Page 10 of Sew Matcha in Love
“You’re welcome. And yes. Now tell me about this house of yours and the repairs that are needed. I have to make sure it’s safe for the girls.”
At that, she softened. “Oh, it’s totally habitable. Just drafty and creaky and not up to the historical society’s exterior expectations. And it needs a full paint job and refreshed landscaping.”
Five thousand dollars sounded like it would barely make a dent in the work she needed to have done. “Okay. I can work with that. Tell me more.”
Arwyn’s entire face lit up as she spoke, and I could tell this house wasn’t just a building to her—it was history, family, memories. And she loved it.
“It’s been in my family for generations,” she said, her voice warming with enthusiasm. “It was built in the late 1800s, and my great-grandmother married one of the Palmer sons—the founders of Palmer City. It used to be so beautiful. Stained glass windows, carved wood banisters, the works. It’s a little worn now, but it still has the old charm.”
A gasp turned our attention to the cracked-open door. “It sounds like our dollhouse, Amelie!”
I laughed. “Come on in, girls.”
Amelie explained. “You were taking too long. The cookies need you. But Daddy! Show her the picture of our dollhouse first!”
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through until I found the photo they were talking about—a miniature Victorian dollhouse their mom had brought with them to Montreal.
Arwyn’s breath hitched when she saw it. “It’s almost exactly like it!”
The twins squealed in delight, bouncing in their chairs. “We want to live in the dollhouse!”
I laughed and held out my hand to Arwyn. “Looks like the decision’s been made.”
She hesitated for half a second, then placed her small hand in mine. “Deal,” she said softly.
Her hand was warm against mine, and as the twins cheered, I couldn’t help but smile.
Maybe this was going to work out after all.
CHAPTER 3
Arwyn
The buzz of saws and banging of hammers were not my typical Sunday afternoon soundtrack. Somehow, no permits or permissions from the town were needed for the work that needed to be done, and Montoya Construction had been available to start repairs immediately on my house. I’d had to scramble to get my sewing machine and supplies out of the front room and into the garage before Beck and her crew showed up yesterday morning. Since this whole fiasco was Tasha’s idea, I called her and Penny to borrow their husbands’ muscles. An industrial machine like mine wasn’t easily relocated.
“Thank you again for making time for me this weekend, Beck,” I said to the contractor. I’d gotten to know her pretty well while she and her crew renovated the ice cream store into a soda shop. “I don’t know how I ever agreed to this. Two little girls I barely know, living here with me, and their dad here part-time, possibly. Tell me I’m crazy.”
“You’re crazy,” she said. “But honestly, I’ve wanted to get my hands on this house for a long time. So much potential! Please let me know when I can spiff up and paint the outside? And do let Liam know if you want to convert the garage to a more suitable commercial space. His architect fingers are itchingfor a new historically modern project. Picture it—sliding barn doors, track lighting, an actual changing room instead of a quilt hanging from a clothesline …”
I sighed. “We’ll save those things for the next influx of money. Probably in the next millennium at this rate.”
“That’s okay. We’ll have this place kid-proofed in no time. And you were right, sealing off the third floor for now is the best alternative until we can redo the floors and stairs and get you a new roof.”
“I hate to do it, but it’s not safe up there for the girls,” I admitted. “What’s the most cost-effective way to seal it up?”
“Well, the back stairs are easy. There’s a door already there, so we’ll add a bolt and a combination lock. The front staircase is more challenging. We can seal it up with plastic to block it, but that won’t keep out kids who are determined to see what’s on the other side. Your best option is a door and frame at the base of the stairs on the second story. Lock it up. And we can remove it later, when you’re ready to tackle the upstairs.”
“Okay.” I tried to picture what that would look like. It didn’t seem like it would be an eyesore. I’d still have access. And it would save me money heating it.
“Great! Leave the repairs to us, and you go do what you do best. I’ll call you if we run into anything that requires your input.” Beck tightened her messy bun and slid her safety goggles over her eyes. “Should be move-in ready by Tuesday.”
Tuesday.My stomach dropped.
I wasn’t ready for this, but my dad used to say, “The only way to face a fear is head-on. Do it scared, Wyn. Then it’s not scary anymore.”
That had worked out well for him. Until it hadn’t.
I missed my parents. I really could’ve used their advice on this one. Dad was six feet under and had been for almost five years. Mom checked in when she could, but sometimes it wasmonths until it was safe for her to communicate or get word to me. I suspected she was in the CIA, and when I asked, she would neither confirm nor deny it.
