Holiday History by Heidi Champa Page B

I’ve done most of the work myself.”
    “I used to live in one, when I was young. I’ve always been partial to them.”
    Gary grinned, but I couldn’t read his face. I didn’t know if he was humoring me or being genuine. He came toward me, passing by a stunned Tim.
    “Glad you like it. I’m partial to it too. Shall we go in?”
    Tim didn’t bother to growl at me; he just motioned for me to follow him. He really was trying to impress this guy. Usually he would have barked at me to hurry up and get the shit inside. It was amazing what a little extra cash could do to Tim’s attitude. I set the supplies inside the door and followed behind them, not really listening. In addition to having nice legs, Gary also had great shoulders. I watched them move as he pointed out each room in the house.
    I should have been listening to what he wanted, but I couldn’t focus. This time I was admiring his profile. His dark hair curled slightly behind his ears. It seemed out of place, like he was a few weeks late for his haircut. Distracted by his strong jaw line, I nearly ran into both of them when we came to a stop by a closed door.
    “This is the only room that doesn’t need paint. It’s my office. I’m content with it being a terrible mess right now. So other than that, do you have any questions, Tim?”
    “No, Gary, I don’t. We’ll get started right away and be out of your hair in no time.”
    For the first time on the tour, Gary turned around and looked at me. God, his eyes were so green. We all stood there; no one sure what to say next.
    “So, Tim, who have you brought with you today?”
    “Sorry, Gary. This is Kevin. He works for me.”
    “Nice to meet you.”
    His extended hand surprised me. Most rich people didn’t want to shake hands with the help. Or, for that matter, care what their names were. I took his hand, relishing his strong grip.
    “You too.”
    Suddenly I was nervous. Tim looked at me with narrow eyes, and I took my chance to get away.
    “Well, I’m going to get started downstairs.”
    Turning down the hall, I secretly hoped that Gary would say something to me before I left. Instead, they started chatting about property values as I headed for the dining room.
     
    *  *  *
    By the time lunch rolled around, the dining room was finished and I had moved onto the kitchen. Before I started to paint, I went outside and took a moment to admire the view from the deck. It faced the edge of Lake George. From the look of it, his was the smallest house on the water. There was some residual snow clinging to the small dock that stretched out into the water. The day was cloudy and grey, but somehow it looked less bleak from Gary’s kitchen. He had some view. I wondered again how much money this guy had. It was hard to fathom him mixing with people like my father. Hearing voices getting closer, I got back to work before Tim could catch me standing around.
    Stirring the paint, I waited for the beige color to come together, but instead, as the mixture of oil and pigment came into focus, a brilliant blue emerged. This guy was really starting to get to me. First yellow in the dining room, now blue in the kitchen. He was putting the rest of our clients to shame. Rich people were never this bold with color. They were the kings of beige. There was only one color in my mind now. Envy Green.
    As I edged by the window, I took a moment to admire the rippling water. It hadn’t been cold enough to freeze yet. The view was hard to ignore, and with Tim safely in the other room, I couldn’t resist a moment’s break. I forgot to put my hand under my brush and before I could stop it, blue paint dripped and splattered on the floor. Trying to retrieve a wet cloth to wipe up the mess, I accidentally picked up the dry one and managed to smear the stain into a bigger mess.
    “Shit. That’s just perfect.”
    “Well, I didn’t really want the floors done, but okay.”
    I looked up with a start and saw Gary standing by the door. He