Page 2 of Meeting Up with the Mason

“A job like this is pure labor,” MacElroy added. “Not a lot of skill, but a whole lot of time. Are you providing the new stone, or are we?”

I drummed my fingers on the desk. “Shouldn’t you know the answer to that?”

MacElroy laughed. “Most clients prefer to choose their own materials for visible design elements. I’m going to promise you that when MacElroy Builders frames up an addition, they don’t make the client buy the two-by-fours. You want a ceiling fan? You get to choose.”

I raised my eyebrows. “What if I’m not that picky?”

MacElroy pursed his lips. “Then you would be the first.”

I side-eyed him through the camera. “Am I truly the first person who didn’t want to fill her trunk with rocks? Exactly how long have you been doing this?”

MacElroy shot back, “What time is it?” He offered a nervous smile. “I’m actually not the eponymous A.J. MacElroy. A.J. is my father, and I had no idea this call was an estimate. I clicked the alert thinking it was a meeting with my Ph.D. advisor at Brandeis.” His eyes shifted to the side as he checked another part of the screen. “I’m either in massive trouble for being late, or else everything’s fine because she forgot.”

I straightened. “I’m sorry! Do you need to go?”

“There’s not much left to do.” He ran a hand through his hair. His gorgeous hair. “You answered all the questions Dad would have asked. Next, he’ll estimate what it should cost, how long it’ll take, and whether he can fit you in.”

I said, “And since you’re not the MacElroy I intended to talk to, is there something I should be calling you?”

“Chip?” He didn’t sound entirely certain. “Come to think of it, since we’re exchanging vital information, it occurs to me that your name may be of assistance as well.”

I laughed with my face in my hands, and Chip shook his head. “I’m hopeless at this. I’m sure my father privately rejoiced when I said I wanted to get a doctorate in archaeology.”

“I’m Alyssa Brown, and you don’t sound hopeless at all.” I kept my eyes aimed directly at the camera. “You asked all the right questions, and you weren’t pushy like the guy who demanded I also install a rock wall.”

Chip frowned. “That’s ugly. Look, I can’t promise we can get the work done, but what I can promise is we’ll respect you while we’re doing it. Or not doing it.” He gave another nervous laugh. “My father will write you an estimate, or else I’ll get back to you by Friday to say he’s dragging his heels.Respectfullydragging his heels.”

I raised a finger. “You meanstonewalling?”

“Oh no!” Chip laid a hand over his heart. “Your pun mortally wounded me!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I smirked at the camera. “I’m typing my email and my cell number into the chat box.”

“Brilliant. I’ll give you mine as well.” Chip kept his eyes down while typing. “Well, Miss Alyssa Brown, it was nice meeting you, even though you never intended to talk to me. I hope the experience wasn’t too harrowing.”

I rested my chin on my hands. “Not at all. Thanks for your help.”

A minute later, I was checking Aunt Sophie’s business email, and Chip was probably stammering apologies to some silver-haired professor who’d laid down her sense of humor the day she’d achieved tenure.

It was a shame. Fifty-year-old pavers weren’t exactly old enough to interest an archaeologist, but if someone had to dig up Aunt Sophie’s walkway, I kind of hoped it would be Chip.

Chapter 2

Chip

When Dad’s 350 horsepower engine rumbled the floorboards, I shut my computer to go meet him on the asphalt and unload his gear. I’d been closing books and turning off video games for that reason since age ten. By fifteen, I’d learned to review tomorrow’s list of jobs and gather all the necessary supplies so he would arrive complete for the next day’s work. Everyone always figured I’d take over someday.

Instead, Dad told me, “Go to college anyway. The company’ll still be here if you want.”

It turned out what I wanted was a bit more esoteric, but I’m still competent at loading supplies.

I pulled up Dad’s schedule on the phone. “You’ve got another roof tomorrow, unless that changed?”

Rubbing his shoulder, Dad nodded. “The supplier dropped the shingles in her driveway this morning, so we’re good to go.”

I did a quick inventory. Dad needed more nails. When I returned from the workshop with five boxes, I remembered a pair of smart hazel eyes and a sweet southern accent. “Oh, I forgot which computer I was on, and I ended up on an estimate call with a woman who wants her walkway redone. I got all the measurements and said you’d shoot her an estimate by Friday.”

Dad frowned as he opened his toolbox. “Didn’t I cancel that? My mason left the crew, so I don’t have the manpower.”

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