Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2) (19 page)

“Of course. There’s water in the fridge. You know where the coffee pot is. Help yourself. Whenever. Just don’t let Eddie out.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Well, if you need anything, let me know.”

He felt a gut punch of desire as her teeth worried her lower lip. His mind worked in overdrive to think of a reason to keep her there. She looked sexy as hell, like she’d just rolled out of bed. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I could use a hand with screeding later. Pops is at the chiropractor’s again.”

She gave a half smile. “That presumes I know what ‘screeding’ means.”

“Leveling the sand with a straight edge before I start laying the pavers.”

“Oh. Sure. I’d be happy to help. Sorry about your uncle. Is it serious?”

He shrugged. “An old back injury, it’s just been acting up lately. He had it operated on back when I was in college, but it got infected. Pretty nasty.”

“My God, that’s awful! And, when you’re self-employed, there’s no workman’s comp to fall back on.”

He nodded, impressed she understood. “I did what I could to keep things going until he was back on his feet.”

“But you were in college. How did you—?”

“I quit. Heck, probably wouldn’t have made it through anyway, right?” He flashed a grin and took a long slug of coffee, ignoring the sympathetic, curious expression on her face. “Well, back to work. I’ll let you know when I need that extra hand.” Unfortunately, she wasn’t done.

“Why didn’t you go back to college? When your uncle was better?”

“What was the point?”

“But, I thought you were getting your business degree. Certainly it made sense—”

He laughed without humor. “No need when I’m working off my back.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got so much potential. Your business, I mean.”

“I’ve got plenty of work. No degree needed.” He walked over to retrieve a roll of mason’s line that had rolled under his wheelbarrow.

“Yes, I’m sure you do,” she said, trailing after him. After a moment, she said, “But after our conversation the other night, I had some ideas on how to strategically grow the business, really make a brand for yourself. I’d love to share them with you. Not that you’re not doing fine as you are, but I was thinking there’s such an opportunity here for you to capitalize on the eco-building materials/hardscape niche.

A denial sprang reflexively to the tip of his tongue, but she pressed on. “Think of the clients who have the money to do those sort of projects; they’re the same clients who can afford to go green, right? Some selective advertising in local home and building publications… a carefully prepared photo portfolio of past projects…”

A carefully prepared portfolio?
Where did she come up with this stuff? He looked at her, and she paused. “Anyway,” she said, giving a small, self-conscious laugh, “only if you’re interested.”

He straightened, ready to tell her ‘thanks, but no thanks,’ but then her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and he felt something in him soften. “I’m interested. Potentially.”  He felt himself smile. “Can’t hurt to talk.”

She grinned. “Great. I look forward to it. Well.” She bit her lip. “I should let you get back to work.”

But she didn’t go.

He glanced up. She looked uncertain for a moment. “I wanted to mention,” she said, “what you did the other day for Ben… that was really nice.” Carter frowned. “You know. When you made him feel okay about chipping the paver? I just wanted you to know, I thought it was sweet of you.”

“We all chip things now and again. I’ve chipped enough pavers for ten people combined over the years.”

“I suppose you’re bound to in this business.” She chuckled, but then paused, a considering look on her face.

Carter shrugged. “Or maybe I’m just careless.” He took a sip of coffee.

“I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all right. We’re not in tenth grade anymore. It’s not like I won’t graduate if I chip a few pavers, so we don’t have to dance around the obvious. Precision isn’t my strong suit.”

“
Mmm,”
she said, although he got the sense she wasn’t listening.

“Mmm?”

She blinked and looked at him. “Wh—? Oh.” She chuckled, a short awkward sound. “I was just thinking.”

A notepad fell out of Carter’s pocket and he bent to pick it up. “About?”

“About your carelessness and…
hmm…
how you lose track of time.”

Carter rose. “How I what?”

“…how much sugar and caffeine you ingest….” They both stared at the travel mug in his hand.

Liz continued, obviously on a roll. “Are you aware you have a dozen of those little notepads, but you never seem to remember where you’ve left them? That you have a tendency to act impulsively? And you fidget more than the average person? Back in high school it was all you could do to stay focused sometimes when I tutored you.” She exhaled and made a helpless gesture with her hands. “Look, Carter, what I’m trying to say is…”

He blinked, still reeling from the list she’d just rattled off.

She put her hands on her hips and looked at him matter-of-factly. “What I
am
saying is: You might have ADHD.”

“I might have
what?”

She swallowed. Flushed. “Look, I was up until after midnight gathering information for my sister. I’ve read the web sites. I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner. You have ten out of ten symptoms.” She frowned. “Except oppositional defiance. You don’t score high there.”

He stared at her.

“I’m sorry to be blunt. I thought you knew. Sort of like being bald. At some level you can’t
not
know, right?”

“Are you saying I’m bald?”

“No. No, you have excellent hair.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Good to know.”

She stared at him.

He stared back.

“It doesn’t make you unintelligent,” she blurted. “That’s the thing. A lot of people with ADHD are very smart. In fact, I read that their inability to filter ideas makes them unusually creative.” She bit her lower lip again. “I should stop talking now, shouldn’t I?”

“Probably.” He set his travel mug down and turned to get ready for work. The coffee had suddenly lost its appeal. She trailed after him again.

He blew out a silent breath. He forgot she had a tendency not to let things go.

“Have I upset you?”

“Only by implying I was bald,” he said over his shoulder.

