His First Choice

She pushed a button. “Hey, Dad!” she said, her expression completely serious as she looked at her sister.

“Hang up.” Lacey’s words came out with a bite. And a look that he was pretty sure could mean that he’d just won himself an excuse to be around his fantasy woman for a good part of the summer.

Lacey filled Levi’s board again, this time leaving a different hole empty from which he had to start.

After a few minutes of chatting about the weather, the shopping she and Lacey had done, what they’d eaten and what they’d watched on television, Kacey asked after her mom and dad, talked about an ankle brace and the broccoli they’d left in the fridge at the cottage and rang off.

Levi took the pencil Lacey had pulled out of her purse and was pressing it to the napkin she’d put in front of him.

“So we’re agreed?” Kacey said in the same breath as “Bye, Dad.”

“Fine.”

“So.” Kacey turned to him. “I’m giving my sister a sunroom and a garden for her birthday...”

“Only a sunroom.”

Kacey stared for a minute. And then said, “Fine, only a sunroom.” She turned back to Jem. “Would you like the job?”

“His company,” Lacey said. “Jem’s the boss of foremen. Who are the bosses of the men who actually do the work.”

He didn’t see any point in arguing the point. He hadn’t always been the boss. He was fully licensed and proficient in every aspect of the framing, drywall and electrical work his men did. And occasionally, he kept a smaller job for himself. To keep himself sharp. Or because he wanted the excuse to spend more time with the first woman who’d captivated him in a very long time.

“I’m happy to come take a look,” Jem said, using his professional voice. “I’ll give you a quote and see what you think.”

“Good!” Kacey smiled.

Lacey’s face was completely straight.

Levi burped.

“On one condition,” Jem said, prolonging the high he was on for another second or two.

“What’s that?” Kacey didn’t look bothered. In spite of the hopeful rise of Lacey’s brow.

“Tell me why Lacey didn’t want you calling your dad.”

“Oh,” Lacey said, her tone dry. “I can answer that. Dad fancies himself a self-made do-it-yourselfer. He gets the jobs done, but there’s always something a little off about things. Like a floor that’s not quite level...”

“A door that doesn’t close right.”

“Trim with a bit of a gap in the corner.”

“Electrical outlets that aren’t live.”

“Switches that you have to turn up to turn off and down to turn on.”

Both girls were chuckling. Jem was grinning.

“Remember the time he put that sink out in the shed, and when Mom mentioned that it was dripping, he said he knew and it wasn’t a problem—they’d just keep a bucket under it?”

“And your mother’s okay with all of this?”

“Heck, no!” the women answered in unison. Same words. Same intonation. And he still heard Lacey’s voice. “Anytime Mom needs something done, she calls a professional before she tells Dad,” Lacey told him.

“He doesn’t take offense?”

“Probably. But he still putters, has his projects. He’s building a shed, complete with electric and plumbing, at their beach cottage in San Diego...”