What the Heart Wants. Cynthia Reese

      Allison furrowed her brow and cocked an eye at Kyle, past Jerry’s pirouettes.

      Kyle lifted his hand in what he hoped was a “wait, he’s not totally crazy, give him a minute” way. “She’s in great shape, you are right. Pretty much untouched. Amazing. But...let’s start with some introductions. Allison, this is Jerry Franklin, the restoration expert I was telling you about, although he’s not always this, er, exuberant.”

      Kyle shot a warning look at Jerry to stop acting like a kid let loose in a candy store. It had about as much effect as he expected, which was slim to none. “And Jerry, I’d like you to meet Allison Bell. She’s the owner’s granddaughter.”

      Jerry grabbed her hand and pumped it briskly. “This is an incredible opportunity. I have wanted to restore this house for years. Years, I’m telling you.”

      Allison carefully withdrew her hand. “I see. Well, first I should tell you that I don’t really have a huge budget, and so I’m trying to keep things as cheap—”

      Kyle saw Jerry’s eyes round in horror at the word cheap and shook his head vigorously to signal to Allison to avoid it at all costs.

      “Uh, I mean...” she paused “...as inexpensive as possible. I need to stretch my dollars...and focus on the priorities.”

      Jerry seemed comforted by that deft shift in Allison’s wording. “Yeah, yeah.” He rubbed his hands together. “So...”

      “So...I have this plaster problem. Upstairs. And Kyle said you could take a look at it.”

      “Sure. Upstairs.” The man was up the stairs like a jackrabbit.

      Kyle sighed. “Listen. Don’t—he’s not usually like this. But he’s been obsessed with Belle Paix for years. And he just wants to see her treated right.”

      Allison lifted her brows. “Yeah. And I just want to treat my very finite bank account right. If this guy thinks I’m a sucker and want to make everything the way it was in 1888, well, you’d better set him straight.”

      “Jerry is a bit...temperamental,” Kyle warned. “If he thinks you’re not...well, he’s been known to walk off jobs. You don’t want to see him angry.”

      “How does he keep his business then?” Allison asked. “I mean, if he argues with the home owner.”

      “Ninety-nine percent of the time he’s right, and they know it. They try to do it the cheap way, and then have to call him back in. Because...well, because he’s a genius, and because he’s one of the few contractors in the state who specializes in old homes.”

      “You’re saying...you’re saying he’s my only hope?” Allison sank onto the bottom step. “Good grief. He probably charges a fortune, too.”

      “You get what you pay for, believe me. And with Jerry, you get a lot of experience and know-how. Plus he won’t cheat you.” Kyle sat down beside her.

      “And how do I know you’re not getting kickbacks? That the two of you aren’t working some kind of scheme here?”

      But he could tell from her tone that she didn’t really believe that.

      Above them, Jerry bellowed, “Who on earth put this stuff on plaster?”

      They looked up to see his bright red face hanging over the railing of the landing, the putty gripped in his meaty fingers.

      Allison raised her hand. “That would be me. The guy at the hardware store told me it would work.”

      “Figured. Idiot.”

      Minutes later, upstairs, Kyle watched as Jerry went through a much more thorough examination than he had.

      “Yep. Condensation. I assume that the roof doesn’t leak?”

      “No.” Allison shook her head in response to the contractor’s accusatory squint. “That’s the one thing that works in this house. It’s slate, and it has never leaked a drop.”

      “Testament to when houses were built right,” Jerry pronounced.

      She made a harrumphing noise in her throat and mumbled something that Kyle thought might have been, “you try living in this old place.”

      Then she schooled her expression and clasped her hands behind her back. “So your advice would be?”

      “Tear out. Tear it all out, all the damaged sections. Down to the laths. Replaster it after you check the wiring—probably needs to be brought up to code, and it’s easier to do it then. I’d plan on doing every exterior wall up here, but downstairs, you might not have to. I’d have to look. But it’s the temperature changes and the way heat rises—that sort of stuff.”

      “How...much? And how long?” Allison seemed to stiffen in anticipation of a blow.

      “I’ll get you a bid. But I can tell you, it ain’t gonna be cheap. You don’t want cheap. Cheap’s bad. Cheap is the most expensive way to go. Trust me. As for how long. Well.” Jerry rubbed his chin. “First we got to put in the abatement procedures.”

      “Abatement? For what?”

      “Lead paint. That there? It is lead paint, lady. Not the top layer. Probably not the last three or four or five coats. But underneath? Definitely lead. Lots of it. Big believers of it in the 1880s. So we got to contain the dust, and use breathing masks, and then properly dispose of it...that won’t take that long. Say, three weeks?”

      “Three weeks? Just to get rid of the lead?”

      “And the plaster. Might do it in two. But you want it gone. Trust me. And it’ll be gone when I’m done. And then we’ve got it all nice and bare and we can see the ribs of the old girl. Do some checking. Make sure that condensation hasn’t messed up the framing. You do get it sprayed for termites, right?”

      “Every year. Gran has a contract with a pest control company. She loses the discounted rate if she skips a year.”

      “Good. Good. So probably no big surprises under there, but I can’t promise. And while we’ve got it out, we can put in some insulation—that’d be real good to cut down on the utility bills, keep the old girl nice and toasty, help with that condensation problem, too. And we’ll check on the wiring, of course. No telling how they wired this thing when electricity came on line here. It’s probably pretty scary to look at.”

      “And you’d...you’d do all this?”

      “Well, I’d be the lead contractor. I’d subcontract part of it, a job this big.”

      “Two walls? Is big?”

      “No. The whole house. You gotta do the whole house. Wouldn’t be right. Like giving an old lady half a face-lift. Or putting in one new hip joint when she needs both replaced.”

      “Jerry...Jerry.” Allison smiled at him. It was, to Kyle, the most angelic, heart-melting smile he’d ever seen. “I don’t have that kind of money. And my grandmother, she’s in a rehab facility and needs to come home. I don’t have a lot of time. So...what’s a...”

      Kyle could see her lips change from “cheaper” to “work-around” to finally “an alternative way. You know. Out of the box.”

      Jerry swiveled his head toward Kyle. “Kyle? I thought you said this was a restoration job?”

      “You didn’t exactly give me time to explain. Can you help her with this? She’s trying to do a lot herself.”

      Jerry’s face crumpled. “Dang. Got my heart broke. I thought for sure...”

      The three of them stood in silence, with both Allison and Jerry staring at the wall in question.

      Suddenly Allison brightened. “Hey! Hey, I know! Why can’t I just put in drywall? You know, over the plaster? I could do that, right? Smooth surface. It’d go up quick. No patching. No disturbing