He pulled off one glove then the other. You looking for him for something urgent. I can reach him. No. A pause.
No, it's fine. I just got in from Chicago and thought. She stopped herself. It's fine. Marcus nodded.
He started packing up his tools. After a moment, long trip, 4 hours of delays. Rough. I've had worse. She was watching him pack up.
And there was something in the watching that was different from the way she'd first looked at him. Still analytical, but the calibration had shifted slightly. How much longer will you be working on the property? At this rate, four more weeks, maybe five. The damage was deeper than the original estimate.
And the cost? Mr. Bennett has all the numbers. He picked up the tool bag. He approved the revised scope 2 weeks ago.
Did he? Not a question. Or maybe it was. Marcus looked at her. It's his property, he said.
It's also his money. Yes, Marcus agreed. It is. She held his gaze for a moment. Then something the professional armor.
The calibrating precision eased very slightly. The way a fist unclenches by one finger. He's always liked craftsmen, she said. People who make things, fix things. A pause.
He built most of the furniture in his study himself. When we were kids. He was terrible at it. A fractional pause. They're still in there.
Marcus looked at her surprised slightly. It was a different kind of thing to say than what had come before. Looser. Less managed. What are you working on?
She asked, nodding toward the back wall. Framing replacement. Water damage from a patch job someone did 15 years ago. Whoever did it covered the original problem instead of fixing it. He paused.