Page 49 of How Lulu Lost Her Mind

I’m hoping the latest estimate is lower than the first. “How much?”

“Give or take… sixteen grand,” he says over his shoulder as he walks toward his truck.

“What?” I chase after him. “You said fourteen.”

“I said at least fourteen, tee Lou Ann.” He opens the driver’s door and turns toward me. “If you want the best, it’s sixteen, maybe more.”

More? I shade my eyes with my hand and look up at him. I’ve negotiated contracts for years now. “I only have your word that you’re the best.”

“Ask around.” He shrugs. “Call down at the Historic Preservations building, then get back to me. Don’t take too long. I’m busy.”

The longer we talk, I know the more he’ll raise his price, but I risk it. “If we agree, how long will the project take?”

He takes a deep breath and exhales. “From soup to nuts, best guess…” He tips his head to one side and thinks about it before he answers, “Hard to say.”

“Gosh, that is a good guess.” I fold my arms beneath my breasts. “Do you think you can be a little more specific?”

“I won’t know what I’m looking at until it’s down and at the shop.”

“You said you know this house inside and out.”

“That’s right, but there are always surprises and most of them aren’t good. If I have to replace a baluster, I can’t predict how long it will take to find what I need.”

“So you can’t tell me how long or exactly how much it will cost.”

“I told you the probable cost, and I imagine if I can find period mahogany… maybe three months.”

“Three months!”

“The library restoration took two years and cost four or five times what I’m charging for the rail.”

I’m starting to get a clearer picture, and it looks like a pain in the ass and mind-boggling money. “We’ll split the difference. Fifteen grand and a month and a half.” I stick out my hand to seal the deal.

He doesn’t reach out. “C’est fou.”

I’m not sure what that means, but he’s pointing to his head and making a circle with his finger like I’m crazy. “I think you’re trying to take advantage of me because I’m a woman.”

He laughs, and fine lines crease the outside corners of his green eyes. “I don’t take advantage of women. I let them take advantage of me.” He gets in his truck and shuts the door. “But I’ll make an exception for you.”

“Wow, I feel special.”

“For you, I just might change my bedsheets.”

“Sweet talker.”

The engine fires and he adds, “You have my number, cher.”

I watch him wave and drive away, and I’m not certain, but I think Mom’s boyfriend just made a pass at me.

I move toward the porch but glance back through tree limbs heavy with moss as he pulls onto the road. I’m Lulu the Love Guru, and I’ve written books and blogs on how to read a man’s body language and interpret his actions so you can gauge your reaction. When it comes to Simon, I have a difficult time interpreting or reading anything. When I think he’s serious, he laughs. When I think he’s joking, his voice lowers and he says “cher” as if he’s thinking about rolling me around in those clean sheets, his hot skin sticking to mine. Or maybe I’m overthinking it.

/>

I open the front door and shut it behind me. It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about hot, sticky skin in a good way. Maybe I’m not as immune as I’d like to think.

“It’s called a memento mori,” Lindsey says as I walk into the front parlor. She and Mom are thumbing through scrapbooks.

“What are you two looking at?”