Jamie Denton - Making Mr. Right

The familiar, round, little woman explained the coffee, Cindy thought with a flash of disappointment that evaporated quickly in her delight at seeing her very favorite neighbor again.

Flo set a plate of homemade cinnamon rolls in the middle of the small table and then took Cindy in her arms. “You’re looking fine. child,” she said as she folded Cindy against her plush frame.

“Oh, you, too, Flo. You, too. Where have you been? I thought you were still living with your daughter in Cleveland.”

“I could have told you,” Parker said from behind them.

“I was,” Flo Kincaid answered Cindy’s question, “until PC called me and talked me into coming to work for him.” Flo held Cindy an arm’s length away.

“I keep track of everyone from the old neighborhood,” Parker said.

“You do?” Cindy asked blankly.

“That was the incentive for the new address book features in my most popular program.” Parker launched into an explanation of the convenient way it worked in computerese.

Flo rolled her eyes and Cindy finally stopped him with an amused, “We don’t have to understand your programs to make them work. That’s why they’re so popular, PC.”

Flo laughed and for a few moments updates on her kids and various old neighbors dominated the conversation. “I’d better git so you two can plan your makeover strategy,” Flo said finally.

The woman obviously knew what they were up to. “You think this is possible?” Cindy asked.

“If anyone believes he’s Bachelor Of The Month material, it’s you.” Flo’s look in Cindy’s direction said Parker was probably the only person alive who didn’t know how she felt about him. “I personally think you’re fine the way you are,” she added, placing her hands on her hips as she glared at him. “And I don’t know why you’d want to bother about anyone who thinks you aren’t.” She blatantly didn’t approve of Parker’s plan. Or of Mallory, Cindy realized. But then Mallory had never been especially close to anyone in the old neighborhood. She hadn’t been unfriendly; she’d just never taken the time to pay much attention to them.

“You still doing all that remodeling?” Flo changed the subject

Cindy nodded proudly. “I’m totally on my own now, but yeah, I’m still remodeling.”

“What do you mean, on your own?”

“I buy a house, remodel it start to finish, like I want. Then I sell it and buy another one and start the whole process over again. I rarely do odd jobs for other people now.”

“You can do a house start to finish all by yourself?”

“There are a few things I have to hire help with,” Cindy admitted. “I have a part-time helper—a kid in high school recommended by the same shop teacher who got me started.”

“Mr. Havens?”

Cindy nodded. “I wait to do the heavier stuff until he’s around, afternoons and Saturdays. It works really well.”

“You’re doing okay, then?”

“I’m doing okay,” Cindy said semiproudly.

“I knew you would.” Flo had been one of the few who hadn’t thought Cindy was crazy when she started taking on small repair jobs for people around the old neighborhood. She’d taken woodworking her sophomore year in high school. Even though she and Parker had both been in the gifted program, “shop” had quickly become her most loved and best subject. She’d taken it every year after that. Gradually she’d acquired the reputation for being able to fix someone’s door if it didn’t close right or repair trim around a window. Small projects had evolved into bigger ones, like replacing a bathroom floor because someone had let the water leak under the sink go on too long.

Flo had been the first paying customer because she’d insisted and Cindy had been “on the job” ever since. She’d been the most affordable Ms. Fix It around. She’d purchased and learned to use various tools for each project as she went along.

“I’d probably still be doing the same old small odd jobs for everyone if the old neighborhood was still there,” she admitted.

“You were never fond of change, were you,” Flo sympathized.

“I guess not.”

“You must be making a good living now,” Parker commented from his vast store of knowledge on the subject. He forked the last bite of the cinnamon roll Flo had put on his plate into his mouth.

“I wish.” She punctuated the comment with a sigh. “This last house is going to be a tough sell, I’m afraid. I may be back to doing odd jobs.”

“It looked great.” Parker frowned. He’d seen the “before” when she bought it six months ago; she’d shown him the “after” the other day when he’d gotten the oil spot out of the garage floor. “Why do you think I’m so confident you can transform me,” he added.

“Fortunately,” Cindy said wryly, “no one is going to put a halfway house right down the street from you.”

Flo and Parker both frowned.

“You know, one of those places where they put kids after they’ve been in juvenile hall but before they let them go back to whatever home they originally had? It kind of annihilates property values for a little while until people see how it’s going to affect the area.”

“It’ll be okay.” Flo patted her hand.

“I know it will eventually.” In the meantime, Cindy would have to wait for a buyer as confident in the area’s potential as she was.

“You think people will expect crime in the area to rise?” Parker asked.

She told him what her usual real estate saleswoman had told her. “People will just be nervous of moving to or investing in the neighborhood for a while. Till they see what happens.”

“So selling may take a while,” Flo said, understanding.

“Or I’ll have to cut my profit to nothing and settle for a price to cover what I have invested,” Cindy agreed. “But enough of my problems. That’s not—”

“I don’t understand,” Flo broke in.

“She uses her profits from one house to buy another and fix it up.”

“And I live in the house while I’m working on it. That’s the only way I’ve kept my head above water so far. It keeps my living expenses to a minimum,” Cindy explained patiently.

“So you won’t have anywhere to live when you sell this one.” Flo asked, frowning.

“I won’t have any profits. No profits, no house to buy to work on or to live in,” Cindy told her. “It’s like when Parker was first starting—well, kinda. He made money hand over fist from the very beginning, but don’t you remember when he was sweating his monthly expenses and putting every cent of profit back into the business?”

Flo’s blank look suddenly cleared. “Oh. I see.”

Cindy exchanged a glance with Parker. “This was the house I hoped would get me ahead. I had a profit margin figured in that would allow me to start paying myself a monthly salary,” she admitted, adding with exasperation. “And I planned to buy my next house in the same neighborhood. It is...was,” she corrected, “becoming really nice. Stable. The people there have made great strides, cleaning it up, running out some of the bad elements. And with all the nice big old houses and it sort of overlooks downtown...” She let the rest of the comment remain unsaid.

“The potential is good,” Parker offered.

Cindy nodded. “Was,” she felt obligated to tack on.

“So the halfway house complicates things for you,” Flo analyzed.

“Temporarily. It’s just going to slow me down.”

“Maybe you should put your name in to remodel the halfway house.”

Cindy had always loved Flo. They thought the same way. “I did.” She grimaced. “They’d already hired a big name contractor.”

“You can come to work for me,” Parker offered for the hundredth time. He’d been trying to get her to work for him at PC, Inc., since he’d started it. Said she’d be the best personal assistant he could find.