First Impressions Read Online Free PDF

turned back to him. “Hey, listen, I’ve got a lot of remodeling and renovating to do before I can open. I can paint and do some of the minor stuff myself, but there’s a lot of carpentry work.”
    Here it is, Vance reflected coolly. What she wanted was some free labor. She would pull the helpless-female routine and count on his ego to take over.
    â€œI have my own house to renovate,” he reminded her coolly as he stood and turned toward the sink.
    â€œOh, I know you wouldn’t be able to give me a lot of time, but we might be able to work something out.” Excited by the idea, she followed him. Her thoughts were already racing ahead. “I wouldn’t be able to pay what you could make in the city,” she continued. “Maybe five dollars an hour. If you could manage ten or fifteen hours a week . . .” She chewed on her bottom lip. It seemed a paltry amount to offer, but it was all she could spare at the moment.
    Incredulous, Vance turned off the water he had been running, then faced her. “Are you offering me a job?”
    Shane flushed a bit, afraid she’d embarrassed him. “Well, only part-time, if you’re interested. I know you can make more somewhere else, and if you find something, I wouldn’t expect you to keep on, but in the meantime . . .” She trailed off, not certain how he would react to her knowing he was out of work.
    â€œYou’re serious?” Vance demanded after a moment. “Well . . . yes.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI need a carpenter. You’re a carpenter. There’s a lot of work. You might decide you don’t want any part of it. But why don’t you think about it, drop by tomorrow and take a look?” She turned to leave, but paused for an instant with her hand on the knob. “Thanks for the coffee.”
    For several minutes, Vance stared at the door she had closed behind her. Abruptly, he burst into deep, appreciative laughter. This, he thought, was one for the books.
    ***
    Shane rose early the next morning. She had plans and was determined to begin systematically. Organization didn’t come naturally to her. It was one more reason why teaching hadn’t suited her. If she was to plan a business, however, Shane knew an inventory was a primary factor—what she had, what she could bear to sell, what she should pack away for the museum.
    Having decided to start downstairs and work her way up, Shane stood in the center of the living room and took stock of the situation. There was a good Chippendale fireplace seat in mahogany and a gateleg table that needed no refinishing, a ladderback chair that needed new caning in the seat, a pair of Aladdin lamps, and a tufted sofa that would require upholstering. On a Sheridan coffee table was a porcelain pitcher, circa 1830, that held a spray of flowers Shane’s grandmother had dried. She touched them once briefly before she picked up her clipboard. There was too much of her childhood there to allow herself the luxury of thinking of any of it. If her grandmother had been alive, she would have told Shane to be certain what she did was right, then do it. Shane was certain she was right.
    Systematically, she listed items in two columns: one for items that would need repairs; one for stock she could sell as it was. Everything would have to be priced, which would be a huge job in itself. Already she was spending her evenings poring through catalogs and making notations. There wasn’t an antique shop within a radius of thirty miles she hadn’t visited. Shane had taken careful account of pricing and procedure. She would incorporate what appealed to her and disregard what didn’t. Whatever else her shop would be, she was determined it would be her own.
    On one wall of the living room was a catchall shelf that had been built before she’d been born. Moving to it, Shane began a fresh sheet of items she designated for the