Authors: Lili Grouse
FOUR
Kristen spent the time waiting for her burger to arrive to ponder her situation. Maybe she should have introduced herself to Ford Hamm, explained how they were supposed to work together on a year-long project and so on. But she’d been thrown by the toolbox event and the following surprise reveal of Annoying Guy’s identity. He seemed to know the waitress well, though. Maybe she could glean some information about him from Hallie.
Hallie arrived with her burger and Kristen was just about to ask about Ford when the man himself walked back into the restaurant and Hallie was distracted.
“Change your mind?” Hallie said and Kristen shamelessly eavesdropped.
“Change of plans,” Ford shrugged. “Burger still on offer?”
“For you? Always,” Hallie winked and patted his chest before heading off to the kitchen. Kristen couldn’t help wondering what that broad chest felt like. Like, was the T-shirt damp from sweat? She couldn’t see any stains, but you never knew.
While she was subtly looking for sweat stains, Ford turned slightly and made eye contact. Kristen quickly snapped her head around to spear a fry with her fork. She could sense he was still there, but when she casually glanced back over at him, he was pulling out a chair over at the bar. So much for her tingling spider sense.
The bar stools had half-backs, but Kristen still got a good view of how the contractor’s jeans stretched over his backside and thighs, and the way his shirt stretched over his shoulders. Was there a special store for stretchy clothes in Greenport? Like, not vacationing-seniors-in-sweatpants kind of stretchy but like sexy stretchy?
Sexy stretchy? Kristen mentally cringed. What was going on with her? Surely she couldn’t be
that
starved of physical interaction with the opposite sex, right? After all, it had only been a couple… okay,
maybe
more than a couple, of months since she last… Darn it, she had to stop thinking about that. One year of celibacy wouldn’t kill her. In fact, it might even make her a better person, more in tune with nature and intellectual stimulance and… oh man, those jeans fit him well.
Ford got himself comfortable on the bar stool. He’d noticed the woman – Kristen, was that what Hallie had called her? – looking at him. He wasn’t entirely sure if he should take it as a compliment or not. He got the impression she was sizing him up for some reason.
Maybe he’d been rude, refusing her offer to join her because he had plans and then coming back and sitting down at the bar instead, but he didn’t know her. If she was so desperate to get to know people, there were plenty of fish in the sea. Crustaceans, too.
Not that Kristen-or-what’s-her-name wasn’t attractive. When she wasn’t sneering or scowling, that is. To her credit, though, she’d apologized for her part in their earlier encounter, so maybe he should give her a chance. Except he didn’t need the hassle. He already had a girl in his life – one he was responsible for even when she wasn’t around. And right now he had no idea where she was.
“Here’s your burger,” Hallie said and slid a plate in front of him. “Beer with that?”
“Might as well.”
Hallie nodded and walked around the bar to grab a bottled beer from the fridge. “What happened with Annabelle?”
“She’d already left with Donny Preston,” Ford sighed and took a swig of the uncapped bottle.
“So you’re fancy free, huh?” Hallie said, propping her elbows on the counter and somehow managing to push up her breasts in the process. He wouldn’t be a man if he didn’t at least glance at the view, but he wasn’t feeling in an easy, breezy mood. Hallie was too young to understand that he wouldn’t be able to relax when he didn’t know where his daughter was.
“Something like that,” he mumbled and took a hearty bite of his burger. It had the dual purpose of satisfying his appetite and avoiding having to answer questions. Hallie seemed to get that he wasn’t in the mood to chat, or she was distracted by something shiny across the restaurant, because when he looked up from his plate, she was gone.
Kristen paid her bill and headed out, glancing over at the taciturn contractor sitting by the bar as she went. She would go back to the room and do her new drawings, then she’d send them off to Bankhead for approval, and then she’d get some sleep before she contacted Ford Hamm again.
When Kristen woke up after her second night at Casa Breezer, it was to a duet performed right outside her door. Oh, great, Frank Sinatra had brought a back-up singer to serenade her. Kristen contemplated ignoring the feline choir howling at her door, but figured she’d be pounced on whenever she dared leave the safety of her room.
