Page 6 of Begin Again

Though his family had built this house and every other one in Paradise Place, many at this end were built by his grandfather, father and uncle long before he was born.

He didn’t have much lined up on his schedule with the new builds that he couldn’t walk away and do this with his brother.

Most houses on this street were at least fifty years old. And as he stood in front of the Brewsters’ house waiting, he stared across the street at one of his favorite houses, shaking his head in disappointment.

He’d been in love with the larger older Tudor-style home since he was a kid.

It was on one of the main roads of the development, so he’d passed it daily going in and out to school and hanging with friends.

In his mind, he’d hoped to own it when the original owners sold. He’d been biding his time. But then he lost out and it was a burn that no amount of salve was going to heal.

“This place needs some work outside,” he said to his brother of the house they were going to look at today. He’d been waiting outside for Evan to show up. Early April, Friday around lunch, Evan was probably being pulled in all sorts of directions on multiple projects that were getting ready to go with spring and warm weather finally hitting.

Christian liked his job better. He could do what needed to be done and move on to the next. Stop one thing and work on another and not have to plan weeks out. It was how he lived his life. Doing what needed to be done and worrying about tomorrow when tomorrow’s sun rose.

“You should have gone for landscaping rather than engineering,” Evan said, getting out of his truck.

He’d been told that a lot in his life. “It’s a hobby. But there is no reason the outside can’t look as good as the inside,” he said.

He’d done his fair share of building in his life but had wanted to be an engineer. Evan was on site more, Christian in the office.

Had he filled in when they were short staffed and behind? Yeah.

But at thirty-four years old, most of the time he was only swinging a hammer at his flips. Things he did on the side at his own pace and made a nice little profit. He worked when he wanted on them...when the designs came to him and he was ready.

“Yeah, yeah,” Evan said. “Heard that before.”

The two of them made their way to the front door, rang the bell, then waited for the owners to answer.

“Evan, Christian,” Molly Brewster said. “So glad you could take the time out to come over. I know you’re both busy, but I’ve been wanting to make changes to this house since we bought it ten years ago.”

“Never a problem,” he said. The house had been upgraded most likely twenty or thirty years ago by the looks of it. “You said you wanted a new kitchen?”

“Yes,” Molly said. “I just can’t stand the layout. I want it more open than anything else. Jim told me I had to live with it for years and I have, but it’s time to take some walls down.”

He looked at Evan. Christian knew that was the trend. The open concept. It had its purpose and he did it for a lot of his flips. After all, he was doing the work to sell and make a profit.

Personally though, he liked the division in the rooms. More so in these older colonials.What he loved about Paradise Place was they built any style of home a customer wanted. No cookie cutters there. But most did lean toward modern colonials.

“Let us know what you want,” Evan said. “Then Christian and I need to just climb into your attic space to check for load-bearing walls. Once we’ve got that information we can get down to exact plans and someone in the office will get the pricing drawn up from what you pick as your finishes.”

An hour later, Evan had left. Christian was still sitting in his truck checking over a few things before he pulled out.

The garbage trucks were coming down the street, making a ton of noise. He turned to look and saw the driver must have misjudged and hit the mailbox of the house across the street.

The Tudor that he’d lost out on.

Shit.

He got out of his truck and walked over. He wasn’t going to let the driver move past without making it known he’d seen what happened.

It appeared as if that was what the driver intended to do when the truck kept moving to the next house.

Christian went up and stood by the driver’s door. The driver had earbuds in and he could hear the music through them himself, which told him why the guy had no clue what he’d just done.

With the size of the truck there was probably no way he felt it with the jaws moving up and down to get the cans.

“Can I help you?” the driver asked.

---