He blinked as if an idea had just struck. He pointed his wine flute at me. “What if you had an excuse to be there? What if you took on renovating the house?”
“You’re offering me a job?”
“Why not? Grandpa likes you. And if you’re working on the house, you’ll be around. Keeping an eye on things.”
It made sense, in a completely underhanded, ridiculous way that made me laugh. “Can I take pictures for my blog?”
Mrs. Henderson snorted. “Walter will never go for it.” She studied the windows of Walter’s house with a scowl.
Ethan frowned, too. “Yeah, probably not.”
Mrs. Henderson tilted her head. “But I will.”
Both Ethan and I turned to her.
Mrs. Henderson’s face lit up. “Why don’t you do some work on my house? That way, you’ll be right next door.”
I stared at her. “You’re serious?”
“I pay well.” She grinned. “And I don’t like these new people poking around anymore than Walter does.”
I looked at Ethan.
He sipped his wine and avoided my gaze.
“I already have a full-time job—and my mom’s pretty possessive of my time.”
Mrs. Henderson seemed undeterred. “Could you squeeze me in on the weekends and evenings?”
I didn’t have an argument for that. “Well,” I said, lifting my glass, “looks like I’ve got a new project.” What would Mom would have to say about others making demands on my time?
*
Iran my measuringtape along the length of Mrs. Henderson’s outdated kitchen counter, jotting down the dimensions in my notebook. The space had potential—a good layout, sturdy cabinets that just needed some refinishing, and enough windows to bring in natural light. I was already envisioning the transformation when my phone buzzed.
Mom.
I sighed, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder as I scribbled down another note. “Hey, Mom.”
“Clare, I just heard from Jordan that you’ve taken on a side project.” Her tone was brisk, all business. “We agreed—no solo work. We’re not just building a company here; we’re building your future.”
“My work for Mrs. Henderson can be done in the evenings and on weekends.”
“Evenings? That’s not going to work.”
“Then maybe I need to take some time off.” I inhaled slowly, steeling myself. “I’ve been working nonstop for years. Surely, I’m entitled to a vacation.”
“You just had time off! We went to Hawaii a few months ago.”
I rolled my eyes. “That was for the hotel remodel. We were picking out tiles, meeting with contractors—hardly a vacation.”
Mrs. Henderson cleared her throat from across the room, obviously eavesdropping. She leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed, watching me with an amused expression.
Mom continued, “We need to stay focused, Clare. Every project we take on together strengthens our brand. You going off on your own—”
“I’m not leaving the business,” I interrupted. “I’m just taking a step back. I want to enjoy a project for myself, something without deadlines breathing down my neck.”
“Is this about that boy?”
