Fixed Up Page 3
But she’d known getting her business started wouldn’t be easy. If running your own business was a piece of cake, then surely everyone would do it. The Cliff King fiasco represented a mere stumbling block. She’d reschedule with his secretary later. And in the meantime she had a class of six lovely women to teach tonight. Women who needed her to remain positive and enthusiastic. Women who needed her to stay on track.
A memory of stormy blue eyes flittered through her mind. It would be all too easy to get distracted, lose momentum and end up back at square one. And what message would that send to Annie?
She dialled her sister’s cell phone.
‘Hi Annie,’ she said.
Annie’s voice squealed down the phone at her. ‘How’d it go? Did you cane it? Did my shoes look good with your dress?’
Oops. Harper picked up the shoes and dusted them off. ‘We’ve had to reschedule. But don’t worry, I’ll cane it next time.’
‘Bummer. At least you’ve got your night ladies. That’ll keep you busy,’ said Annie.
‘I need more than two night classes a week. Did you finish delivering my flyers to the mailboxes?’
The resounding silence said it all. Then: ‘Oops. Sorry. I’ll do it tomorrow if the weather’s fine.’
Harper bristled. ‘We talked about this, Annie. You promised you’d take your responsibilities more seriously.’ Organising Annie resembled dealing with a ten-year-old, not a young woman of twenty-three. Harper pinched her lips together, holding back angry words that would be lost on Annie. Her sister, six years her junior, didn’t really get it. Sweet, ditzy and thoroughly unreliable, she drove Harper mad with her inability to do anything properly—and worse still, her inability to give a crap about anything other than her social life.
‘Please make sure you deliver them to the areas on the map I gave you. I need more clients or DIY Divas will be over before it begins.’ Harper tried to keep the desperation out of her voice. ‘You know I can’t afford advertising. Posters, mailbox drops and word-of-mouth are all I’ve got. And so far the mailbox drops haven’t been that successful.’ She imagined most of her expensive flyers had found their way into recycling bins all over Auckland city.
The ones that weren’t still in the back seat of Annie’s decrepit VW Beetle.
Harper rang off. She drummed her fingers on the bench top as she gazed around her kitchen, a work in progress that wasn’t progressing as fast as she’d like. Today hadn’t gone to plan, but it gave her extra time to sand her kitchen floor. Her bare feet navigated rough boards as she made her way to her bedroom. Carefully hanging up her dress, she changed into work clothes of old jeans, a timeworn T-shirt and sturdy boots.
She loved working on her house. She loved the whole DIY thing, had always loved having a project on the go. And she knew other women did too. They just didn’t always have the skills to get the job done safely or up to standard. Which was where Divas came in. She wanted to teach skills and watch women gain enough confidence to enjoy the same sense of pride she felt renovating her own home. And she knew there were women out there who wanted to learn. She just had to find them and lure them to her classes.
The sound of her phone ringing pulled her back through the house. She picked it up, plonking onto an old armchair in the sitting room. The seat was warm beneath her from the afternoon sunlight that poured through the windows and she put her feet up on a low coffee table and closed her eyes, basking in the heat. ‘Hello, DIY Divas, Harper speaking.’
‘This is Judy Champion, I’m really sorry but my daughter and I have to pull out of your class.’ Harper’s eyes opened and she bolted upright as the voice of one of her older students trumpeted down the line.
‘Sorry to hear that, but you can do a make-up class another night. It’s a fun group on Thursday too.’
‘No, I mean we have to pull right out. My husband is ill and we can’t spare the time or money to attend the classes now. I’m so sorry, but we’ll need you to refund us. For the classes we didn’t attend.’
‘Oh.’ Harper’s foot tapped a rapid staccato on the floor and her mind raced to keep pace. What made Judy think Harper was in any position to give refunds? Two refunds. And now her Tuesday night class only had four students taking part.
