Blue Smoke

Maybe she’d take the various offers from various relatives on hand-me-down furniture. At least for now. Put some of Mama’s drawings on the walls. Make this a cozy, comfortable space.
    And the smaller parlor, that was going to be her library. Then she’d need a big table for the dining room. Lots of chairs for when she had family over.
    The kitchen was good, she thought as she took a tour of the first floor. It was one of the points that had cemented her decision. The previousowners had outfitted it well with glossy black appliances that had a lot of years left in them. Lots of smooth, sand-colored counters and honey-toned cabinets. She might get around to having a few of the doors replaced with glass. Stained glass maybe, or some fancy ripply glass.
    She’d enjoy cooking here. Bella was the only one of the lot who’d apparently escaped the love of making food. There were nice, generous windows over the sink and they opened up to a view of the skinny backyard.
    The lilacs were blooming. Her lilacs were blooming. She could talk to Uncle Sal about putting in a little postage stamp patio, and pick Bella’s brain about designing a small garden.
    Of course it had been years since she’d planted anything other than a geranium in a windowsill pot. Years, she recalled, since she and Gina had planted tomatoes and peppers and cosmos in the yard of the group house they’d shared in college.
    But it seemed to her—at least with the sweetened distance of memory—that she’d enjoyed the digging and weeding.
    Probably stick with flowers this time, she decided, and keep it low-maintenance. Yes, Bella would be the one to ask what would work best.
    For flowers, fashion and the right place to be seen, Bella was your girl.
    She thought about heading upstairs, to tour the second floor, to mentally arrange furniture. But decided to finish off the first-level walk-through by stepping out in her backyard.
    She wanted to walk on her own grass.
    The yard was bordered on both sides by a chain-link fence. Her neighbor to the right had some sort of spreading bushes planted along the line. Nice touch, she mused. She’d think about something like that. It wasn’t just pretty, but added an illusion of privacy.
    And to the left . . .
    Well, well, well, she thought. She couldn’t say much about the yard, but its occupant was worth the price of a ticket.
    Fortunately for her, there were no bushes to obstruct the view.
    The man had his back to her, and the rear view was very promising. Mid-May temperatures hadn’t dissuaded him from taking off his shirt.But maybe whatever he was doing with the lumber and the power tools heated him up.
    His jeans ran low on the hips, and the tool belt lower yet. But he managed to avoid the butt crack reveal, which racked up points. He wore a ball cap backward, which may or may not deduct points from the total score, and there seemed to be a lot of wavy black hair under the cap.
    She might make a pass at him right there as he was working. She caught music from the boom box beside his sawhorses and gave him additional points for keeping it at a reasonable volume. She could barely catch Sugar Ray.
    Six-two, she judged. About one-eighty of good, toned muscle. She didn’t want to guess his age until she saw his face. But so far, as next-door neighbors went, he looked like a nice perk.
    The realtor had mentioned the carpenter next door, in case she wanted to get any bids on work. But the realtor had failed to mention the carpenter next door had an excellent ass.
    His grass was mowed, and he appeared to know what he was doing with the big, sexy tool. No rings on good, strong-looking hands. No visible tattoos or piercings.
    Possibilities went up.
    His house was similar to hers, though he already had that postage stamp patio in some sort of stone. No flowers—too bad on that as she considered it showed flair and responsibility to pot and tend flowers. Still, the patio looked clean and boasted a muscular barbecue grill.
    If the rest of him lived up to the rear view, she might wangle her way to an invite for grilled steak.
    He paused, set aside what she was pretty sure was a nail gun. The noise from the compressor shut down, and she heard Sugar Ray more clearly as Carpenter Guy reached for a big bottle of water and aimed it toward his mouth.
    He stepped back from his work as he did, and she made out his profile. Good nose, strong mouth—smart enough to wear safety glasses, and cool enough to make them sexy.