Page 40 of The Fixer

“Right. Anyway, for generations, my family’s been big on making sure the town didn’t pass into ghost-town obscurity. My parents took it to a whole new level and threw themselves into getting a historical landmark designation for the town. I lived and breathed their vision, and I bought into it. I was already working construction in high school—not only because I had to, but because I wanted to.”

“Youhadto work?”

“Yep. Room and board and the essentials were covered, of course, but I had to pay my own expenses, like gas and car insurance. If I wanted to go out with my buddies or take a girl out on a date, I needed my own folding money. All three of us boys did. My parents wanted to be sure we understood basic finance and could stand on our own feet.

“I had inherited Grandpa’s love of restoration, and that dovetailed nicely with a need to support my extracurriculars. I could earn and learn at the same time.”

Fascinated, she dropped her chin in her cupped palm, nearly forgetting she was on a mission to keep him from restoringthisparticular building.

“When I graduated high school,” he continued, “I was ready to go off and get my engineering degree. But I realized I really enjoyed working with my hands and figured four years of college would be a huge waste of time and money. So I started the company instead.”

She blinked. “At eighteen?”

“Seventeen. I graduated early.” A smirk tugged at his full mouth. “You didn’t expect that, did you?”

Her preconceived image of Charlie Hunnicutt was taking a sharp detour. Had she unfairly pigeonholed him into a pretty-boy lunkhead contractor category where he didn’t belong? “No, I really didn’t.”

“Because you assumed I’m a stupid hick, just like you’ve assumed everyone else in Fall River is dumb—not based on anything you know about them, but based on your preconceived notions. You attach a small-town label to them, and in your world, small town equals simple mind.”

She stared at him, wondering if he was done with his cheerful dressing-down. Apparently, he wasn’t.

“I’m willing to bet you pastries for the next two weeks that on a percentage basis, there are more knuckle-draggers in Chicago than there are in our mountain towns. Did you know that Neve went to vet school on a full academic ride? Did you also know that less than one percent ofstudents get scholarships like that? That’s not the kind of thing she runs around blaring her horn about, so I like to do it for her. She. Killed. It.”

Defensiveness surged inside her. “I never assumed Neve was stupid.”

He brushed aside her comment. “And it’s not only Neve. Let me give you a rundown on Amy and Hailey.” He listed a litany of accomplishments and proceeded to throw out names of other townsfolk and their achievements. Some of the pedigrees caught her off guard. Maybe shehadsold this town short by painting its residents with a broad brush.

“Now Mickyisstupid—he’s our token,” he concluded, lightening the mood. He was good at that.

“So back to Charlie Hunnicutt andhisaccomplishments,” she redirected.

Excitement glowed in his orbs, erasing the dreamy look from mere moments ago. “Guess you could say I’m living the dream. Plus, I’m helping the town withitsdream, and that’s huge. There’s still so much that needs to be done.”

“Such as?”

“Have you looked closely at this town? Lots of buildings, like this one, need a ton of TLC. And there are other opportunities, like the train depot that has to be restored to its former glory. With some polishing, this town could be a real gem. I mean just look around you. The scenery is breathtaking, like no place else on the planet, so why wouldn’t you save the town and the window to the past that it gives us? It’s pretty straightforward, don’t you think?”

“I-I guess? I’ve never really thought about it before.” Where he saw beauty, she saw deterioration. Where he saw potential, she could only visualize a money pit.

Her answer seemed to break whatever spell he’d been under, and he sat forward with an abruptness that signaled dream time was over. “Ready to go over these estimates?”

“Um, yes.” Munching on the pastry, she gave him her full attention as he laid out three proposals. His presentation was detailed, if a bit on the stiff side. Was she responsible for the swing in his behavior? She put the question aside and miraculously kept her focus steady, despite being off meds for days now.

The bids delivered exactly what Charlie had promised: a bare-bones, bring-it-up-to-code approach, a full bells-and-whistles version, and a plan that fell somewhere between the two endpoints on the spectrum.

A few beats of silence passed when he finished. Finally, he arched an eyebrow. “Questions? Thoughts?”

“Who do you think is the most likely buyer for this place?”

“Honestly? I think it’s going to be a small retail business owner. It’s in a great location, and it’s already set up for live-and-work. The back lot offers lots of options too. They could turn it into off-street parking or add a storage building for inventory—or both. And if the buyer is a retailer, they’re going to need it to be finished and ready to go. They won’t have tons of cash or time to pour into improvements; they’ll need those resources for inventory and marketing. They’ll also be in a rush to launch—preferably in April, right before tourist season—to get that income flowing in as quickly as possible. If the place is done, it ticks off all their boxes. Also, it’ll be easier to finance—banks aren’t crazy about putting up money for places that still need work—and the buyer won’t mind paying a higher price because that extra spread over a mortgage term won’t add a ton to the payment.”

He had some good points, damn it.

“So what price point do you think it’ll come in at in these various scenarios?”

He listed ranges of numbers, along with logic that supported each of them. He was confident and smooth in his delivery, like he knew what the hell he was talking about, which irritated her further. Not becausehewas irritating in this moment, but because she didn’t know enough about the market to challenge him—and she hated that she wasn’t in control.

Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on the edge of the table, and his sleeve rode up, exposing part of his tattoo. “There is one exception to that scenario I’m aware of.”

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