Crappity crap. She needed to increase numbers attending her classes, not decrease them. Pulling in the punters was the only way people like Cliff King would treat her seriously. And she needed to be taken seriously. She took a deep breath.
‘I don’t usually give refunds, but I’d be happy to credit you for any of my classes you’d like to attend in the future.’ Harper crossed her fingers. Please.
‘I really must insist on a refund. I’ll be sure to tell all my quilting friends how supportive you were in my time of need,’ said Judy.
Harper slumped back down in her chair. She relied on friendly gossip to ensure her good reputation. She’d seen up close and personal what happened when the gossip went against you, how damaging it could be to the family name and the reputation of everyone connected. Her mother had embarrassed her enough when she was growing up, everything she did openly and gleefully gossiped about by the neighbours.
‘Of course, Judy, I’ll put your refund in the post.’
She tossed her phone aside and wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. What was it she’d said to Luke Colton, only an hour ago?
I just want to forget this day ever happened.
Even more reason now, with the day sliding from crap to costly to catastrophic. The potential highlight had been the moment Luke lowered her onto the lounger, his arms strong around her, mingled scents of summer and sawdust in his hair—and she hadn’t appreciated it. If she’d known what was in store, she might’ve taken the time to stop and smell the gorgeous man instead of fleeing with all the grace of an obnoxious ingrate.
She gave herself a mental slap on the hand. Daydreaming didn’t pay the bills.
And her struggle to get DIY Divas to a point where it did pay the bills would always take priority over the hunky-yet-unsuitable Luke Coltons of the world.
***
Harper’s photo taunted Luke over the next couple of hours. Teasing him as he drove his new barbecue back home. Tantalising him as he dropped off a motley collection of wallpaper samples to his mother’s house.
He’d googled Harper’s home address, checked out her DIY Divas website and managed to resist stalking her on Facebook. For all of five minutes he patted himself on the back for his remarkable restraint only to find he’d somehow gotten into his truck and driven a direct path to Harper’s house, in the leafy Auckland suburb of Grey Lynn.
He sat in his truck across the road from her house. His hands fidgeted with the folder as he contemplated the possible reception he’d receive. Worst case scenario she’d call the police. He took a deep breath and climbed out of the truck, slamming the door behind him. He beeped the lock with his key remote and strode towards Harper’s front door. If he stopped to question himself, he’d probably take the sensible course: stick the folder in the letterbox and run like hell.
Pretty much the opposite of what he was actually—stupidly—doing.
He knocked on the door and waited. The cute little villa, similar to others of its period all over the country, was surrounded by old trees in need of pruning, overgrown garden beds and looked like a candidate for demolition. It had the look of a property neglected for many years, but the pile of newly sawn timber and the neatly stacked paint pots on the porch told a different story. Luke couldn’t resist poking a finger into the dry rot on one of the porch weatherboards, but jumped back when the front door opened.
‘Luke?’ The husky voice was all he recognised of the woman who stood before him.
‘Harper?’
‘That’s my name.’ She stood balanced on both feet in her defensive stance again, so he took a step back. Without her high heels she barely came up to his chest and he realised having him looming in her doorway, an oversized hulk of a stranger, might not be the bes
t way to win her over.
And now he’d seen her like this, win her over he must.
Every inch of her was covered in a fine layer of dust, from the top of the old softball cap she wore, to the worn-looking work boots. And the bits in between—Luke felt that jolt again. The same jolt of awareness he’d experienced the first time he’d seen her.
Their gazes locked.
He held the stare as long as he could, hoping she’d be unable to resist the famous Luke Colton smoulder.
Then her eyes dropped to his crotch and he felt himself burning up.
‘That’s mine,’ she said. For a second it seemed all his fantasy Christmases had come at once, until he realised she was referring to the DIY Divas folder dangling forgotten in his hand.
He pulled himself together. ‘You dropped it in the car park.’
‘You could have posted it. Used the phone. Saved yourself a trip.’
