Fixer-Upper (Spinning Hills Romance 3)

by Ines Saint

  On Saturday morning, Johnny was leaning over his roof, trying to readjust one of the gutters, when the sound of tires crunching on gravel made him look out toward the long driveway. A car he didn’t recognize was coming, followed by two more cars he didn’t recognize, and then Marissa’s car and Sam’s truck. He squinted against the bright glare of the sun against the windshield of the first car, unable to see who was inside. What was going on?

  He climbed down a ladder he’d propped up out back and hit the ground just as doors began slamming. When he came around the front, he saw Azra, Veronica, Aleksandra, Javier, Isaac, a few of their parents and older siblings, and Marissa, Sam, and Cassie. “Surprise! It’s the brigada loca again! Choo-choo!” Veronica shouted.

  “Brigade, not train,” Javier snapped at her. Veronica looked like she was going to snap back, but Marissa cut her off.

  “Surprise!” she yelled.

  “Yes! Surprise!” Cassie scrambled out of Sam’s truck.

  Johnny walked toward them, feeling thoroughly confused. “What’s this? What’re you all doing here? Not that I’m not always ecstatic to see you . . .” He grinned at the kids. They all rolled their eyes at that one.

  Marissa squared her shoulders, as if she was ready to do battle. “This is our last and most lucrative fund-raiser before the trip.”

  Johnny squinted down at her. “You’re not making sense.” He then looked over at Sam, who was unloading five-gallon pails of paint from the truck with a few of the parents. “What’s going on?” Sam merely nodded toward the kids.

  Veronica stepped up. “We know you gave the money, Mr. A. We pay back by helping you with your house.”

  Johnny’s insides fell. “This isn’t necessary. How’d you find out?” His heart sank. He’d thought he could trust Amy.

  Marissa swept her hands to her sides, as if brushing his questions and reservations away. “You and I can talk about that later. But we all really want to do this. The kids deserve the chance to feel they’ve earned their way, we all had a blast the last time we worked together at the school, and we’ll learn valuable skills.”

  They all looked so excited—there was no way Johnny could say no. There really wasn’t a reason to. Marissa was right. Johnny shrugged and led the way, to give them all the tour and get them organized.

  The kids stood openmouthed at the door. “You live like this?”

  Johnny, Sam, Cassie, and Marissa all laughed. The house had come a long way. The walls were mudded, sanded, and primed, and the underlayment was installed, but the walls were in need of paint, the flooring was piled in a corner, and the counters had no tops.

  Isaac turned to face him. “You sure need help.”

  Small barks and whimpering interrupted that thought, and the kids immediately dropped everything to follow the sound. Sam and Cassie promptly followed, and as much as Marissa wanted to go visit with the puppies, she was glad she had Johnny alone.

  But the moment she turned to him, she was filled with doubts. What if he hated her ideas?

  She cleared her throat and began walking toward the door, motioning for him to follow. She couldn’t look him in the eye. “We wanted to surprise you, so Sam let me pick out the paint from leftover gallons he had. He said you wanted yellow for the outside, and that’s all I had to go by. We still have time for you to go back and choose what you want, though.”

  She looked back to see Johnny wearing a smile sunnier than the yellow paint she’d picked out. “What?” she asked.

  “You’re so cute when you’re fretting over me, puppy-eyes.”

  Marissa reached the pickup, turned, and folded her arms over her chest. “I told you not to—”

  “Not to call you that. I know. Relax. It was just an observation. You are fretting, you are cute, and your eyes are doing that beseeching thing again. I saw you and Brian last night and at the wedding. You look in love, Marissa, and I’ve accepted it. I’ve moved on.”

  Something in Marissa’s chest dislodged and fell to the ground. All she could think was that Johnny was definitely not as perceptive as he thought he was.

  He squatted and looked at the paint that had already been unloaded. “I love this yellow. It’ll look great.” His eyes sparkled up at her and she tried to squeeze out a smile, but something had happened to her heart. It ached, and the ache made the area behind her eyes burn. Johnny got up and went over to the truck. Marissa took deep, painful breaths until she felt on firmer footing before following him.

