Page 14 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

They both seem to have registered my mom talk from a fewminutes ago because they politely say hi before running into the house to look around. It’s hard to believe, but neither of them has been here before. They’ve only seen the house in photos. As I climb out of the driver’s seat and greet James with a hug, I hear shrieks of delight and curiosity from inside.

“I think they saw your new floors,” he says with a smile. “Welcome home!”

I dive into questions about Kendell and his kids as we walk toward the door, but I lose all sense of propriety when I see what the kids were raving about. The floors are glistening as far as my eyes can see. The oak has been sanded, varnished, and sealed to perfection.

“How is this the same house? The floors make it look almost like new,” I say dramatically, turning to stare at James, before noticing another person off to the side of the living room. We lock eyes and share a moment ofsomething. This must be Josh.

“Gracie, this is my brother, Josh,” James replies, seeming not to notice any special moment. “And he’s the one responsible for making these floors look amazing.”

“You’re hired,” I say, smiling, trying to forget the moment we just had or at least that I just felt. “It’s nice to meet you.”

As he walks closer to us, I take a guess that he and James must be just like my kids. Each child so closely physically mirrors one parent that you have to really stare to find the similarities between the siblings themselves.

Both brothers have subtle freckles, easy smiles, and similar mannerisms, but that’s where the obvious commonalities end. While both are in shape, it’s in different ways. James is shorter but clearly actually works out. Josh is taller by a handful of inches and has a slimmer frame—he’s toned but in the way someone gets only throughthe work they do. James has light-brown hair to Josh’s dark, almost reddish hair. The big difference is their eyes—James’s blue eyes to Josh’s brown ones.

James is dressed for an afternoon of showing houses in a polo and neat khakis, but Josh is wearing worn jeans, work boots, and a T-shirt that looks like he took it out of the package this morning. I imagine it was older brother James who told him to look presentable.

Josh holds out his hand to shake mine. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Gracie Harris,” he says bashfully. “And I’m happy you like the floor so much.”

Before I can respond, James cuts in. “I wanted to be here when you arrived, Gracie, to make this introduction, but I need to run off and show two different sets of clients some houses. I assume the two of you can take it from here?”

We both nod.

“Don’t let this quiet guy fool you,” James says as he’s leaving. “Once he gets to know you, he won’t shut up. Prepare to lock yourself in that writing room to hide from the endless banter.”

Josh playfully punches him in the arm as he passes by. James is out of the house in a flash, but not before promising he’ll see me around town and insisting that Kendell wants to have me over for dinner. Josh breaks the silence that follows once the door closes.

“Two really cute kids introduced themselves to me a few minutes ago, but I haven’t heard a peep since. Anything to be worried about?” he asks. I suspect James’s kids have given him cause to stress during uncle babysitting nights over the years. The thought makes me smile.

“Nothing to worry about,” I respond. “They go to camptomorrow, where they will be internet-free for eight weeks. I guarantee they are huddled in a corner somewhere funneling the last bits of blue light into their brains.”

“Gotcha,” Josh says with a natural smile, those dark-brown eyes staring intently at me. “So, where should we start?”

“Right here,” I say without a hint of sarcasm, and start pointing out the things I remember from my and Ben’s planning trip. Josh has his cell phone out, dutifully taking notes in a bulleted list of to-dos. Felicity, my agent, once said the sluttiest thing a man could do was take notes on things that she liked so that he could remember them in the future. One guy even wrote down her preferred take-out meals from favorite spots. She never told me why that relationship ended.

As I stand here beside an attractive man who is about to make my house look amazing, watching him take notes on everything I say…it’ssomething, for sure. Then I remember I’m paying him to be here, and some of the magic wears off.

We walk through slowly—because in this house, there is something broken in every single room…basically every corner of every room—and I point to things and give them a quick and very official ranking of “That grosses me out,” “Please make this better,” and “I literally can’t even.” You know, to help him prioritize the work.

When we venture upstairs, I slip on a loose board and Josh braces me with his hand on my back. He pauses to add it to the list. I pause to make a mental note to tell Felicity that chivalry and list making at the same time hits a certain kind of way.

We find the kids in the room that will become Ava’s, sitting on opposite ends of a small single-sized bed. James generously brought it over a few months ago when his oldest daughter grew out of it.It’s the only piece of furniture in the room so far. A few newer items are due to be delivered next week.

“Just like I said, rotting their brains before nature heals them this summer,” I say, looking at Josh, who smiles back.

In Ava’s room we talk about the closet. Wallpaper needs to be removed, walls sanded, new shelving put in. Ava pipes up to share some feedback without breaking her eye contact with the tablet. Through it all, Josh types dutifully into his Notes app.

Benji pauses for a few minutes to watch us find more things to repair in the room. Then he interrupts with a classic ten-year-old-boy question.

“How old are you?” he asks Josh.

“I’m thirty-seven, little man. Why do you ask?” Josh responds, comically furrowing his brow with suspicion.

“That’s pretty close to my mom, but you look a lot younger,” Benji says, making me feel about a thousand years old. I put my hand on my hip in mock anger.

“Do you have kids?” I ask, turning to Josh even though I assume the answer is no. Josh has too much of a cool-uncle vibe. He lacks the worry lines and early gray hair that come from parenthood.

“No, I don’t,” he responds with a chuckle.

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