For a brief moment she entertained the idea of never leaving her abode – or shimmying down from the balcony – but gave it up. She needed to eat, and she needed to get to work. So she folded back the comforter and padded over to the French doors, opening them wide. Then she walked over to the door, turned the handle, and stepped back, using the door as a shield to ward off any evil that may come flying through the passage.
She peered out behind it to watch as two cats – Frank Sinatra and Charlie Chaplin – darted out onto the balcony. Then she executed a sprint worthy of an Olympian and successfully closed the French doors. She worried that the number of cats wanting to use her room as a passageway would increase exponentially as time passed. She really needed to find another place to stay.
After receiving a confirmation from Quinlan Bankhead that she could proceed with the design she’d sent over, Kristen had her drawings forwarded to the Greenport municipal board for the building permit process. They had been granted a permit for the original design, but with Mr. Bankhead’s last minute alterations, Kristen needed to file an amendment and keep her fingers crossed that it went through.
Next on the agenda was setting up an appointment with Ford Hamm, Greenport’s only contractor and the only one in the state certified for heritage renovations. Kristen was inclined to think that the certification – only issued by the Greenport municipal board – was bogus. Not that he wasn’t capable or anything, but the board had undoubtedly decided to instate a set of requirements to be met simply so only a handful of people could come in to Greenport and work. If things really didn’t work out with Ford, maybe she’d call up her college roommate – now a partner at a law firm back in L.A. – and ask if she knew any good lawyers nearby who would take on Greenport municipality and throw out their silly town statutes. But for now, she was going to play nice.
After a quick cereal breakfast, Kristen grabbed her phone and went outside to get some non-cat-hair-filled air – and escape the stench of the litter box. The sun was out and she sat down on a warm rock close to the water before dialing the number of the contractor’s office. Maybe she’d be able to set up an appointment with an associate of his?
“Hamm Contracting,” a rich voice answered on the third ring and she recognized Ford’s timbre immediately. A gust of wind coming in from the sea made her shiver.
“Yes, hello, I’m… my name is Kristen Barnes. I’ve been hired by Mr. Quinlan Bankhead to design his new home here in Greenport, and…”
“You can tell Mr. Bankhead he can go design a house somewhere else,” the gruff voice said and then the call disconnected.
What the-? As far as insults went, that one was pretty tame, but it was still very rude. He must have known about the build already, and he probably had gotten his say at some sort of town meeting, but this was reality, and he needed to face it. Kristen clicked redial.
“Hamm Contracting.”
“Mr. Hamm? I believe we met yesterday – at The Sea Shack?” Kristen forced herself to keep the annoyance out of her voice. She’d schmoozed way more important people in her days.
“Sorry?”
Well, at least he wasn’t hanging up on her again…
“Kristen, from the restaurant? The toolbox assault victim?”
“Right… how did you get my number?” He sounded like he was frowning. Was he
that
dense?
“Like I said before you hung up on me, I’ve been hired for the lighthouse project, and I’d like to set up a meeting with you to discuss the plans.”
“You’re the Tinseltown designer?”
“No, I’m a licensed architect and interior designer,” Kristen said coolly. “I understand that Mr. Bankhead has already hired you for the contracting work, and I really hope we’ll be able to work together instead of against each other. Do you think yourself capable of such maturity?”
Okay, Smooth Talking Kristen was a massive failure. She couldn’t help but return the condescension she was treated with. Mrs. Kale would be very disappointed in her. There was silence on the other line and she wondered if he’d simply set the phone down and walked away.
“I have a job outside of town that lasts for another week or two. Maybe I’ll be able to sit down with you after that.”
“Could we meet sooner than that? I’m on a tight schedule, and I’d like to get started as soon as possible.”
“Two weeks from now, take it or leave it.”
“Okay, I’ll take it,” Kristen said just before he hung up. Let her be known as the reasonable one. She had a plan.
Ford ran a hand over his face. He was exhausted. Annabelle had come home well after midnight last night, and he’d been waiting up to call her out on it. Now his voice was hoarse and his head was pounding. Getting a call from Bankhead’s lackey was the last thing he needed this morning.