  “The teal blue and bright white are for the trim, but again, if—”

  “Marissa, stop. I love it. This is perfect.” The look in his eyes was so earnest and open, she believed him. He looked over at the house, then at the paint, then over at the house again. “I can’t wait to see how it’ll look. I think I’ll love the uneven brushstrokes most.”

  Marissa’s weak smile became more real at that. The kids had done a really great job at the school, but you could see the uneven brushstroke here and there.

  “What’s all that tile?” he asked, frowning at the crates full of mismatched and broken tile. Marissa suddenly felt monumentally ridiculous.

  “Oh. That’s, uh. Oh. Um, it looks like tile.” She paused and stared at it. “Maybe it was already there?”

  “Out with it, Marissa. What’s the tile for?” Johnny turned to her, a twinkle in his eyes.

  She heaved out a short, but heavy sigh. “Sam said you wanted quartz countertops and that you could no longer have them. I saw the tile and thought maybe we could make mosaic tile countertops for the time being. To remind you of the fair, your first students, and your first summer as a school psychologist. I—I saw your dad doing it to a table once. It turned out so pretty. He saw me watching and he let me put a few tiles in. He showed me how, and I think I could do it again. But I know it’s not current or trendy or practical, and you’re probably better off with laminate.”

  A lump formed in Johnny’s throat and it made it difficult to get the words out. “My dad taught you that?”

  Marissa nodded shyly. He made an effort to release some of the tightness in his chest. “I don’t want quartz, or laminate, or anything else. I want my mosaic tile countertops and brush-stroked house.” He gestured toward the house. “This is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me, and I don’t ever want to forget it.”

  Marissa gave him a strange look. “You did a nice thing, Johnny. This is a thank-you.”

  “And what about your thank-you, Marissa? Don’t you think I know who the other anonymous donor was?” he asked, searching her eyes. She hadn’t even been planning on telling him, even though she already knew his secret.

  “You’re right. Everyone’s right.” Johnny raked a hand through his hair and dragged out a breath. “We’re a disaster together. A good friend would tell you that you should’ve saved that money for your wedding, your house, and your future kids, but who am I to tell you anything when I’m just as bad?” Noise from inside the house reached them then, and Johnny took a step back and sighed. “I should probably go help the kids get set up.” Marissa simply nodded, without looking at him.

  Sam and Johnny cut and laid plywood and tile backer, the kids and their parents and guardians began painting, and Marissa began choosing tiles and sanding their edges. She had everyone there choose a piece of tile, and as the day wore on, Marty, Abuela Rosa, Ruby, and Sherry stopped by and chose pieces, too.

  Word spread and it became almost a game, where people from town who loved Johnny came by to choose pieces of tile for the mosaic kitchen countertops. It took longer to lay out because she had to keep switching out pieces, but it was worth it.

  Dan and Holly stopped by with Ella, even though they’d just gotten back from their honeymoon and they looked like they needed a good, long nap. Marianne Amador chose a piece, too, though she muttered under her breath about how dated the tiled countertops would look.

  Glass, porcelain, cement, and stone tile. It was interesting to see who chose what. Marissa found pleasure in
making all the odd pieces that didn’t look like they fit come together. She forgot about time, and even about everything that was going on around her. Every once in a while, she’d step back, happy about how harmonious and pretty it all looked.

  She wanted the countertops in the heart of Johnny’s home to remind him of his first summer as a school psychologist and the people he loved, how broken things could be brought back to life, and how different things could come together to form one purposeful and lasting whole.

  He’d get it.

  She took one break, to eat one of the sandwiches her grandmother had brought over, and to sit and rest her aching shoulders against a willow that overlooked the house.

  Some of the kids were working hard, while others were laughing and goofing off, the puppies were testing their voices, barking short woofs, and an argument between Aleksandra and Javier was brewing in one corner. It was a noisy chaos, waiting for her to fret and attempt to exert some control over it.

