Page 105 of Perfect Chemistry

I nodded absently and leaned my head back on the seat rest. Today would be just fine.

The coffee they served at Kai’s clinic was gross. “How do you drink this?” I asked, smacking my tongue around my mouth to remove the taste lingering in there.

He laughed and took my cup from me. “Not everyone’s pallet is as refined as yours,” he joked.

“It’s not even a matter of refinement. When was the last time someone cleaned the machine out? It shouldn’t taste burnt!” I argued quietly.

“Don’t you have a job to get to?” He scoffed back.

I realized it was nearly nine and panicked. “Shit! I have to go!” I said, jumping up to run out the door. Kai stood just as quickly and pulled me back so that he could hug me.

“Have a great first day, Kitkat,” he whispered, pecking me on the lips with a gentle kiss.

I felt my anxiety drop by half. “Thank you,” I whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now go show them what you can do!” He encouraged me with a pat on the ass as I walked away. I squinted my eyes at him as I departed, but made sure to add some extra sway in my sashay as I went out the door. “I see what you’re doing, Katie!” He yelled after me, causing me to laugh and jog back to my SUV. I wouldn’t put it past him to chase me down for being cheeky.

I was right to get there when I did. The team stripping the wood was not as gentle as I would have been. I stopped one guy setting up a floor sander, and convinced him to change the grit of the paper before gouging the grain away. The floors weren’t cherry or oak, but pine. Pine was a softer wood that couldn’t stand up to the lower grit papers.

I took measurements and made notes of the different woods in a small book I kept in my belt. The grand dining room had a built-in buffet and china cabinet constructed from black walnut. Black walnut was nearly impossible to find on a budget, but I was pretty sure that I could sister in a few small pieces of maple where the wood had been broken or gouged over the years.

By eleven o’clock I had written meticulous notes on the key areas I would need to work on as well as a modest list of wood supplies they would need to provide to complete the repairs. The foreman gathered everyone outside the front entrance and began the walk through with the home owners and representatives from the Historical Society. This house dated back to the revolutionary war, and had received several well known forefathers in its heyday, chief among them: William Penn.

The exterior was primarily brick, which was common for this area. Unlike the clapboard and shake siding of the northeast, brick was cheaper and easier to acquire in this area. I wouldn’t have anything to do with exterior work, so I just followed along and listened to the other workers talk about their plans for rehabbing the brittle mortar.

By the time we got inside it was already after noon. The guy sanding the floors took his lunch break so that we could tour the inside. We started from the main entry and walked room to room. I didn’t get a chance to speak once, because of the men discussing bulk supply requirements for electrical and plumbing versus timelines.

“Well, I guess that wraps up the list,” the foreman said, clapping his hands together. “Any last comments before we get into this project?” Everyone else was shaking their heads, until I spoke up.

“I do,” I called out.

“And you are?” The homeowner inquired.

I smiled politely. “I’m Katie Johnson, your in-house craftsman. I was hired to repair the damaged woodwork throughout the house,” I said, offering my hand.

“Oh, wonderful! I was wondering if that would be addressed. My wife would kill me if the integrity of the original structure wasn’t maintained,” he confessed, shaking my offered hand.

The foreman, named Jack, smiled. “I wasn’t sure if this was gonna be too much for you. You didn’t say much,” he pointed out.

I nodded in understanding. “There are a lot of things that need priority over missing spindles on a balustrade and chipped molding. I didn’t hear anything about budget ceilings? I can use maple wood to patch the black walnut, and Caribbean pine to repair the wide baseboards in the upstairs bath,” I started, looking down at my notes.

“I would also like to sit with the homeowner to discuss their intentions for the servant doors in the cellar. They could be used to replace the battered doors leading to the kit-”

“This your first time on a site, little girl?” one of the men asked, causing several others to chuckle.

I smiled back at him. “It is. But I know my job. I won’t question your ability to patch plaster, so don’t question my ability to repair the woodwork,” I stated before turning my attention back to the foreman and homeowner. “As I was saying, the doors to the kitchen are damaged and could be replaced with doors from the cellar. I can fabricate new ones for the basement that would be keeping with the style of the home.”

I flipped through my notes to make sure I hadn’t missed anything, and remembered the spindles. “Lastly, is there a preference for wood to be used for the spindles? Will the balustrade need to be fortified with harder wood?”

“Why does that even matter?” A younger guy scoffed at me.

“It matters if you ever decide to slide down the rail. Once or twice wouldn’t be a problem for someone my size. Corn fed fella like yourself, I would insist on something like cherry or oak that won’t crack under the pressure.”

The young guy blushed in embarrassment, but a few of the older guys chuckled.

The foreman just looked to the homeowner for his input.

“I don’t see my wife or I sliding down the banister, but I can’t put it past our grandchildren. I will leave it to your professional judgment,” he stated, chuckling.

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