A Cut Above Read Free Page B

to repairing the fire damage there, that is.
    On the—ahem—male front, Max has been on his best behavior. Come to think of it, aside from some heavy-duty teasing here and there, he’s really always been on his best behavior. True, he did horn in on our house hunting every chance he got, but I don’t hold it against the guy. He gave me terrific input. I wouldn’t have noticed some inconveniences in a couple of the houses on Evie’s short list. Especially that one place with the crazy driveway. It resembled a banana, and early morning departures, since I’m hardly a chandelier-bright bulb (as Max put it) at that time of day, might have proven a mite dicey.
    In the end, I put an offer on the blue house with the red shutters, the first one I saw. It’s perfect for me. Now I can’t wait to launch a shopping safari. I need tables and chairs and bookshelves and curtains and rugs . . . oh! A TV. I’ll want a new one of those too. Wonder who’s holding the best sale this weekend . . . ?
    What’s that? Oh, you’re reminding me that I’m a reformed New York shopaholic.
    Humph! I did reform. But a girl needs furniture, you know. The handful of items I brought back from the glorified closet they call an apartment in the Big Apple will hardly fill a three-bedroom cottage.
    But that’ll wait for another day. Today, Max and Josh Ross, my good friend Peggy’s husband, are loading my belongings in one of Josh’s pickup trucks, then moving me into my very own brand-new—to me—home. Josh owns a highly sought-after landscape design firm and its pickup-truck fleet. I’m saving my pennies to have him do something faboo to the front yard.
    Ooooh! My very own yard. How cool is that?
    Well, it’s mine and the bank’s. When it was all said and done, Aunt Weeby wouldn’t take no for an answer on the subject of a down payment. She insisted it was a gift. She also said she could afford it now, thanks to me, since my shows have so increased the value of the nest egg she invested when Miss Mona started the S.T.U.D. Network.
    But the mortgage? Ah . . . the mortgage is all mine. What’s more, I can afford it. So the bank says. Actually, I can afford it—according to moi. I never would have thought I’d feel so good about that kind of commitment, but I do. I’m thrilled the Lord brought me back to Louisville, and the sweet little house crystallizes for me my determination to make a life here, in my hometown.
    I scoot the kitchen chair away from the table just as the back door to Miss Mona’s glam kitchen opens. “You ready?” Max asks.
    “Readier than ready.” I swig down the last drops of my too-cold coffee. “Is Josh with you?”
    The door opens again. “Reporting for duty, ma’am, yes, ma’am.” Josh gives me a jaunty, two-fingered salute. “You said you don’t have a whole lot to move, so let’s get it moved. The sooner we’re done with that, the sooner we can get to that pizza-for-payment you promised.”
    I laugh. “Peggy warned me about you, you bottomless pit. How do you stay so skinny?”
    “What?” Max asks, his voice full of overdone outrage. “Are you going to let her get away with that kind of insult?”
    Josh shakes his head, a mournful expression on his craggy face. “What can I do? I’m just a poor old weakling.”
    That sets the tone for the rest of the day. By mid-afternoon, the three of us are sitting on the hardwood floor of my new kitchen, a giant pizza box in the middle, the cardboard decorated with grease stains, and only a handful of boxes left in Max’s SUV.
    “Are you guys done with that thing yet?” Peggy wails from the living room. “I’m sorry to be such a party pooper, but this baby doesn’t like the smell of pizza. Pepperoni’s the worst.”
    I scramble upright and head to her side. “I can’t imagine foregoing pizza for nine months.”
    She rubs the mound in her middle. “It is a pain, but the end result’s purely amazing.”
    A momentary pang of envy zings through my