“You know, I think I am,” she eventually admits. I spy the open back door and realize that she’s already done the grand tour. Probably with the only estate agent in town, Perry Miller. “I’ve already asked to have the deeds drawn up. I think I fell in love at first sight. Is that crazy?”
She throws a look of such pure affection over her shoulder that I’m struck dumb. Her eyes are warm, bright, and open. In the dying glow of the afternoon, they’ve shifted closer to aquamarine than the mint green they were this morning. Her smile is light and easy, pulling her plump lips smooth and creating a dimple in her left cheek. White teeth shine.
She looks like a child at Christmas.
Feeling as if my tongue is suddenly too big for my mouth, I swallow and can only give an instinctive response to her question: was it crazy?
“Yes.”
Instead of deflating her enthusiasm my answer delights her. She laughs. A bold and hearty laugh.
“How did I know you were going to say that?” she asks.
“Because it’s a wreck,” I tell her. I spot the damaged paneling along the eastern wall and the crack in the furthest porch joist. Every frame, every doorway probably needs a complete sand-down and repainting. “It’s gonna need a lot of work. And that’s only scratching the surface if there’s structural damage.”
Lizzie smiles and cocks her hip.
“I’m not worried,” she says with a shake of her head. I raise an eyebrow. “Jace already mentioned the state of the house.”
“Did he now?”
How helpful of him, I grumble to myself.
“Yep. Also happened to tell me I’m living with the best handyman in town.” There’s a spark in Lizzie’s eye. The kind that a woman gets when they catch you out on something. When they learn something before you can tell them yourself. The kind of look that causes a cold sensation of disquiet in the small of your back.
“Er… yeah, I guess. He said that?”
“Well,” Lizzie snorts softly. “What he actually said was that I was ‘shacking up with a fine pair of hands’.”
I wince. Well, at least that sounds more like Jace.
“I’m sorry,” I offer on behalf of the idiot’s bad manners.
“For what?” she shrugs. “I told him he had the wrong impression is all. I’m used to suggestive humor. No offense meant or taken.”
“Really?”
Perhaps my surprise is a little too evident because Lizzie seems to pause. She swallows, frowns, and shifts from one sneaker to the other.
“Well, I suppose some might be offended. True.” She sounds unsure of herself and is watching my face like she’s trying to read a foreign language. She rubs her palms on the seat of her overalls and smiles, but the expression doesn’t hold its normal warmth. “I guess it depends on who you’re accused of doing the shacking up with, huh?”
I’m lost. From the flush on her face I can tell she’s upset and yet I have no idea what I’ve said to cause it.
“Lizzie I—”
“Anyway!” she interrupts. “We were talking about the house.” She swipes her hands together briskly and then turns her attention back to the building. To its peeling paint and crooked woodwork. She shakes her head in surrender. “Nope. It’s no good. I know it’s going to be a handful and it’s going to be a big ol’ mess but I love it. I need it.”
“You need a house?” I ask, unsure just how much crazy she might be hiding behind that beauty.
“I need a home.”
This time, all teasing is gone from her voice. Emotion, real and poignant, laced that little comment, turning it heavy. It hangs in the air.
It’s clear from the sudden look on Lizzie’s face that she hadn’t meant to speak out loud. Least of all to a stranger.
Which is, I remind myself for the thousandth time, exactly what we are. Strangers.
“Why are you here, Ms. Lucas?” I ask her.