  The thought made her want to laugh at herself, and it filled her with peace, because the whole scene was everything she’d ever wanted. She leaned back and smiled, but a second later, she shot up, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. It was everything she’d ever wanted.

  The once-tasty sandwich now tasted like dust.

  Marissa went back inside and focused her entire attention on working out the layout, and then laying the tile, becoming completely absorbed once again in the gratifying task. It took her the rest of the day to get it just right. The tile would then seal overnight, and someone would grout it the next day. She looked at her watch. It was eight in the evening. She’d been so focused on the project, she hadn’t noticed that one by one, everyone had left, and only she and Johnny remained.

  He stood behind her now and looked over her shoulder. “I love it. I’ll never get rid of it.”

  Marissa’s heart filled with happiness, quickly punctured with sharp pangs of sorrow. She swallowed hard and didn’t turn around. They’d both said too much that morning. He’d decided it was time to give up. She’d chosen the worst possible time to finally acknowledge the truth. “I took pictures of everyone holding the tile they chose. I’ll forward them to you.”

  “I’d appreciate it. I appreciate all you’ve done.”

  “Can I take a look around?”

  “Sure. I’ll be outside, rinsing out some paintbrushes.”

  Marissa nodded, knowing he didn’t want to be alone with her, and that she should be quick and leave. She walked around, trying to remain indifferent, but unable to do so.

  The walls in the main living area were a buttery beige and the trim and doors a creamy white. It looked clean and warm, while the tiled kitchen countertops both brightened the entire space, and tied everything together. The glass bits and pieces sparkled, the bright tile made the home look happy, and the warmer pieces blended well with the walls and trim. The bedrooms and bathroom were painted a soft pale green, and the trim a brighter white. They looked cool, fresh, and inviting. Her breath caught. It was perfect.

  She grabbed her bag, suddenly realizing it was time to leave. Her phone lay in an outer pocket and Marissa knew Brian and others must’ve called and texted many times but her battery was dead. Well, everyone knew where she’d been.

  She walked to her car and turned around. The sun hung low in the pink- and purple-streaked horizon, casting a warm light on the swaying grass, the tall trees, and the rustling leaves. She loved how solid and cheerful the red metal roof looked over the hearty little house, as if it were both protecting it and letting it be. For a moment she wished for rain so she could listen to the soothing pitter-patter against it.

  Johnny had given up on them. Now it was Marissa’s turn to fight. It would be painful and complicated. So many people would be disappointed in her, and the attention in town would be excruciating.

  And it could all be too late.

  When she got home, Brian was waiting for her. He took her hands in his and scrubbed away some of the thin set that had caked onto her fingers. “Doubt that will all come off by tomorrow. What time do you leave?”

  “We leave at dawn.”

  Brian nodded, but he didn’t look at her. She studied him. Her love for him was real, but it didn’t run deep. It ran comfortably. It always had. It didn’t make her feel exhilarated and alive.

  How stupid could she have been? What would she do? He was a proud man. Everything she was feeling would humiliate him. “Brian . . . we need to talk.”

  Brian released a sigh, but tightened his hold on her hands. “Before you say anything, give it some time and thought, okay? I feel it, too. Like everything has slowly been tearing us apart, and you’re ready to let go. But I’m not. I’m not ready to give up on us. Think about it. This distance between us, and all the work we’ve been putting into moving here and getting ready for our next step . . . it’s bound to take its toll.”

  Marissa didn’t know what the right thing to do was. There was no one she could ask. The people she trusted most would say the same thing Brian was saying. To think. To give it time. They didn’t know her heart or her mind. It was finally time for her to learn to trust them both. “I know, but it’s more than that, Brian.”

  He sighed. “You’re about to leave. Don’t do this now.”

  “But the engagement party . . .” Panic clogged her throat at the thought of Brian, their friends, his parents, her family, and she couldn’t say anything more.

