“I’m serious. In fact, Mr. Summers, I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re probably wasting your time.”
She left him standing with his photos, his arm still buzzing from her touch, and wondering what the hell that was all about.
With a mental shake, he picked up his small portfolio then shrugged into his coat as he walked to the door. “Thanks, again,” he called, unsure whether anyone could hear him. Outside, he blew out his breath. Those were some weird vibes.
He climbed into his car ready to knock out one more errand then get on the highway back to Colorado Springs before rush hour traffic hit. But when he turned the key in the ignition, the telltale click of a dead battery greeted him. Groaning, he banged a fist on the steering wheel. The car had been slow to start this morning, but he’d chalked it up to the cold and figured the drive to Denver would restore the juice.
He glanced at the house, hoping no one would notice his car still in the drive. Not a good look. Now what? No way did he want to go in and bother Mr. Andrews for a jump. Roadside assistance could take forever and certainly wouldn’t be discreet. The options were limited.
Swearing under his breath, he pulled out his wallet and found his service card. When the call went through, he explained the situation, gave the scheduler the address and was told the wait would be forty-five minutes to an hour. And his weather app said the temperature was twenty-seven degrees. He couldn’t remember if he’d passed any coffee shops close by. Probably nothing within walking distance deep in this ritzy residential area. He looked at his phone again—then jumped when a knock sounded on his window.
He looked up to see Kat Andrews in her sunny yellow coat peering at him through the glass. With no power, he couldn’t roll down the window, so he gently opened the car door.
“Hi. Is everything okay?” She gestured toward the house. “I saw your car still out here and wasn’t sure if you were just making calls or needed something.”
Nick forced a laugh. “Sounds like a dead battery. No worries, though. I’ve got assistance on the way. Thanks for asking.”
“Oh, what a hassle. You can come back inside and wait. It’s too cold out here.”
“Nah, I’m fine. Thanks, though.” It was a nice offer, but he couldn’t impose like that on a potential client.
She raised her brows and studied him. The skepticism on her face plainly showed she thought he was an idiot.
“Nick? I’ll be the first to admit my mother has a sharp bark, but also, she doesn’t suffer fools.” She smiled and cocked her head toward the house. “Come in and have a cup of coffee while you wait. You can use the study if you need to make some calls.”
The study? He almost laughed. Was that what wealthy people called a home office?He was about to decline again, but those gray-blue eyes were compelling. Up close, he could see a smattering of light freckles across her pink cheeks. Her hair blew across them in the breeze, and he— Oh, jeez. He was acting like a clod letting her stand out in the cold waiting on him to make up his mind.
“Thanks. If you’re sure I won’t be in the way.”
“Not at all. Come on.”
Feeling ridiculous, he grabbed his computer bag and followed Kat back to the house.
“No sense sitting out there freezing.” She casually tossed her coat over one of the chairs at the huge kitchen island, and Nick couldn’t help wondering if that was allowed. He could imagine Rebecca objecting to any form of clutter in the museum-like house.
“Do you drink coffee? It’s already made.”
Yeah, he’d smelled the brew earlier. “I do. Just black, thanks.” He hovered between the kitchen and family room while she filled a mug. He had no idea how to find the study.
“We could sit here, if you like.” She handed him the mug then gestured toward the seating area. “I mean, unless you need to work.”
Blood rushed to his head.We?The pretty little rich girl wanted to keep him company? Or did she think he might run off with the silver candlesticks? His eyes met hers, and he admitted a tightening in his chest. He stared at Kat a moment and checked his attitude. Her smile seemed genuine. She might be from a wealthy family, but he had the feeling she was naturally warm and friendly—certainly more so than her intense mother. And that sounded like a better offer than the study. “Sure. I should probably hang out someplace where I can see the driveway.”
She settled onto the sofa, and he took an adjacent chair with a clear view out the large picture window.
“So how did you connect with Mom?” she asked.
Nick’s mind went blank. Rebecca Andrews had called out of the blue.
“I believe it was a referral.” He thought that’s what she said, but he couldn’t remember where the referral had come from. It was the mention of the homes tour that had piqued his interest. That made the job a whole lot more enticing.
“Ah. That’s great,” Kat said. “Is all your work custom-made?”
“The big-ticket stuff is, but I also sell smaller pre-made pieces in my shop.”
“Your shop? You have a gallery?”
He shot her a wry smile. “I wouldn’t call it a gallery exactly. It’s not like something you’d find at a big-name arts community in California or New York. It’s a retail shop that features local art. Kind of a co-op. I sell some smaller pieces there like bowls and small cabinets. It’s all handmade.”
