Page 37 of Lucky in Love
The man sealed up the can of stain and wiped his hands on a rag. “Can I help you?” he asked, finally noticing Brody standing at the door.
“Oh, no,” Brody said. “I was just checking things out. Looks good.”
The man grunted his reply.
Brody noticed a pile of leftover wood semi-stacked next to the entrance and remembered Alex’s idea about having a home built for Daisy.
“Is this the wood for the duck house?” Brody pointed to the boards.
“Huh?”
“A shelter? For the injured duck? Alex said she was going to ask you to build something.”
“Not me, brah,” the man said. “Could have been one of the other guys from last week.”
“When will they be back?”
“Oh.” He scratched his face. “I don’t think they’re coming back. I’m here to stain the cabinets and do the final cleanup.”
If they’d built it last week, the house would be down by the boathouse. With so much going on, maybe Alex had forgotten to ask.
“Mind if I take some scraps?” Brody asked.
“Suit yourself.” The man shrugged. “Save me the hassle of getting rid of it.”
Brody loaded up as many boards as he could carry and staggered back to his cabin. The lumber weighed less than Alex, but barely.
He left the wood on the porch, got into his car, and headed for The Tool Shed. All the while, telling himself that starting this project wasnotjust another excuse to kick his impending soul-search down the road. Little Daisy needed shelter. It was the humane thing to do.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Alex spent the next few days preparing for the influx of guests who would arrive on Friday afternoon for a romance writers’ retreat. Staying busy had the added bonus of distracting her from thinking about Jenny. Not that she was trying to forget about her already, just that, well, death sucked.
She wanted the rec cabin in tip-top shape, since the authors would be meeting there several times a day for meals and to decompress after solitary writing sessions.
Delivery trucks came and went all week. The big stuff had already come in, but multiple boxes of smaller items arrived daily—countertop kitchen appliances, pots and pans, dishes, and cutlery. Board games, books, and puzzles. Side tables, lamps, wall art, pillows, throws, and decorative knick-knacks. Each box a trove of goodies.
Alex’s ankle was sore, but midweek she’d switched to the boot anyway. The crutches hurt her armpits and were worthless on the rough trails that lined the campground. She drove the ATV more than usual, and somehow it all worked out.
She hadn’t factored in the ankle sprain, which made everything take twice as long. But with Lauren’s help, they filled the shelves with books and games. They stocked the wood rack next to the hearth with firewood and hung pictures of rustic landscapes on the walls.
Together, they set up a mixture of round and rectangular folding tables and chairs. Then they made centerpieces out ofgourds, mums, and fake autumn leaves, placing them on fall-colored tablecloths.
Friday morning, they finished the final touches and stood to admire their work.
“It’s fantastic,” Alex said, surveying the room. “Exactly like I pictured it.”
Soft leather couches and wingback chairs circled the huge stone fireplace. Throws, pillows, and low-light lamps made for a cozy ambiance. The kitchen was stocked with microwave popcorn, water bottles, and K-cups for the coffeemaker.
“Yeah,” Lauren said. “It’s ironic that it takes so much effort to make things look effortless.”
Alex laughed. “Yes. But in the end, it came together perfectly, and right on time.”
That afternoon, the writers’ group arrived one after the other. Women of all ages, creeds, and backgrounds, with only one thing in common—their love of romance.
Unfortunately, from the second they found out Alex was single, she got the impression she had somehow become their collective new “project.”
When she hobbled over to the rec cabin later that evening to check on them, she overheard them talking on the porch over drinks.
