Page 43 of The Vacation Mix-Up
I look up, a shit-eating grin on my face. “Why? Do you want some?”
He grimaces. “Do you?”
“Nah.” I chuckle and take a seat beside him. “I was just checking the joins.”
“Why? You think it’s gonna break?”
Quite possibly.
I shake my head. “No. It’ll hold.”
“How do you know?” He sets one foot back onto the ground, and by the worry etching his face, I get the sneaking suspicion it’s happened to him before.
“I’m a carpenter,” I explain.
“Dude! I own Mason’s.”
I nearly fall off my stool. “Mason’s? As in the hardware store?”
“Yep.”
“All of them?”
“Yep.”
No wonder he’s throwing money around.
Not knowing what else to say, I simply congratulate him. “Well done.”
“Not really. Family-owned business for decades. The old man did the hard work. I just inherited it.”
“Still. You’re running it now though, right?”
“Me?” He laughs. “Pay white collars to do that shit.”
To be honest, I’m not surprised. Ben gives the impression he couldn’t run a bath, let alone a chain of hardware stores.
The bartender places two glasses of Guinness on our coasters, and Ben picks one up, clinks the other, and says, “Cheers,” before chugging nearly half of it.
“Thanks.” I pick mine up too. “Cheers.”
“So what do ya build?” he asks before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Anything made of wood.”
“Houses?”
“No. I specialize in building and restoring furniture, but I did build my own home.”
“Not much money in housing anymore anyway.”
“I didn’t build mine for the money.”
He scoffs. “Everything these days is done for themoney.”
“And that’s the problem,” I mutter.
“Why’s it a problem?”
