Page 28 of To Have and to Scold

I never give up, which is a secret to my success.

I wish that translated over to keeping the Death List from getting any more couples on it.

After meeting with the Goodens, the first clients, I ate my sack lunch and worked until the afternoon when the Mannings came by. I just got the call and it’s a go on them, too. Hallelujah!

Neither the Goodens nor the Mannings seemed too concerned with the fact that the rooms aren’t done, probably because Beck, in his calm way, insisted they’d be done in time. “That’s not a problem at all,” he’d said, multiple times, to all their questions and asks.

I guess he and I can set our differences aside and put on a professional face in public. And I have to admit, he was great with them—a real people person.

“We got another booking,” I say as he walks up to me while I’m putting things back in my car at the end of the workday. His crew has left, and I have a feeling he’s one of those bosses who’s a first in, last out kind of a guy.

I straighten from the trunk to see that he’s carrying all four of the barstools at once. Showoff.

“I was just about to grab those,” I tell him, trying to take one from him. He rotates away from me so that I can’t reach.

“And have to watch you struggling to carry them like earlier? No thanks. I’ve got it.”

“I was not struggling.”

“They’re almost as tall as you are. Let me put them in the trunk.” The edge in his voice tells me I’ve lost this battle. Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.

“It’s an exact science, Mr. Billingsley.”

“I’m aware, Ms. Cardon. I remember the Tetris situation you had going on in here. I’ve got it.”

I drop my head back. “Fine. Thanks,” I shoot out.

“No problem,” he says, while manhandling my stuff so the stools will fit. “Tell me about the other booking.”

“It’s with the couple who was here this afternoon.”

He sigh-growls as he sets a stool back down to lift my plastic box of color samples. If he’d only let me help, we could have been done now. “Sorry I couldn’t be here for that one,” he says. “My aunt’s car broke down.”

“That’s kind of you to help her.”

“She lives alone, and I was in the vicinity. It’s not a big deal.”

He seems uncomfortable with being complimented about helping his aunt, so I go back to the subject of the Mannings.

“I just heard back from the couple from this afternoon. Mary said she brought the Mannings over to see the mansion a few weeks ago. They had been on the fence, something to do withtheir families disagreeing. But after meeting with me today, they’ve decided to go with Willow Wood.”

“Well, congrats.”

I nod. “It will be a smaller affair than the Goodens’ because the Mannings aren’t going to be staying at the mansion. But still. That’s two down and four more to go.”

“You hoping for some shotgun weddings to crop up?”

“No.” I clutch his arm. “Please no shotgun weddings.” At his bemused expression, I shoot out, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! But with two weddings already booked, things are looking up.”

“Which can only be a good thing for the YMCA wing, as well,” he adds. “Mayor Dobbs has a lot of sway with the board, so I’m hoping if she’s happy with the mansion, then…” He sniffs and rubs a knuckle across his nose.

He really wants to win the bid for the YMCA, doesn’t he? It’s kind of cute to see his heart on his sleeve like that. Not that I should even notice his cuteness. “Fingers crossed for us both, Mr. Billingsley.”

He slopes his head to the right. “Why are you calling me Mr. Billingsley? Is this in protest of me not correcting you when you kept calling me Billy?”

“No.” I glare at him.

It’s totally in protest. And maybe it’s immature. Or maybe it’s actually very mature? Since it’s uber-professional and all.

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