Page 22 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
No less ferociously attracted to each other, yes, but…weird.
Yet still, sometimes, I think about that kiss. The soft firmness of his lips, the heat of his mouth. The power in his hands as they scraped into my hair…
DING-DONG.
Caught by the bell. I’m flushed and flustered, but I answer the door anyway. And I immediately wish I’d taken a second to cool down. Because DAMN.
James is dressed in caulk- and paint-spattered dark blue jeans and a black Motörhead T-shirt, the sleeves stretched to bursting around his biceps. As always, his black mirrored Oakleys hide his eyes, and he has an ancient, battered, paint-spattered Bears hat on, his thick, shaggy brown hair curling under to peek around his ears and neck. His beard is neatly trimmed and brushed, and I catch a hint of cedar from him. He has a leather-bound notebook in one hand, open to a blank page, and a pen tucked behind his ear.
“Hi,” he says, in that deep, gravelly bass voice of his, staring at me inscrutably through those shades of his.
“Hey,” I say, and I’m thankful I don’t sound as breathless as I feel at having him on my doorstep.
Silence.
James clears his throat. “So.” He juts his chin in a single macho movement at the interior of my house. “What’cha got?”
I back up and step aside to make room for him to enter. “Um…a house?”
He chuckles. “Uh, yeah. Gathered that much.” He stands in my foyer and looks around. “Nice place.”
“Thank you.” I shrug. “I didn’t really do anything except decorate. I painted the kitchen, ripped out the nasty old carpet in the rooms, and that’s…well, really about it.”
The house is a single story, two-bedroom, two-bathroom ranch with a detached garage, sitting on an acre corner lot. I bought it mainly for the lot size, and because of the giant spreading oak in the backyard. The house itself is dated and chopped up with a too-small kitchen and a lot of wasted space in the living room, not to mention the too-small, detached garage. James ambles around, knocking on a wall here and there, whipping a measuring tape from his back pocket and measuring seemingly at random, from one wall to another, ceiling to floor, and across the rooms, jotting the numbers down on his pad. He stands in the kitchen for a while, just looking around, then goes into the bedrooms but only pokes his head in briefly. He spends longer in the bathrooms, and then examines the wall between the master bedroom and the bathroom on the other side.
He goes out the back door and stares at the back of the house, goes around to one side and then the other, takes a few more measurements, and then clomps back into the kitchen. He leans his butt against a counter and focuses on me.
“So I have some ideas,” James says, “but I want to hear what you’re looking for first.”
I shrug a shoulder. “Well, I dunno. More kitchen, less living room, basically. And if it can be a little more open, that’d be great.”
James nods. “Kind of in line with what I’m thinking.” He taps the page. “I’m not great at drafting on the fly, so I’ll just sorta describe what I’m envisioning for your little cottage.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Little cottage? This place is three thousand square feet. Not exactly tiny.”
He snorted. “Just teasin’ you, babe. You have a nice place, Nova. Good bones.”
I frown. “I hear that a lot. Seems like a buzzword phrase to me. ‘Good bones.’ What does that even mean, anyway?”
He shrugs. “Just means the place is solidly built, with good potential.” He sweeps the tip of the pen around at the kitchen. “Like you said, you need more kitchen space as a primary concern. For a house this size, this kitchen is a damn postage stamp, and the living room is cavernous yet most of that space is unusable, just open dead air.” He moves to the wall between the living room and kitchen. “This wall is load-bearing, but put a big ol’ beam across, and you’re golden. The boys and I have done that plenty—we just did one at Imogen’s house, actually, and this house isn’t that old, so I don’t see any surprises in the ceiling.”
“You could really take out the whole load-bearing wall?”
He nods. “Those home remodel shows make it look a hell of a lot easier than it is, to be honest, but we can do it. And you’re getting this at cost, basically, and labor is the most expensive part of putting in a beam.”
I try to envision the room without the wall, but can’t. “I don’t even know what that would feel like in here.”
He laughs. “It takes some practice.” He indicates one exterior wall, currently separated by the wall between the kitchen and living room. “I’d extend your cabinets and counter space this way, which would mean we could bust out some space here.” He gestures at the spot where currently there’s a tiny sink and window. “Get rid of some counter and cabinet, and I can give you a nice big double farmhouse sink and a much larger window.”