‘And missed seeing you like this? Hell no.’
A look of horror washed over Harper’s face. She brushed her hands across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, causing the most adorable smudge. ‘I look terrible, don’t I?’ she said, then must have regretted her words. ‘Not that I care. Nature of the job.’
‘You look like a ghost.’ Luke couldn’t help smiling. ‘What are you doing in there?’
‘I’m sanding the floor. It’s messy work.’
‘What are you using?’
‘I’ve hired a floor sanding machine,’ she said, giving him an odd look.
‘That would explain the dust.’ And also the change of outfit into the old, gorgeously fitted jeans that revealed her petite but perfect figure. He had the urge to pop her into his pocket and whisk her away. Instead he handed her back the folder. ‘I liked your brochures.’
‘Thanks. I was so steamed up I hadn’t noticed I’d dropped them.’ Harper took her cap off and banged it against the door frame. A cloud of dust disappeared in the breeze.
Luke laughed. ‘Nice dye job.’
Harper’s hair was dark where the cap had been, with a grey ponytail draping over one shoulder. She picked it up, flicking it backwards in a self-conscious gesture. Her forehead furrowed into a frown.
‘So you’re doing the house up? I own a construction company that deals with homes just like this—’
‘Deals? What do you mean? Renovates?’ A look of horror flashed over Harper’s face. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re one of those wrecking ball people who can’t see the beauty in anything that isn’t brand-spanking new?’ Harper’s hands went from her hair to her hips, as she glared up at him. Those long, dark eyelashes fluttered, pulling him back to the memory of her breathing in the scent of a candle.
‘No, not at all. But many people would rather build a brand new house than put in the hard yards doing what you’re doing. Believe me, I know how much work is involved.’ He shook his head, hoping he looked sympathetic rather than judgemental. Harper’s shoulders drooped a little and she hugged the folder to her chest.
She took a deep breath. ‘Look,’ she said.
He looked. Waited. A thumping in his gut, told him to expect the worst.
She looked him straight in the eye. ‘You seem like a nice guy.’
Ouch.
‘Maybe a bit do-goody—’
Double ouch.
‘—but hey, as a person to have on my doorstep, better than an axe murderer any day. The thing is, I don’t have time for people or non-work-related activities at the moment. I’ve got this house to renovate, my classes to fill. I’m all about work right now. Sorry.’
‘How ’bout I help you out? I could do the floor sanding,’ said Luke.
‘How would that look to my clients? DIY means Do. It. Yourself. It doesn’t mean get a crackerjack construction guy in to do it for you.’
‘It is what it is, a friendly offer of help.’
‘Thanks, but I’m trying to give you a polite brush off and you offer help? That’s just too weird for me.’
‘If I told you that chasing you around today is probably the weirdest, most out-of-character thing I’ve done in years, would that support my case as a normal, well-balanced individual?’
He could swear she nearly smiled then. A slight twitch softened her mouth and drew his gaze to her full lips before he reluctantly forced himself to meet the eyes staring up at him. Was she flattered by this confession? Or did his eagerness just make matters worse?
He gave what he hoped looked like a casual shrug. ‘I’m going to leave you to your floor sanding now, Harper Cassidy. I hope we meet again.’ He smiled into her eyes, loading as much animal magnetism into the gaze as he could muster, willing her to be attracted to him. Then he turned on his work-booted heel and thundered down the crumbling concrete steps. He resisted every screaming urge in his body to turn and take one last look before the door slammed behind him.
In the space of one afternoon, she’d foiled all of his attempts to talk to her. The score read Harper–3, Luke–0. That in itself should’ve put him off, but for some twisted reason it had the opposite effect.
He’d always liked a challenge, but few women ever gave him much of one. He’d had several relationships over the past ten years, none of which had amounted to anything serious. His blood hadn’t stirred for a long time at the sight of a woman. Until today. But Harper, it seemed, was no Jane Average. He’d never met anyone like her, so small and yet so packed full of sass, with all her hostility, her goals and her passions. He wanted to see more of her.
