Building a Perfect Match

Petra blinked. “Where are fourteen lamps missing?”

He jammed the phone into his hip pocket. “Hang on. I’ve got a copy of the hotel plans in the truck. Won’t take a minute for me to show you exactly where the lamps go.” He paused. “Unless you’d rather talk to Jackie about it. I can fill him in, and he can—”

She shook her head. That was just silly. Why insist on secondhand information? “Go on.” She hurried toward her room, adding, “I’ll just change and meet you back here.”

“Okay.” Dale smiled and shot down the stairs.

Petra ran to change. If they needed wall lamps, they needed wall lamps, for pity’s sake. Hernandez would be handling the installation. What did it matter who told her about them?

She couldn’t deny, though, that she’d much rather discuss the matter with Dale than the new project manager. Jackie was nice enough, but he seemed to blame her for Dale’s removal and she couldn’t very well tell him that Garth had insisted. Besides, something about Dale Bowen made her trust him. So what if he made her heart race just a little faster than normal? This was business. Just business.

* * *

Dale stood at the top of the stairs, a roll of blueprints in hand, when Petra reemerged from her room. She’d managed an amazing transformation in a short time, trading her severely tailored business suit for jeweled sandals, leggings and a shiny knit tunic in a shade of dark orange that made her eyes glow. She’d pulled the clasp from her hair and let it hang sleekly down her back.

“You look great,” Dale heard himself blurt.

She stiffened slightly then smiled. “Thank you.”

He had to force his mind back to the job at hand. “I’ve, uh, got a makeshift table in here.” He carried the plans toward the unfinished suite. Petra followed. Unrolling the blueprints on a sheet of plywood balanced atop two sawhorses, he anchored one end with a hammer from his tool belt. “Okay, from the bottom floor up…”

Looking over his shoulder, she watched as he pointed out, numbered and marked with a pencil the placement of every fixture.

“I’ll need those plans,” she said when he finished. “Can you text me that photo so I can run it by Dexter?”

He took his phone out again. “Sure. What’s your number?”

She told him, and he sent the photo. Hypatia showed up while Petra was saving the photo in her own cell phone.

“Petra, dear, your sister and a guest are downstairs.”

“Already?” Petra yelped, glancing at the time. “I’m on my way. Thanks, Dale. I’ll get back to you on this.”

“Don’t wait too long,” he warned, rolling up the plans and handing them to her. “I’ve got these things on forty-eight-hour hold. After that, they go on the open market.”

“You’ll hear from me tomorrow,” she promised, heading out the door.

Hypatia smiled at him but did not immediately turn to follow her niece. Instead, to his surprise, she glanced around the room. “You’ve worked this space around the fireplace very well. Do you mind if I take a little tour?”

“Of course not. It’s your house.”

She smiled at that and asked a question, which he gladly answered despite the feeling that this was leading up to something else entirely. He didn’t have to wait long to find out what it was.

“Mr. Bowen, might I ask a favor of you?”

He smiled. “Anything at all, ma’am. It’s Dale, by the way. If you call me Mr. Bowen, I’ll be looking around for my father.”

“Dale, then.” She folded her hands and squared her silk-clad shoulders before saying, “Would you mind very much staying for dinner tonight?”

Taken aback, Dale felt his jaw drop. “Ma’am?”

“We have so missed Jessa and Hunter,” she said, “not to mention dear Garrett, and our Petra tires of being the only young person in attendance, I’m sure. But most of all, frankly, we could use a man to balance the table. We would be most grateful.”

“I—I see.”

He knew that the Chatam triplets were “old-world,” as Garrett put it, but Dale had never known anyone who worried about one gender or another being outnumbered at the dinner table. Still, he was tempted, if only because of Hilda’s cooking. But of course, it wasn’t only that. He thought of how pretty Petra had looked just now and felt his smile intensify, but then he frowned again, gesturing at his clothes. They were clean, thanks to the coveralls that he usually wore, but they weren’t exactly up to Chatam standards.

“I’d have to run home and change.”

“Oh, no, you’re fine,” Hypatia assured him. “Garrett came to the table in jeans all the time.”

Knowing his friend Garrett Willows, Dale could certainly believe that. “Well, if you’re sure, then I’d be very pleased to stay. Just let me spruce up a bit and make a couple of quick calls.”

Hypatia literally beamed. “Wonderful. We’ll await you downstairs.”

“Yes, ma’am, and thank you.”

“Oh, no, thank you, Dale.”

She went out, leaving Dale to mentally scratch his head. Well, that beat all. He pulled his phone from his pocket once more. Petra tired of being the only young person at the table, did she? They had to “balance the table”? He shook his head as he called his mother to let her know he wouldn’t be home for dinner that evening. Then he quickly dialed up his good buddy Garrett to see if he could offer any enlightenment about what might really be behind this unexpected dinner invitation.

Chapter Four

After stowing the plans in her room, Petra all but flew down the stairs, hitting the foyer in a near-run. She drew up only as she reached the door to the parlor and calmed herself, trying not to imagine what her sister might be saying to her boss. Why did Dallas have to choose tonight of all nights to drop by for dinner? Her baby sister was prone to outlandish behavior and odd ideas. Their brothers often remarked that she wasn’t Odelia’s namesake for nothing.

Petra quickly found that Garth, as usual, had taken the entire gathering in hand. He sat in a gold-and-yellow-striped armchair, leaning forward slightly as he winked at Odelia, who was already twittering like a tree full of robins.

“A very fetching bride,” he was saying. “Blast my luck for coming along too late.”

Even Magnolia chuckled at that, or it may have been the quivering of the green ostrich feather boa twined about Odelia’s head that tickled the usually taciturn sister. Surprisingly, Odelia appeared to be wearing a ring of grass in her hair, which was surely meant to somehow complement the pebble print of her caftan. The significance of the huge twiggy things poking out from her earlobes confused Petra until she realized that they were made of wood. This, then, was Odelia’s homage to nature. Or ground cover. She couldn’t be sure which, but then she was more interested in the redhead parked in the side chair next to Garth. Dallas looked as pleased as a cat in cream.

“It was too late fifty years ago,” she said in reply to Garth’s quip. She tossed her blazing-red head in the direction of the settee, where Kent sat with one beefy arm draped about Odelia’s plump shoulders. “I think Kent beat you to the mark before you were even born.”

“Missed it by more than a decade,” Garth replied smoothly. Dallas arched a slender, carroty brow speculatively and parked her hands at the impossibly narrow waist of the simple, lime-green sundress that she wore. Her amber gaze lit on Petra then, and she smiled wide enough to break a tooth.

“Hey, sis! Guess who’s staying for dinner?”

“That would be me,” Garth quipped, turning his head to greet Petra. He rose as she moved forward.

“And me!” Dallas crowed.

“You look very nice,” he said to Petra. “Take my seat.”

“No, no, I’ll share with my sister,” Petra told him, sliding past him to perch on the narrow wood arm of Dallas’s chair. She was down before poor Kent managed to make it fully upright. His behind hadn’t touched the sofa cushion again before Dallas addressed Garth.

“Is it true that you have private apartments in every one of your hotels?”

“And at my corporate headquarters,” he confirmed.