Page 6 of Holly Ever After

I should have known he wouldn’t listen to me.

“I've got it handled, thank you very much,” I insist.

He looks unconvinced but shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

Then, with an air of nonchalance that riles me up, he strides into the kitchen like he owns the place. I follow, feeling a little like a territorial cat chasing off an unwelcome guest. He reaches up and opens a cupboard to inspect it. The door promptly falls off its hinges and clatters onto the countertop.

“Seriously?” I mutter, staring at the fallen cupboard door. Even the furnishings are conspiring against me.

“I guess this doesn't fall under the charming category.”

“I can fix it myself.” I reach for a screwdriver from the utility drawer that I had already filled with tools. The only problem? It sticks and refuses to open.

Sean leans against the counter, arms folded. “I suppose you'll be fixing the cantilevered joists in the ceiling and the subfloor that's buckling too?”

“The what in the where now?”

As if on cue, something from the living room makes a loud, distressing cracking noise. We both turn to look just in time to see a section of the ceiling trim fall off and land in the middle of my half-painted room.

I let out a groan that morphs into a hysterical laugh. “Oh my God, I'm living in the Money Pit. I'm Tom Hanks laughing manically into a hole in the ground.”

Sean stares down at me. “Now you see why I'm here?”

I sigh, my shoulders slumping in defeat. For the first time, I consider that maybe—just maybe—I can't do this all on my own.

“Fine, you win,” I concede, looking at the fallen cupboard door and then back to Sean's infuriatingly smug expression. “But if you're helping, you're doing it my way.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Your kingdom, your rules, Squirt.”

“For the love of—please don't call me that.”

He laughs, that deep, throaty sound that I hate to admit is somewhat infectious. “Alright, alright. What's first on the agenda, boss?”

I glance around my crumbling cottage, considering where to start. “Well, I was painting, as you can see,” I say, gesturing to the half-painted wall. “But I'm thinking structural integrity is more important at this point.”

“Smart choice,” he says, walking over to the section of trim that had fallen. “Don’t worry, structurally, the place is sound. It just needs some TLC. But this wood is rotting. You'll need to replace it, not just paint over it.”

“You can do that?”

“With my eyes closed, but I'll keep them open for your sake.”

I roll my eyes but feel a small twinge of relief. “Okay, what do we need?”

“We?”

“Yes, we. If you think I'm letting you tear apart my house unsupervised, you're wrong.”

He grins, apparently pleased by my concession to let him help. “Do you own any power tools?”

“Do kitchen appliances count?”

He bursts out laughing. “No, they don't.”

“Then no.”

“Alright, I'll bring some from my shop tomorrow. We'll get started bright and early.”

I pause, finally letting it sink in that Sean is going to be here, in my space, fixing things.

---