Page 7 of New Year's Renovations

I shrugged. “I might change my mind, we’ll see.”

In the hallway, I checked the thermostat. It was set to 65 degrees, which explained the chill I’d had since I walked in. That and the whole dead person thing. I moved the bar to the right, inching the temperature up, and a deep rumble vibrated the floor as the system kicked on. It smelled like burnt toast, but warm air blew out of the ornate floor vents.

I finished my tour, noting a powder bath off the main hallway, a parlor room with gold damask wallpaper, and a larger sitting room/family room with an ancient looking television that didn’t work. Great. Guess I’d be doing some reading while I was here. At least I wouldn’t be tempted to watch my replacement on Channel 5 news.

I slumped down on the ivory sofa, a smattering of dust floating into the air as I leaned against the lumpy cushions. I definitely had my work cut out for me here. The major systems all seemed functional, but the décor ranged from ancient to vintage. Plus, I needed to revamp the furnishings, linens, and that lovely custom stair runner. The kitchen needed a full gut job, the fridge had to be replaced ASAP, and the landscape would have to be macheted to attract even the least discerning renters.

The only bright spot in this entire scenario was a very cute contractor I would definitely be calling for help. The thought sent a flush through my body, warming me up in all the right places.

5

Jackson

After a long day at the Bennett job site, I was beat. Everything that could go wrong did—a burst pipe, an electrical code violation, termites—so when dinnertime rolled around, I had zero desire to cook.

Luckily, I hadn’t resolved to eat at home every night, so I hitBig Chowder, a cozy local spot, on my way home.

“Evening, Jackson,” Misty called out, waving to me from behind the bar. “I have your chowder and sandwich right here.” She lifted a plastic bag from the counter.

“Awesome, I’m starved,” I said, making my way across the fairly empty restaurant. It was January, not exactly peak tourism season, and lots of people were on a New Year’s health kick.

“Hey.” A sweet voice I vaguely recognized rang out from the bar and my heart flip-flopped in my chest.

“Hey. You found the best place to eat in town.”

Harper smiled up at me and I instantly regretted that my order was to-go.

“I’m glad I ran into you. So my aunt’s place is Bramblehill House; do you know it?”

“Is it the Victorian at the end of the street of Cape Cods?” I asked, easing myself down onto the bar stool next to her.

“Yeah, that’s the one. The oldest, creepiest house on the street.” She laughed and all my muscles tightened, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

“I’ve never been inside. How is it?”

“Oh-kay,” she said, drawing the word out. “But I’m definitely going to need some help.” She fixed those aquamarine eyes on me and my pulse shot up.

“How much help?”

“A full kitchen gut, two bathroom remodels, floor buffing at the minimum, and goodness knows what else once it’s inspected. And that’s just the inside. The front and back need a ton of landscape work. I’ve never owned a home before, let alone renovated one, so this is all purely from watching HGTV.” She chewed on her bottom lip and I had a hard time focusing on anything else. I adjusted myself on the stool, my pants suddenly a little too tight.

“Do you have pictures?” I asked, motioning to Misty at the other end of the bar. She acknowledged me, grabbing a mug from overhead and pulling a Sam Adams from the tap. Benefit of being a local; the bartender already knew your order.

“Yeah, I took a few.” Harper whipped her phone out of her bag, scrolling through the photos. She was right—it looked like the place hadn’t been reno’d in the last century or so.

“Two questions: what’s your timeline and what’s your budget?” I asked, taking a swig of my beer.

“Fast and small,” she quipped, laying her cell on the bar.

“Great, so you’re normal.”

She chuckled, her eyes shining in the dim bar lighting. This conversation wasn’t helping my resolution at all, but I forged ahead anyway.

“How about I walk through the house with you tomorrow morning and we take it from there?”

“Sounds amazing, Jackson. It’s a date.”

My stomach swooped at her words, but I managed to keep my cool, taking another drink of my beer.

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