Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 48258 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48258 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
“Are you going to help?” I ask her as I rip open a box.
“I would have worn my work heels if I’d known this was what were we doing.” She looks down at her pretty purple heels. “I’ll text Neal.”
“Already here.” We both scream at the sound of Neal’s voice. He comes walking in from the other room holding a box of what look like cleaning supplies.
“You knew?” Gabi asks him.
“You didn't answer when I called you, so I checked your tracker.” He shrugs as if that’s a normal thing to do. But when I think about it, it is in this family. Gabi and I both leave our tracking on for each other on our phones. “When I saw what was happening I hopped over to the hardware store and grabbed some stuff.” He looks around the kitchen. “But I think you’re going to need a professional.”
“Oh!” Gabi opens her purse and digs through it until she finds a card. She pulls it out and hands it over to me. “I know this guy. He owns a construction company and can do whatever you need while you’re working. I just gave him a spare key and he got everything done while I was gone during the day. He really did a great job.”
I take it from her and glance down at the card. My fingers trace over the raised lettering: Barrett Cooper of Cooper Construction.
“Maybe this phone number won’t turn out as badly as the others you’ve given me,” I joke.
Gabi rolls her eyes. “He’s not your type,” she says, taking a bag from Neal. “No snacks?”
I choke back a laugh as Neal kisses Gabi then leaves to go get us food. I slip the card into the back pocket of my jeans and go back to unpacking.
Chapter 2
Barrett
I recheck the email from my office secretary and look over the address. When I pulled up to the big white house, I didn’t see a car in the driveway. I scan the yard as I get out of my truck, looking for the person I’m supposed to be meeting.
Normally I’m not the one to come out and meet the owner. I’ve got a couple of crew bosses who handle all of that, and I just manage them. But the email my secretary sent said a woman called and asked for me specifically. She said her sister and her husband had used me recently and left her name and number. I tried to call it this morning but didn’t get an answer, so I thought I’d just drive on over at the arranged time.
I grab my measuring tape and notebook so I can write down what the homeowner wants. But when I get closer to the house, I see that what they need done is going to take up more pages than I’ve got.
“Damn,” I say, as I stand in front of it and take it all in. It’s a beautiful historic home that needs some love, but homes like these aren't being built anymore. The person who bought this has definitely found a diamond in the rough, and a project like this makes me excited about what I do.
For the most part a lot of the homes I work on are regular cookie-cutter types. I rarely, if ever, get to work on something like this. The reason I got into construction was because as a kid it was a good summer job and I got to work on my tan. It didn’t hurt that I’ve always been a big guy, and being able to carry lumber is an advantage in my line of work. But becoming the boss means you don’t get a lot of hands-on work anymore. Seeing this place up close makes my mind race with possibilities, though. I know right away that this one is mine. I’m not handing this off to my guys. I want to do this one myself.
Walking over to the side, I hear the steps groan from my weight and I pull out my notebook to write it down. I take out my tape measure and write down what size boards I’ll need to fix the porch. Then I check out the lights and see the electrical needs to be updated and I start writing a list.
The sound of a car engine and a door closing has me looking up. The sun is directly in my face and I have to put my hand above my eyes to try and block it out. When I do, I see the outline of a redhead walking towards me. I can’t make out her face, all I see are curves, and I have to close my mouth to stop from drooling.
“Hey, are you Barrett?” she says, holding out her hand. “I’m Genevieve, but people call me Ginny.”