” he told her.

“I won’t.” She glanced at the big fireplace. “I’m going to have to read an article on how to build a fire. There’s a special way, right? With twigs and regular wood?”

Kenny sighed. “It’s kindling and I’ll show you.”

“You know how to build a fire?”

“I’m a man of many talents.”

His voice was teasing and maybe a little sexy. While Bailey appreciated the thrill of her crush, right now practical Kenny was even more appealing.

“I’d like you to teach me,” she told him. “I wonder if the local hardware store has classes on basic home repairs. I don’t want to be one of those women who has a house and doesn’t know how to do anything. I should be able to learn, right?”

“It’s not hard. There are a couple of really good books on the subject. I’ll get one for you.” He winked. “Along with a set of pink tools.”

She laughed. “I’d love pink tools. One of my favorite mystery books has a heroine with pink tools.” They wandered into the kitchen. Mr. Jennings had checked all the appliances along with the drains. “My expertise is more cosmetic. I can patch and paint with the best of them, but anything behind the walls makes me nervous.”

“What do you want to do before you move in?” he asked.

“The usual. Clean, paint.” She set her large tote bag on the counter and pulled out a folder. “Chloe and I have been picking out paint colors.” She fanned the squares onto the counter. “Usually I’m a big believer in painting a sample on the wall, but the seller probably wouldn’t like that. I’ve talked to a few friends and they’re open to a couple of days of helping me out. The plan is to close on Thursday, then start the intensive patching and sanding on Friday. We’ll be painting by Saturday. The move will be Tuesday.”

“A well-oiled machine.”

“I hope. You know what can happen when you make plans.” She pointed to the pale lavender sample. “That’s the one Chloe wants for her room. I think it will be really pretty.”

“She’s getting the room with the dormer windows?” he asked.

“Right, with the little built-in desk between them. I thinking a good sanding will work wonders.”

“You’re right. The wood is pine. Then a nice clear finish, maybe cover it with a thick piece of glass.”

She smiled up at him. “That’s what I was thinking,” she admitted. “I want to get her a new bedroom set. She’s always had hand-me-downs. I’ve been saving and I’ve picked out a couple that would be great for her. I’m torn between letting her in on what I have planned and keeping it a secret.”

“Let her be surprised. She’ll like whatever you get.”

“You think?” she asked eagerly. “I want her to love the house. We’ve always lived in apartments. Will and I never had the money for a down payment. I wouldn’t have it now except there’s a special program that grants money to people who wouldn’t otherwise qualify. Mayor Marsha helped me apply and wrote a recommendation.”

She told herself Kenny couldn’t possibly be interested in her personal finances, but she couldn’t seem to stop talking. “I know it’s a great opportunity. I’ve always wanted to own a house. Nothing fancy, just our own home.” A place to be safe, she thought wistfully.

“Makes sense,” he told her. “I’m glad you’re getting this place. Let me know if you want a guy’s opinion on the furniture.”

“You’d go with me?”

“Sure. Sounds like fun.”

He was being nice . Nice was much more dangerous than handsome, she thought. Nice was real. Nice could make her want more than a crush.

Not possible, she told herself firmly. For all she knew, she was Kenny’s good deed for the season. She had to remember that she was a not the kind of woman a famous former jock, who was also wealthy and successful in his business life, would be interested in. He probably dated supermodels or actresses. Or both.

“Should I warn you that seven-year-old girls generally adore all things princess?” she asked teasingly as they walked toward the front door.

“I would expect no less.”

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