Kristen Barnes. The cheeky tourist with legs up to her ears was Bankhead’s designer. Was she sleeping with him, too? Not that it mattered.
“Ford?” One of the guys at the building site poked his head into the trailer Ford used as an office. “We need you out here.”
“I’ll be right out,” Ford said and grabbed his hard hat off the table littered with building plans. Things were going according to plan and the extra guys he’d hired for the job could probably handle things on their own from here on out, but Ford liked being on site – it offered a breather from hanging around the house and butting heads with Annabelle.
Kristen stepped into The Sea Shack just before the dinner rush. Hallie spotted her from across the room and came over.
“Kristen! You must really love the food here,” she grinned.
“That and the drinks,” Kristen smiled back. “You wouldn’t happen to have a table for me, would you?”
“Sure do,” Hallie said and jerked her head towards the table that was fast becoming Kristen’s regular table. “What are you in the mood for today? Fish, meat or poultry?”
“Well, I’ve sampled two of those, so I guess I’ll try the poultry.”
“We have a yummy deep-fried turkey on the menu. I’ll have the cook fire it up for you. Do you want a martini with that?”
“Actually, I’m in the mood for beer tonight.”
“Coming right up.”
When Hallie left, Kristen casually looked around the restaurant. With any luck, Ford Hamm would show up here and she’d have that meeting sooner than he thought.
FIVE
Ford lifted his toolbox off the back of his truck. Another cupboard to be fixed over at the Sea Shack. What were they doing to those things? If he found out that Hallie was deliberately damaging the Sea Shack’s property in order to get him to come over, he’d have to take it up with Tom.
He was on his way to the restaurant when he spotted a familiar face among the tourists.
“Annabelle!”
His daughter heard him loud and clear. He knew this because she looked over, froze for a split second, and then turned away.
“Annabelle!”
And there she disappeared into the throng of tourists browsing for T-shirts and snow globes… Ford resisted the urge to chase after her – he had
some
dignity left in him after all. Instead, he headed over to the Sea Shack.
He almost turned back around when he spotted Kristen Barnes at the table she’d occupied the last time he saw her, but Hallie spotted him and waved him over to the bar.
“Hey, glad you could make it,” she beamed.
“Another broken cupboard, huh?” he said and put his toolbox on the counter.
“A bunch of klutzes,” Hallie shrugged.
“Lead the way,” Ford said and kept his gaze fixed on Hallie as he passed Kristen’s table. If he pretended like he didn’t see her – or that she just wasn’t important enough for him to notice her – maybe he could get out of there without having to talk to her.
By the time he’d finished fixing the loose door on the cupboard, Ford thought his plan had worked. The designer woman hadn’t come over and tried to start up a conversation while he worked. If he just kept his head down, he could escape the Sea Shack for the night.
He’d underestimated Kristen Barnes.
“I’ve got a cold beer with your name on it, Mr. Hamm,” she said as he rounded the counter, halting him in his getaway. “It’s yours for a minute of your time.”
“I’m not that thirsty,” Ford muttered and attempted to leave. A chair toppled over right in front of him, cutting off his escape route.
“Oops,” Kristen said, not looking the least bit repentant. “I get these leg spasms. Can get pretty ugly.”
“You might wanna see a doctor about that,” Ford said and picked up the chair, setting it back under the table she was seated at.
“Come on. You know I’m just gonna keep hounding you until you agree to a meeting. What’s two minutes compared to hours of suffering?”
“I thought you only needed a minute,” he raised his eyebrows at her.
“It increases exponentially. Like cats.”
He had no idea what she was talking about, but he was starting to think she may actually have some sort of mental problem. Best to tread cautiously.
“Okay, you have until I’ve finished this beer,” he said and sat down opposite her, setting down his toolbox by his feet and out of her reach. You just never know what a crazy person can do with a hammer.
“Great,” she said and tipped her own bottle to his. “Here goes. I was hired to design a house for my client. I have done the drawings and gotten the permits in order. My client wanted to change the plans last minute, and I’ve resubmitted the specs to the building committee. Once the permit is in place, I understand you’ve been hired to do the actual construction work. Is that correct?”
He nodded and took a swig of his beer. This couldn’t be over quickly enough.
