Page 146 of Story of My Life
“Just wear shoes, okay? I don’t want you ending up with a nail through the foot.”
“Yes, sir,” she said smartly as she made the turn into the dining room. It had become a temporary kitchen of sorts with the fridge in the corner and the microwave and hot plate on a folding table pushed up against the wall.
“Chips and dip again, white cheddar popcorn, or I just happened to get a meat and cheese tray in case we had sex again and needed a girthier snack.”
The woman had no idea how delectable she looked. I looked beyond her to the long blank wall that backed the kitchen. “Meat and cheese. While I’m writing change orders, I had a thought.”
“I’m all ears,” she said, opening the refrigerator door.
“This wall.” I nodded at the wall that adjoined the kitchen.
“You were thinking about my wall,” she said, sounding amused. She deposited a plastic-wrapped tray of meats and cheeses on the table by the hot plate.
“You’re keeping this as your formal dining room, right?”
“That’s the plan.”
“There’s no storage in here. But you’ve got this big-ass wall doing nothing,” I continued.
“I assume it’s holding up the house or something.”
“Built-ins. A wall of lower cabinets and a counter the whole way across. Then bookshelves on top to the ceiling.”
Her eyes went wide and dazzled. “Whoa.”
“You could bump out the center and use it as a bar. Maybe do some art or a big mirror in the middle.”
We both studied the big blank wall for a beat.
“So you’re not just good at sex, you’re also good at your job,” she said finally.
There was that word again.
“I’mgreatat everything,” I corrected.
She was nodding, but it was at the wall, not me. “I can see it. Storage for serveware and table linens on the sides. Bar glasses and bottles in the middle. And bookshelves.”
“You’ve got your library, but I figured you don’t want to cram all your books in there.”
“Iaman author. Which means I do have a reputation to uphold,” she joked, still staring at the wall. “Painted or stained?”
“In here? Stained. Match it up to the crown molding. It’s a formal dining room, might as well stick with the theme.”
“Dammit, Cam. Now I want it.”
“I’ll write up an estimate. Might hurt a little,” I warned.
“Well, that’s what you said about sex and look how well that turned out.”
Good. Well. This woman seemed hell-bent on ranking me one step above fine, which we all knew was one step above hot garbage.
“Now I can’t see this room without it,” she complained. “Any other expensive ideas?”
I smirked. “One or two.”
We took the snacks and a pair of beers with us. I showed her the spot under the back stairs that would make a good cleaning supply closet, a change that made sense and wouldn’t cost an arm and a leg beyond some drywall, shelving, and a door.
“Dammit, Cam. Any other bright ideas?”