“Carter, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but I actually know a lot about this condition. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. In fact—”

He stopped abruptly. Turned. “I get it, Liz. You’ve got me figured out. Good for you. But it doesn’t do much for me, does it? It’s like telling me I’ll die someday. True, but what am I supposed to
do
about it?”

“But, that’s just it. There are treatments available. Counseling. Medications!”

“So now I need a shrink?”

“No, a counselor is someone who can help with executive functioning skills like prioritization of tasks and time management. The research says—”

He held up a hand. “Liz, I’m fine.”

She bit her lip. “Of course you are.”

He blew out another breath. There was probably some truth to what she was saying, but knowing that didn’t make him happy to be analyzed like a lab specimen.

He shook his head then abruptly turned, leaning forward and peering at a point near her left ear.

She stepped back. “What are you looking at?”

“There’s something…” He squinted and leaned closer.

She flicked at the area with her hand. “What? Is there something in my hair?”

“No. It’s…
hmm.
Wow.
You might want to get that checked out.”

“
What is it?”

He stepped back. “I’m no expert, but it appears to be a pretty advanced case of over-zealousness. I wouldn’t leave it untreated if I were you.”

She pursed her lips. “Ha. Ha.”

“No, seriously, I wouldn’t fool around with that. I’m sure there are treatments available. Counseling. Medications…”

She had the grace to look chagrined. “Let me know when you need help with that screaming later.”

“Will do.” He watched her walk away, her ponytail bouncing.

Screeding,
he corrected. But only to himself.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
____________________

“T
ELL ME AGAIN WHY you’re going to this thing tonight?” Trish asked for the third time since she’d stopped by. She sat on Liz’s bed and half-bounced, half-patted Clara in her lap.

It was Friday afternoon, and Liz had taken a break from working on the house to figure out what she planned to wear to the reunion dinner that evening.

She made a face at herself in the mirror. “I thought it would be fun?”

“Fun like a root canal. And, please, tell me you aren’t wearing
that
.”

Liz looked down at herself. “I’m wearing this.”

“You won’t even look like a wallflower in that, you’ll just blend in with the wall!”

“Black is slimming,” Liz retorted, albeit feebly. “Besides, I packed for remodeling and cleaning, not dinner dances. This is the best I could do.”

“You look like a post. You owe it to all the overweight, unpopular girls out there to go shopping. You’ve come so far.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Come on, I’ve only got an hour before preschool lets out.”

“I’m not buying a new—”

“Shut-up. I’ve got credit cards, too. We’re going.”

Twenty minutes later, Liz was pushing the baby in her stroller while Trish rapidly sifted through dresses on the racks of the town’s only boutique dress shop. Trish held up a navy shift, shook her head, and popped it back on the rack. “If we don’t like anything here, we still have time to try
Second Chances
. But consignment shops are so hit or miss, and we don’t have time to get anything cleaned…”

“Dress slacks and a tailored blouse are considered classic,” Liz said as Trish rifled through the hangers.

“Don’t make me vomit. You look like a waiter. We’ll find something. It’s got to be sophisticated, but funky. Not too long, a little sexy...
A-ha!”
Trish whipped her selection off the rack and thrust it at Liz. “It’s perfect! But it’s the only one, so make it fit.”

Liz frowned at the dress. Okay, so it
was
rather nice, with a fitted, sleeveless bodice, v-neck and full, just-above-the-knee skirt. It had a retro flavor, but the rich plum silk gave it a modern feel. Still, maybe she should keep things casual. After suggesting Carter get counseling yesterday, it might be better to not get too worked up about tonight.

A few moments later, Liz stepped out of the dressing room.

“It’s perfect!” Trish nearly squealed, yanking the zipper up.

Liz struggled to take a breath. “The bodice is a little snug.”

“Then skip the bra.” Trish fluffed the crinoline underskirt. “I tell you, it’s perfect. And I have just the necklace to go with it. Did you bring heels? Never mind. I saw some fabulous shoes in the window next door.” She yanked the zipper down again and pushed Liz toward the changing room. “We’ll take it,” she announced to the salesgirl across the shop.

“Thank you. You’re being awfully nice,” Liz said a short while later as she loaded her new purchases into Trish’s minivan. She had refused to let Trish pay after Trish had revealed they were hinting at more lay-offs in Russ’ company.

Trish shrugged and snapped the baby seat into the car. “I kind of jumped ship when we were teenagers. I didn’t get to help you primp for your prom or any of that sisterly stuff.” She eyed Liz’s somber outfit. “And I think it’s high time the world stopped seeing you as just a brain.”

“Thanks.” Liz glanced out the window at passing traffic. She’d missed this, she realized. They’d been closer once—she and Trish. They’d shared a room, secrets. But that was before the awkward, difficult teenage years and life events had pushed them apart.

“So, you’re saying you want the world to see me as a liver and pancreas, too?”

“You always did have a questionable sense of humor.” Trish rolled her eyes and sipped from the travel mug of coffee that followed her everywhere. “You know what I mean. You always shied away from letting people see how pretty you were. Especially men. And, don’t deny it. It’s true. You used your smarts as a shield. Probably still do, but I’m here to put a stop to that.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really,” Trish said, warming to her topic. “You don’t realize it, but you still dress as if you weighed twenty pounds more.”

“I don’t wear baggy clothes!”

“You don’t wear clothes that draw attention to you, either. Are you afraid you might get noticed? Heaven forbid some guy should take an interest in you. When’s the last time you went out on a date?”