“You clearly have the most experience in these matters, so I’ll defer to you on everything concerning the construction work, but I’d like us to work together. I’m not your boss, and you’re not mine. We’ve both been hired to do a job, and none of us are going to be happy if we treat each other like enemies. Agreed?”
Ford nodded again.
“So here’s what I’d like us to do. I’d like to sit down with you in a calm environment – maybe your office or a public place of your choosing – and go over the plans I’ve drawn up. Then you can tell me everything that’s wrong with them and then we can figure out how to make them work anyway. How does that sound?”
Ford finished the bottle and set it down on the table, wiping his mouth demonstratively with the back of his hand.
“It sounds like you enjoy playing at being the boss,” he said and leaned back in his seat, folding his arms. “And I already told you, I’m busy. We can have a meeting once my other project is finished.”
“But if I need to make adjustments to the plans, I need to do it sooner rather than later,” she objected. “We’re on a tight schedule.”
“Correction –
you
are on a tight schedule,” he pointed at her with the empty bottle’s head. “I will do the construction work in my own time. If Bankhead has a problem with that, he can find himself another contractor.”
The designer’s mouth fell open – not an entirely unattractive look for her – and she stared at him, seemingly incredulous.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Like a hard, cold beer,” he said and waved Hallie over. “Could we get another round, please?” He’d finished his beer, he could legitimately get up and walk away now, but he was curious about Kristen the designer.
“O…kay,” Hallie said, eyeing him curiously for a second before she turned away to get their order. Looking back at Kristen, she had a similar look in her eyes.
“Mr. Hamm…”
“Call me Ford,” he cut her off and picked a fry off her plate. He was getting hungry. “What kind of schedule has Bankhead got you on?”
“Twelve months and ticking,” she answered and yanked her plate closer.
“And what happens if you don’t deliver on time?” Ford leaned back in his chair again.
“Nothing good,” she sighed and cut a piece of her fried meal. She looked so defeated he almost felt sorry for her. Almost. She could just be faking to get her way.
“That’s too bad. Ah, thanks, Hallie,” he looked up and accepted the beer she brought.
“Everything all right here?” Hallie asked as she set down the second beer in front of Kristen.
“Perfect,” Ford said easily.
“Kristen?”
“Thank you, Hallie, this is delicious,” Kristen replied, mustering a smile. Hallie hovered for a moment longer, then headed over to greet new diners.
“Will you be going back to California soon, then?” he asked and took a swig of his brand new beer.
“What? No.” She frowned. “I’m staying in Greenport until the house is finished.”
Ford couldn’t help himself, he burst out laughing. Kristen’s frown turned into a scowl in ten seconds flat.
“What’s so funny?” she demanded in a huff.
Ford tried to get his act together, and after a few minutes, his laughter had died away and he could speak properly again.
“It’s just… you… staying in Greenport for a year? A California girl banished to the shores of the Atlantic. How incredibly tragic for you.”
“Like you even know me,” she huffed and took a deep drink of her beer.
“Here’s what I know. Some rich ass decided he had too much money on his hands and said ‘hey, let’s tear down a historic monument and call it architecture’. Then he went and got himself a pretty little blonde to do the architecturing, and now he’s playing puppet master with her and the little town he stuck her in.”
“Architecturing?” she scoffed. “How ‘bout you cash in the paycheck that rich ass is making out to you and buy yourself a dictionary.”
Clearly satisfied she’d gotten the last word; the blonde designer pushed back her chair, drizzled a couple of bills onto the table and strode off. He wasn’t sad to watch her go, nor to observe the way her butt cheeks flexed in the tight jeans she was wearing. She probably had a dozen Stairmasters in her closet like those other blonde Hollywood types. He hoped she’d brought at least one along, because it was going to be a long, hard winter.
Kristen was seething. Her ambush had started out all right, and she’d felt like they were making headway. Then he had to go and annoy her and she had to blow up at him. Impossible. As soon as she got approval on the new drawings, she was going to hire someone else to do the job. It just wasn’t possible that Ford Hamm was the only contractor on option.
