Page 39 of Summer Heat
We ordered. Then Shep leaned his forearms on the table. "Did you look at the video yet?"
I shook my head. "I haven't had a chance."
His gaze flitted over the water. "I'm curious how it came out. There are a lot of stretches where we're doing the same thing over and over again."
"It will need editing." I was looking forward to watching the parts where he interacted with Maya.
He sighed. "I don't understand why anyone would want to watch someone renovate a house."
"You were watching a renovation show when I was in the shower," I pointed out.
"Those shows look staged to me. Everything is too clean. The hosts are dressed so nicely; it's hard to believe they ever get dirty."
I laughed. "I've had similar thoughts."
"You can't convince me that they ever do more than what they film for the show," I continued, pleased that she agreed.
Kinsley sobered. "You think people won't be interested in you renovating the house?"
"Maybe they want to see inside the house, maybe see a before-and-after picture. But a play-by-play of the renovation? No way."
I had a feeling people would be interested in him. A gruff contractor who went soft for a little girl. He was going to win over a lot of hearts, but I didn't want to tell him that.
We were in this bubble where we spent so much time together; there were bound to be feelings. But it didn't mean that anything was supposed to happen between us. I was positive he didn't even think of me as more than a single mother that needed a place to live.
I wasn't looking forward to sharing Shep with the world. I'd promised to help him, but now I wanted to keep everything to ourselves.
Shep looked away. "Dad will be happy I finally made some progress and filmed it."
"You want to make your father proud?" I asked, trying to get a read on him.
He shrugged. "I've always been somewhat of a disappointment to him. He doesn't think I work as hard as my brothers or that I care about the business like they do."
I wondered if that was more of a perception thing. I'd noticed that Shep was capable of great focus, but it would appear as if he wasn't listening. But when I asked him questions, he was able to answer me.
I wondered if Shep was misunderstood by his family. It wasn't my place to psychoanalyze the situation. But it was interesting. It told me a lot about why he was the way he was. He wanted to impress his family, but I had a feeling it was more about being accepted for who he was.
"I'm sure that's not true," I said with a sinking feeling because I'd seen him interact with his family. They didn't expect him to finish the renovation on time.
He focused on Maya. "You want to play tic-tac-toe?"
She handed him a crayon, and Shep drew the lines for the game on the white space of the menu.
He worked with his family so closely that it would be hard not to be tied up in his family's thoughts and beliefs about himself. I'd worked in the office for a few years, and I'd heard what his brothers and father have said about him.
They didn't expect much from him and assumed he wasn't on top of his job. It was one of the reasons why I kept a close eye on his projects and helped him organize the ordering and delivery. In other companies, I might handle this type of work for all the project managers. But Jon expected each project manager be responsible for their own project.
I didn't think it should matter if Shep had someone helping him. It was what he needed to be successful.
Shep bowed his head over the paper, his dark hair close to Maya's lighter strands.
That's when I noticed that someone had stopped by the end of our table. "Derek? What are you doing here?"
My face flushed as soon as the words were out of my mouth because he was holding hands with a woman. She wore a formfitting black dress and stiletto heels. Her blond hair looked like it had been professionally blown out. Next to her, I felt frumpy in my sundress.
Derek's gaze flitted from Maya to Shep. "I'm here on a date."
He didn't bother to introduce me to the woman who I'd never seen before. Maybe she was a tourist or someone just passing through.
