Free Rose Harbor in Bloom by Debbie Macomber

house.”
    “Thanks,” I said, “but I would appreciate a timetable of when I can expect the project to be finished.” The frustration was back, although I struggled to hide it.
    “Can’t do it.”
    “The rose garden or the timetable?”
    He muttered something I couldn’t understand. “The timetable,” he said, and didn’t sound the least bit amused by my question. “I already told you this project wasn’t a priority.”
    Like I needed to be reminded.
    “If you find someone else who can do the work on your timetable, you’re welcome to hire him.”
    “Aren’t you Mr. Sunshine this morning?” I said, fighting down the need to reply in kind. “Really, Mark, there’s no need to be grouchy.”
    He ignored the comment. “I’ll bring your plate by later.”
    “Anytime.”
    “See you.”
    He disconnected the line, and I shook my head, wondering what burr was under his saddle. The man was certainly out of sorts. Disgruntled now myself, I went back into the kitchen and took the dishrag to the counter, wiping it down with the same force I used to scrub pots and pans. I’d hoped we’d made some headway these last couple of days, but apparently not.
    Rover barked, indicating someone had approached the house. The one sharp knock told me it was Mark. He didn’t wait for me to answer the door, but opened it and took one step inside and went no farther.
    “I brought back your plate.”
    I noticed he didn’t mention a single word regarding the cookies I’d taken him.
    “Did you enjoy the cookies?” I asked.
    “Are you searching for compliments?”
    “A thank-you or how-thoughtful-of-you wouldn’t be amiss.” I didn’t hide the sarcasm, disappointed as I was about his complete lack of urgency when it came to my projects.
    “Okay, fine. Thank you. Now I need to go. I’m already late,” he said, one hand on the doorknob.
    Rover sat on his haunches and looked up at Mark. I bit my tongue to keep from saying it wouldn’t hurt him any to scratch Rover’s ears. Then, without my saying a word, he bent down and did exactly that.
    Rover lifted his chin and reveled in the attention. “He’s a no-good, worthless dog …”
    I was instantly insulted. Rover was anything but worthless. “He’s a good boy,” I felt obliged to tell him.
    “Worthless,” he reiterated, but I noticed that Mark continued to pet Rover’s ears and was clearly taken with my dog.
    “Can you give me any indication of when you’ll be available to work on the yard?” It seemed to me nearly all of our conversations these days centered on my rose garden.
    “Soon.”
    “Tomorrow?” I pressed.
    “Can’t say.”
    My shoulders sagged with disappointment.
    “I’ll see what I can do.”
    “That would be appreciated.”
    Mark straightened. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’ll do what I can to pretty it up for you, but it’s still going to be obvious.”
    “Gotcha.”
    He tipped his head to me and then left. The door clicked softly as it closed.
    It would do no good to chide Mark or remind him that his original estimate had been a couple weeks of work. That had been months ago. It was hard not to be discouraged.
    When I’m this out of sorts, I find solace by knitting. It wasn’t my habit to knit so early in the day, but trying circumstances called for it. I headed to my room and reached for my project. I sat in the chair in front of the fireplace and relaxed my shoulders.
    As my fingers worked the yarn and I tugged away at the skein, I continued to think about Mark, detecting a behavior pattern that had emerged between us. Any time we worked through a barrier, like our most recent tiff, Mark would purposely do or say something that was guaranteed to set me off. It was one step forward and two, or sometimes three, steps back.
    By all that was right I should fire him and get someone else. That had been my intention when he’d stalked away madder thana hornet because I’d dared to enter the “danger zone” and use a stepladder to