“Ford Hamm. That’s the contractor I hired and the one you’re going to work with,” Quinlan Bankhead said over the video conference connection. “Now, if you want to consult with other contractors, you can do that out of your own pocket, but Hamm stays. That is final.”
“But Mr. Bankhead…” Kristen started, no longer below pleading her case.
“Do I have to call your father and tell him his recommendation was in vain?”
That cut off any further protests. “I’ll make it work, Mr. Bankhead.”
“See that you do. I want weekly updates on your progress, with pictures. Anything deviating from the plans you sent over must be discussed in detail. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Bankhead.”
“Good. I have another conference call lined up. Enjoy your fall, Miss Barnes.”
Kristen wondered if he was referring to the season or her imminent demise. She chose to believe it was the former.
Two weeks in Greenport and she was already bored stiff. She’d avoided the Sea Shack since her failed attempt at coercing Ford Hamm into working with her, and she’d only been down to the waterfront once or twice altogether.
She was in serious need of a spa day, and a touch-up on her hair dye. She’d gone a bit darker just before heading to the East Coast, thinking it might make people take her more seriously. Fat lot of good that had done. Now, with the sun beating down – surprisingly hot on this side of the country – it had bleached so she was almost at her natural shade of blonde. And now she had no choice but to approach the surly contractor again.
Ford slammed the door to his truck shut and strode into the house, slamming that door as well. Anyone who knew him would say he was in a worse mood than ever, and they’d also know why. Annabelle was gone. Now he was back to working his ass off every day to pay child support to a kid he wouldn’t get to see again until the holidays came around.
Suzy had let him in on her plan to jet off for a ‘second honeymoon’ in the Bahamas over Christmas and suggested Annabelle come and stay with him and ‘experience some winter wonders’. Yeah, right. His ex-wife just didn’t want her teenage daughter around while she was boinking the replacement guy.
He was happy to have Annabelle back in a few months’ time, but given her reaction to the news, it was going to be a struggle.
Speaking of a struggle… Ass-Hat Bankhead had called him just as he was dropping off Annabelle at the airport, demanding he get to work immediately. When Ford politely raised the question of him running his own show, Bankhead had started spouting lawyers’ names and threatening lawsuits.
Ford would have told him to go ahead and sue – what with his measly income and all – but any type of legal trouble would look bad on his record and if Suzy started working against him over Annabelle, the courts would have a field day. So he’d bitten back the sour torrent threatening to burst from his lips and said ‘yes, sir’ like a good little puppet. Maybe he and Kristen Barnes weren’t that different, after all.
Kristen Barnes. He hadn’t seen her around since she stormed out of the Sea Shack. He’d been pleased at first, then indifferent, and now he was wondering what was going on. Was she holding off until she could come at him, full guns blazing? Was she plotting something big, something evil?
A knock on the door made him take off his thinking hat and walk over to see who was going to bother him next.
The first thing that hit him as he opened the door was the smell of cinnamon. The second was the shock of seeing Kristen Barnes on his doorstep, holding a basket of cinnamon rolls in her hands with her windblown blonde hair innocently curling around her shoulders and a not-so-innocent figure hiding under a simple cotton dress.
“Mr. Hamm. I’ve come to apologize.”
Well, color him stunned.
Ford picked his jaw off the ground and dusted it off. “Excuse me?”
“I’m here to offer a peace treaty,” Kristen said and held out the basket for his inspection. “In the shape of cinnamon rolls.”
Ford peered into the basket and couldn’t see any snakes or scorpions crawling around. “Are they poisoned?”
“Oh come on, where do you live? The Fantasmical Kingdom of Greenport?” she rolled her eyes and shoved the basket into his arms. The rim jabbed him in the chest, but he didn’t flinch. Much.
“Very gracious of you,” he muttered. “What brought this on?”
“I didn’t bake them myself, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she huffed. Her hands – now unoccupied – had found their way to her hips. Her fingers were flexing against the fabric of her dress. It didn’t look too fancy… had she been shopping at the Spend n’ Save?
“You didn’t take a lot of conflict resolution classes in college, did you?” he raised his eyebrows at the supposed peacemaker.
“You didn’t
go
to college, did you?” she shot back.