And he wanted to help her. Despite her grit and determination she needed his help.
And he needed to rack up some points on the scoreboard.
Chapter 4
Deck building 101 progressed without too many battered fingers or thumbs. Harper stood at the front of the old community centre classroom, lit up by fluorescent tubes. The lights hummed, a soft background noise Harper only noticed when she was alone in the room. Right now her eclectic little group of four women—ranging in life experience from a twenty-four year-old law student to a sixty-seven-year-old retired librarian—made far too much noise.
Laughs and encouragement rang out across the room as they mastered each skill and moved onto the next one. Building a deck seemed a rather ambitious project, but Harper knew from experience that broken down into steps it became more than doable. She trusted the women’s abilities to follow instructions enough that she planned to let them loose in her own backyard.
It’d been a long day but instead of feeling tired Harper felt energised by the enthusiastic buzz as the class came to an end and they started packing up. She’d cast aside the despondency threatening to swamp her since Judy Champion’s phone call, buoyed by the reminder that every one of these women attended her class for a different reason yet they were unified in their desire to learn.
As she listened to their chitchat, which shifted from Christmas cake recipes to comparing holiday plans for the summer, Harper stepped back to watch a small bug attracted by the bright light get zapped and fall to the floor, fried. She shuddered. That could’ve been her, if Luke Colton hadn’t caught her at the bottom of the ladder today. The man had his good points, even if subtlety wasn’t one of them. Unlike the bug, she wasn’t totally stuffed, but the holidays loomed long and dreary with work prospects low and no holiday plans. A quiet Christmas with Annie, followed by a quieter New Year. Even her wayward mother had better things to do and was off on a cruise in the Bahamas with her latest man. Harper couldn’t even afford a trip to the supermarket.
And her quiet time of year hadn’t even started yet. Unless …
She looked at the friendly faces of her students. From diverse backgrounds, with different opinions on every topic under the sun, consulting them was easily as good as conducting a random survey.
‘Tell me,’ she said, clapping her hands like a preschool teacher to get their attention. ‘How popular do you think an intensive DIY holiday program would be, if I decided to run classes over the summer holidays?’
‘I thought maybe a general renovation class. Summery weather, time on their hands; lots of people take on home renovating projects over the summer …’
Sue leaned against her work bench, resting her hammer down. ‘If you ran week-long day classes in the holidays, you’d capture a whole different group of DIY-ers. The young working crowd. First time home owners maybe.’
‘I would, wouldn’t I? I wonder why I didn’t think of it earlier.’ Harper picked up her cell phone and clicked onto the calendar. ‘I’d have to wait till after Christmas and New Year, but I could start on the fifth of January and run three one-week programs.’
Prue, a single mother who attended with her student daughter, spoke up. One of the quieter members of the class, she’d also proved the fastest learner. ‘It’s a really good idea, if you can pull it together in time. The fifth is only three weeks away.’
Harper drummed her fingers on the back of her phone. ‘It doesn’t give me very long, does it? But if I could break into a different group of DIY-ers, it would help spread the word about my night classes too.’
And then, she thought, with a bigger customer base she could hopefully get Cliff King’s attention. Show him a demand existed for her classes. Strengthen her position for when she rescheduled the appointment with him.
A rush of excitement told her she was headed in the right direction. Followed by screaming doubt she could organise everything at such short notice. Three weeks. That would mean a new set of flyers and some serious foot and phone work ringing around trying to pull in enough women to make it worthwhile.
Smiling goodbye to her last student, she sat down, pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled down some quick notes. She packed the remainder of the tools and equipment into the small storage room attached to the classroom, then grabbed her bag and dashed to the community centre’s main office. Mr Thompson, the centre manager, stood in the hallway jiggling a bunch of keys in one hand, ready to begin his round locking up the building for the night.