Marion Ekholm - Forget Me Not

Craig walked around, examining different beams, poking with a yardstick in places that looked particularly bad and snapping pictures. “This problem could get worse, especially if we get more rain. We should cover it with a tarp until it can be repaired.”

After checking the two attic windows for any leaks or damage, they went downstairs to the basement. “You’re lucky there’s no water damage down there,” Craig said after a quick tour. “That hurricane ruined more than roofs. Lots of homes were flooded. Fortunately, this place sits on a little rise.”

When they came back upstairs, Craig grabbed his jacket before they headed for the kitchen.

“You mentioned kitchens can sell a house, and most of these appliances are dated.” The country-style kitchen featured a pastel fridge, windowed cabinets, wallpaper with sunflower borders and colorful flower pictures. Canisters in a sunflower motif sat on the counter. She’d bought them for her grandmother. How many times had they taken flour and sugar from them to make cookies? She lifted the coffeepot, an old electric percolator. “Would you like some?”

Craig nodded and settled with his things at the kitchen table.

Trish poured coffee into large mugs and brought them to the table, where Craig continued to make notes. After putting some of her cleaning supplies back under the sink, she joined him. Once he stopped writing, she took a deep breath. “What do you think? Is this going to cost me a fortune?”

“Probably.” He glanced around a moment before taking a sip of his coffee. “This kitchen is pre–World War II. It definitely needs modernization, and you’ll find it well worth any expense. You’ll have a lovely old house to leave your own grandchildren one day.”

“I thought I made myself clear. I want to sell the place.” The words came out softly, forced past the lump in her throat. “I plan to spend my vacation fixing it up so I can get a better price. Should I bother or just let it go as a handyman’s special?”

A disapproving scowl crept across his face. Then his expression went blank, and he looked away.

Trish bit back a sigh. Hadn’t she already suffered enough guilt over her decision to sell? She stood and leaned against the sink, waiting for his verdict.

“It’s a sound structure. If you don’t mind my helping on some of the interior areas, I can have my crew do all the tough stuff.” He sat back and watched her with an intensity she found disturbing. “I was hoping you’d decided to come back and stay.”

“Why?” She laughed and propped her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. When she shook her head, her hair swished along the top of her shoulders. “You may have gotten taller, but you’re still three years my junior, and I have no intention of marrying you. You’ll just have to find another girl.”

“I have.”

All her playfulness vanished, and she stared at him, unable to think of anything more to say.

“You didn’t give me much hope,” Craig added.

“Anyone I know?” Trish asked, regaining her composure.

He sat up and folded his hands on the table, looking at her with way too much satisfaction. “Cyndi Parker.”

“Cyndi Parker! From down the street?”

“Always liked older women.”

“And shorter ones? Unless she’s grown, she has to be...” Trish held her hand out to where she pictured Cyndi might come to.

Craig swatted himself at a halfway point on his chest. “She comes up to about here in her heels.” That grin again. “What about you? You have any romance in your life?”

An image of Harrison came to mind. He was six years older than her twenty-six years, nine years older than Craig. “As a matter of fact, I’m engaged.” Trish pulled out the ring she’d slipped into her pocket for safekeeping while she cleaned and placed it on her left hand. Harrison had given her the diamond only a few days after her grandmother’s funeral, a little after the reading of Gram’s will. Both the inheritance and engagement had come as happy surprises. “My fiancé, Harrison Morris, and I are going to use the money from the sale of the house for a down payment on a new condo.”

Craig acknowledged her remark with a raised eyebrow but didn’t offer a comment. She looked away, remembering her disagreements with Harrison over the house. Even though he’d never seen it, he’d already said he wouldn’t consider moving into an old house in suburban New Jersey. If only Harrison liked traditional architecture instead of the stark lines of steel and glass that he’d shown her in and around New York.

“I’ll get started on this,” Craig said, standing and grasping the iPad, “and get back to you in a day or two.” He pulled on his jacket, bringing their meeting to a close.

With a nod, Trish followed him to the back door that led onto the porch. She grabbed her grandmother’s old camel-colored coat off the hook by the door and slipped into it. “When will you contact someone about the furniture?” They walked the large deck that made a half circle around the house until they reached the front.

“I’ll wait till you call Henry’s about the antiques. He’ll come by and give you an appraisal. That way you won’t give away anything of value.”

“You don’t approve, do you?” Trish asked as they walked to his large white van. Handyman Specialist, LLC, was emblazoned in red on the side along with his phone number and website address. Another website address in blue and a different font, cadsbycadman.com, sat under his name.

“We all have to do what we have to do.” Craig turned to survey the Victorian-style home. “I’ve always liked this house.” His hand on his chin, Craig stood there for several seconds before hitting the side of his van with an open palm. “I’ll get back to you with the estimate. Great seeing you again, Trish.”

Trish walked back to the house, remembering when she’d babysat for the Cadmans. Craig was nine and she was twelve. She loved children and always wished she had brothers and sisters. Starting as a mother’s helper, Trish took over the full duties of a babysitter eventually when both parents had to work. When he no longer needed a sitter, they spent a great deal of time together as friends. Extremely precocious, Craig had skipped a grade. He adored her and insisted she wait till he grew up so they could marry.

He skipped another grade. By the time she was a junior, Craig entered his sophomore year and seemed determined to catch up with her. Although he was shorter than his entire class, he stayed ahead of everyone scholastically. When she had trouble in algebra, he offered to help and their roles switched.

The memory made her smile. Craig turned out to be far beyond his years in more than academics. The day tutoring led to a kiss, her mother walked in and put a stop to any further education. Her father was transferred soon after, and they had to move.

The three-year age difference seemed less important now than it did then. Thinking back to some of the men she’d dated, Trish couldn’t recall their kisses. But Craig stood out.

CHAPTER TWO

CRAIG TRIED TO concentrate on his driving, but thoughts of his meeting with Trish continued to play havoc with his mind. He was over her, wasn’t he? Of course he was. Hadn’t he been dating Cyndi for months? Then why did seeing Trish drag up all those memories and send his hormones into overdrive?

She hadn’t checked those secret drawers in the secretary. If she had... He had to find some way to get back there and remove his note. He’d been so upset when he learned she was moving. No way would he want that note surfacing now.

Craig drove to the back of Moody’s Lumber Company and stopped at the small office. His father had first rented the place from Moody when Craig was an infant, and it had served them well over the years. The Cadmans’ business had grown thanks to his father’s well-known integrity, and Craig was determined to fill his father’s shoes. Not much chance of that with everyone still referring to him as Butchy, Craig Cadman’s kid. Bringing Trish’s house back to its original splendor might be exactly what he had to do to prove he was as good as his father.