Page 7 of The Summer I Stayed
I smile gratefully at his offer. “Thank you, Jake. And how about you, Maverick? Are you experienced in home renovations, too?” I scratch Maverick’s belly, causing his leg to twitch in response.
Jake laughs, a warm, deep laugh, one which is unexpected to hear from the man of few words and a scowl permanently etched on his face. “Sadly, no, he’s more of a supervisor. Likes to watch me work and occasionally doze off on the job.”
“Oh, so he’s the boss then?” I chuckle.
“Something like that,” Jake agrees.
Chapter Five
Jake
The lake house stands like a monument, a stark reminder of what used to be. The damage isn’t catastrophic, but it’s enough to be a pain. Fallen roof shingles, shattered windowpanes, but luckily, the unwelcome family of raccoons is no longer here.
Maggie stands beside me, staring at the house with a determined set to her shoulders. Her eyes reflect the resolve I can see in her posture—she’s not going anywhere.
I take out my notebook that I always keep in my back pocket and start making notes while she asks questions about the extent of the damage and how we—well, I—plan to fix it. The mention of “we” makes me raise an eyebrow, but I keep my thoughts to myself.
I’ve seen it before. Someone comes in with a romantic notion of renovating an old house, and before they know it, they’re in over their head. But something tells me she’s not one to back down from a challenge.
“Will we need to replace all the windowpanes?” she asks, squinting up at the shattered glass of the skylight.
“Looks like it,” I confirm, pleased she’s not being overly optimistic about this.
“And the roof?” she continues. “How much time will it take to get it done?”
“Depends on what we find when we start fixing it.” I shrug, not wanting to make promises I can’t keep.
“I’ve got quite a project on my hands with this place.”
I arch my eyebrow at her dry tone. “Storm did most of it. The rest is just what happens when a place is left to nature.”
Her face falls slightly, and I immediately regret my words. “Sorry,” I mutter.
“No, you’re right,” she admits quietly. “I should’ve looked after it better.”
Thanks to Gemma, I now know her husband passed away, and that’s why the house has sat empty. I should respond with something to comfort her or assure her it’ll get better soon. But I’m not a man of words. Instead, I do what I do best—I work.
I finish my first assessment, jotting down supplies I’ll need to grab. As long as there’s no unforeseen problems (which there always are), I estimate it’ll take around six weeks to restore it to its former glory.
“We’ll start with the roof, making sure there’s no further damage than some lost shingles. Then we’ll clean up the inside. We could probably have you in here by next week.”
She nods, taking it in. “How long have you been doing this, Jake? Fixing things?”
“All my life,” I admit, glancing at her. “The hardware store has been in my family for three generations. You learn a few things when you grow up following your dad and grandpa around, helping people fix things.”
“Three generations? That’s…impressive.”
“Guess it is,” I reply, scratching the back of my head.
I’ve never really thought about it like that. I always thought I’d get out of here and move to the city, become something. But that was when my future was tied to a girl, something I’ll never do again. Then my dad got sick, and I couldn’t bring myself to leave my parents on their own. So I stayed; I set down my ambitions and took on my family legacy.
“Some people aren’t meant for small towns,” I grumble, more to myself than her.
“It’s homey, comforting even. It’s one of the things Steven and I loved most about it.”
She speaks his name like it still hurts. Like the wound is fresh, even after years have passed. That kind of pain doesn’t just go away.
“I, uh, I should be heading out. Got another job in town before the meeting tonight.”
