Page 54 of Her Fixer Upper

Just before midnight on Sunday, we finally downed tools and stood back to admire our hard work. Admittedly we’d had to sacrifice putting down the new flooring, realising that my plan of work had been way too over-optimistic in trying to incorporate that as well in the space of just forty-eight hours. But apart from the bare floorboards, the room was pretty much there. The ‘Grecian Skies’ walls made it bright and welcoming, while the scrubbed pine cabinets and dark green granite worktop created the perfect country kitchen atmosphere, cosy and homely, while also being smart and practical. The butler’s sink was in position, the bottle-green and cream splashback tiles lending a sophisticated air to the room. Nobody would be able to tell that the sink still needed to be plumbed in, which would hopefully be happening tomorrow. And best of all, there was a cooker that actually worked at the flick of a switch. No more balancing huge pans over a tiny camping stove for us.

I massaged my neck as the effect of a whole weekend of manual labour started to kick in.

‘Let me,’ said Charlie, reaching across and kneading my shoulders in a way that made me want to groan out loud. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the moment.

‘Perfect, don’t you think?’ said Charlie. I’m pretty sure he was referring to the kitchen, but my response was about something else altogether.

‘Yes, it is.’

I took a deep breath. Perhaps this was it. The moment I should finally come out and say what had been playing on my mind for most of the summer. How would I say it? ‘Charlie, will you be my boyfriend?’ That sounded like we were back in the playground and I was about to challenge him to a game of kiss chase. ‘Charlie, I think I love you.’ It sounded so inadequate, like it didn’t really do justice to the depth of my emotions and the conflict they’d been causing me. ‘Charlie, I…’

‘Earth to Freya, are you still in there?’

I shook myself back to reality and realised that Charlie must have been trying to speak to me for the last few seconds.

‘What was that?’

‘Good, you’re back with me. I was saying I think we need to hang a few decorations up to finish the room off, and then it’ll be perfect. Now give me two seconds, I’ve got a surprise for you.’

Charlie disappeared to his room, then returned a moment later looking very pleased with himself.

‘Close your eyes and hold out your hands,’ he instructed.

‘That sounds ominous,’ I said.

‘Please do it,’ he said.

I did as instructed, but only after I’d rolled my eyes in response to his faux bossiness.

‘Here you go,’ said Charlie.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t what he placed in my hands. It felt like a large wooden frame – some kind of picture perhaps?

‘Am I allowed to open my eyes now?’

‘Go on,’ said Charlie, his voice eager with excitement.

I looked down and saw The Rules now encased in a classic wooden frame, my scrawled writing preserved and protected behind a sheet of glass. On the back of the frame, a card was stuck on saying ‘For Freya from Charlie’ followed by the date. But the beauty of the frame didn’t matter a jot to me compared to the potential significance of the gift. I turned it back around and started reading The Rules, the guidelines that I’d so naïvely compiled when the idea of buying a house with an old friend seemed simple and straightforward. One in particular immediately stood out to me, Rule 18c: ‘No getting involved’. It was the rule I had dictated, and it was a rule I had been seriously considering breaking. But perhaps that was the reason Charlie had presented me with the frame. Was this his subtle way of acknowledging that he’d recognised my developing feelings and trying to warn me off before I said or did anything we’d both regret?

‘That’s lovely, Charlie, what a great idea,’ I said, trying to inject as much jollity into my response as I could.

My acting abilities were obviously not up to scratch because I caught the expression of hurt that crossed his face before he carefully masked it.

‘I thought we could display it in our almost-completed kitchen in pride of place,’ he said. ‘A reminder of where we’ve come from.’

‘Sure thing, right where we can both see it every time we come and go,’ I said. ‘No chance of either of us forgetting The Rules.’ Yes, that had to be the reason why he’d done it. Being Miss Rule Maker was turning round and punishing me now. It was typical Charlie, a thoughtful, sensitive way of gently letting me down so neither of us had to go through the trauma of rejection with words that could never be unsaid or forgotten.

Seeing that I wasn’t about to move, Charlie took the picture frame out of my hands and started walking around the kitchen, trying it out in different spots.

‘What do you think?’ he said, holding it up to the right of the window. ‘No chance of us not being able to see it here.’

‘Anywhere’s great,’ I said, the effort of trying to keep a smile on my face making my eyes water. At least, that’s what I told myself was the reason for the moisture threatening to spill over and drip down my face.

‘Or how about here?’ suggested Charlie, walking over to the wall next to the living room door. ‘It stands out even more in this position, don’t you agree?’

‘Seriously, wherever you think’s best,’ I said.

‘Are you all right, Freya?’ asked Charlie, turning around and catching the pained expression on my face.

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