  “It’s at Huffy’s. It’s informal. We’ll have time when you get back to sort everything out. Now, get some sleep and promise me you’ll think things through. We at least owe each other that.”

  Johnny woke up and got ready before first light. He’d be driving the rented truck carrying all the props, and he had to go pick it up. Two days, one night, and over one thousand two hundred miles of road.

  He met up with the kids at the school, where the charter bus was waiting, half an hour later. The morning had dawned cloudy and gloomy, with rain hovering on the horizon, but it didn’t affect the kids’ moods in the least. Their enthusiasm was a tangible, living, breathing entity that touched everyone around them, and the morning felt bright because of it.

  Even driving behind them, Johnny was caught up in their fun. They’d wave at everyone who passed by, nag the driver to honk at other buses, and make ridiculous faces at Johnny, who made a game of trying to keep a straight face. Once in a while, someone would make him roll his eyes or laugh.

  Marissa sat in the front of the bus, Mrs. Simmons in the middle, and Amy in the back. So he was able to keep Marissa a bus length away. He only saw her during rest stops, and those were chaotic and noisy enough to keep them from speaking.

  As the miles took them farther from their hometown, the mood turned mellow. Those interested in the changing landscape couldn’t tear their eyes away. Those only dreaming of their destination took naps. Johnny watched them from behind the bus. Soon, evening would be upon them, and they’d be roused into fun again when they reached the hotel.

  “I already feel sorry for the other guests.” Amy cringed as the kids got off the bus, whooping and asking about food and their rooms.

  Marissa held up two large paper bags. Johnny and the other chaperones peeked inside and saw little bags of cookies tied with a ribbon. “I baked them sugar cookies and typed up a little note, explaining and apologizing in advance for any excessive noise. You can help me leave them at their doors,” she said to Amy, who raised both eyebrows.

  “You baked enough cookies for an entire hotel full of guests?” Mrs. Simmons looked at her as if she was a lost cause.

  “Only for our floor and the one below it,” Marissa said defensively. “It was no big deal.”

  Marissa asked to sit in the front of the bus the next day again. They were supposed to switch out, but she knew she’d be too tempted to keep looking back to make sure Johnny was still behind them and wide awake if she sat farther back. It was ridiculous. He was a grown man, he had a GPS, and he could very well follow
a large bus full of rowdy kids and stay awake, but she kept sneaking looks to see if the big orange and white truck was still in view.

  The always beautiful, always changing views, and the endless questions and occasional petty arguments between the kids helped her keep her mind off her personal life and the future that awaited her back home. All she had was here and now, and here and now was noisy, fun, and new. She’d never made it farther west than Indiana, and she couldn’t wait to see the Rockies. Mrs. Simmons came up with some games and contests about state trivia, throwing some social studies, history, and geography into the learning experience. Some of the kids enjoyed it, while others let them know, in no uncertain terms, that they would not be fooled or manipulated into learning anything else that summer.

  When the Rockies came into view, they all stared in awe. Some of the kids were inspired to share stories about the natural wonders in their own home countries. It was a beautiful moment. And it was ruined by a phone call Marissa couldn’t ignore.

  Don Stands from the Marconi and McNeely Foundation had finally deigned to return her messages.

  Marissa sank down in her seat and kept her voice low. She was still so angry. But what Don had to say left her stone-cold and unable to say anything but a terse, “Thank you. I understand.” A moment after she hung up, she retched into the first bag she could find. The leftover cookies were ruined. Amy, Mrs. Simmons, and some of the kids rushed to her side.

  A chorus of questions—“What’s wrong?” “Should we stop?” “What happened?” “Is she sick?”—surrounded her.

  “Don’t stop,” was all she could say. A bunch of kids milling around the side of a highway would be her worst nightmare.

  Johnny watched as the kids rushed to the front of the bus. Something was up. He hit a button on his smartphone and said, “Call Marissa,” without thinking. Marissa didn’t answer. He tried Amy and Mrs. Simmons, but they didn’t answer, either.