Starting Over on Blackberry Lane--A Romance Novel

by Sheila Roberts

  Once Stefanie Stahl let him in and drew back the oddly placed curtain, he knew precisely why she was not a happy camper. She’d warned him—but it was even worse than he’d guessed.

  “Mama, I’m hungry,” said the little boy, who was hovering beside her.

  “Okay, let’s get you some graham crackers and milk,” she said to him. “First, can you say hello to Mr. Masters?”

  “Hello, Mr. Masters. I’m Petey.” The child put out his hand.

  Well-trained kid. Grant leaned down and shook it. “Hello there, Petey. I saw a softball outside. Are you a baseball player?”

  Petey nodded eagerly. “I’m playing T-ball. My daddy’s the coach.”

  “Cool.” Coaching his kid’s T-ball game, trying to do home improvement projects—even if he wasn’t very good at them—the woman’s husband sounded like an all-around decent guy.

  Petey had just enough time to give Grant a smile, then returned his attention to his mother. “Mommy, can I have graham crackers now?”

  “May I have graham crackers?” his mother corrected him. “Yes, you may. I’ll be back in a minute,” she told Grant. “Feel free to look around.”

  She disappeared into the kitchen and Grant took a better look at what lay behind the curtain. It sure as hell wasn’t the Wizard of Oz. What a mess. Stahl had randomly chopped away at the wall, then, tired of that, had moved on to making something, God only knew what. Boards lay scattered around the floor in what had once been the dining room, and there sat a table saw, awaiting the chance to help create more chaos. No wonder the woman was pissed. And, good Lord, the wall her husband had half demolished looked like a load-bearing one.

  This guy had obviously jumped in with a lot of enthusiasm, then gotten in over his head. Grant suspected he’d gone into procrastination mode, hoping he’d be able to figure out the mess on his own.

  Grant doubted he would—or could. Best to stop him before he brought the house down around their ears.

  He crossed the room and, turning to the right, saw the arch that led from dining room to kitchen. At least that wall was still intact. The kitchen was in relatively good shape. The counters were quartz and the cabinets had been painted white. The appliances looked new. A previous owner must have updated the kitchen, since the current owner didn’t have a clue what he was doing.

  The little boy was sitting at the kitchen table, digging into his treat, and his mother was setting a glass of milk in front of him. Grant couldn’t help flashing back to when his own boys were that age. They were always bugging him to play catch with them. Of course he did, even when he was dog-tired, but he remembered times when the hard work and the crazy zoo at home—with the boys and all their friends constantly whooping it up—had him longing for some peace and quiet.

  Peace and quiet was overrated.

  Stefanie glanced at him hopefully. “Can you help us?”

  “I think so.”

  She left her son snarfing down his cookies and joined Grant in the disaster room. “This is just the tip of the iceberg, Mr. Masters.”

  “Call me Grant.” Considering how much time they’d be spending together, they’d soon be on a first-name basis anyway. Besides, hearing himself called Mr. Masters made him feel old.

  “Call me Stef,” she said, smiling. The smile didn’t last long. “Our master bathroom is torn apart. No tub, no tiles. And out back he started to build a patio.” She frowned. “My husband...” She bit off the sentence.

  Is in deep shit. “Let’s take this one project at a time,” Grant suggested. “I assume you want your dining room fixed first.”

  She nodded. “I thought it would be good to take down the wall between that and the living room and turn it into a great room. But I didn’t mean for Brad to do it.”

  “Well, you have a smart idea, but you can’t go off half-cocked on this kind of project. That wall between the two rooms is a load-bearing wall. You can’t just take it down.”

  Her expression fell. “Oh.”

  “You need to put up a special load-bearing beam.”

  “But it can be done, bringing the two rooms together?”

  “Yes, it can. And I’m happy to work with your husband—”

  “No! Don’t let him... I mean, he’s busy working.”

  Grant nodded diplomatically. “If he does bring up the subject, you might mention about the wall to him.” Don’t let him near it.

  She got the unspoken message. “I will,” she said, a martial light in her eyes.

  The poor guy was going to get an earful when he got home.

  “So, um, I guess we should talk about cost.”

  “Obviously, I can’t put this place to rights in one day.”

  “Can we just apply the amount from the auction to your labor?”

  “Of course.”

  “And how much will that cost?”

  Was it his imagination or was she holding her breath? Oh, boy. Here he went again, for the third time.

  He certainly couldn’t walk off and leave this woman with Mr. Fix-It. That half-demolished wall gave him the heebie-jeebies. “What can you afford?”

  “We did get an income tax return and I have a little money saved.”

  “Some of that will need to go toward materials.”

  “How much do you think those will cost?” He estimated the amount and she nodded and bit her lip. “Okay. And your labor?”

  “After the cost of materials, how much will you have left?” She told him. Of course, it was about a third short of what he’d normally charge. “All right. That’s what you can pay me.”

  “Really?”

  He was such a sucker. “Yeah, really.”

  “Oh, my gosh. You’re wonderful!” she cried and hugged him. “Thank you so much.”

  “No problem.” At this rate, Honey Do wasn’t going to be a business. It was going to be an expensive hobby. Maybe he needed to turn it into a nonprofit.

  It already is a nonprofit, fool, said his hard-nosed business side.

  Still, what could he do? These women all needed help. And in Stefanie Stahl’s case, he suspected he’d not only be helping her, he’d be saving her husband’s skin.

  “When can you start?” she asked excitedly.

  “Well, I’m going to be doing some painting for your friend tomorrow, and I have a couple of other small jobs I need to do. How about I come over Thursday and get started here?” He’d have to get some help putting up that beam.

  “Perfect.”

  For her. Not so much for him. He was halfway back in the construction business, something he didn’t particularly want to do. He hoped Dan would lend him one of his guys for the heavy lifting.

  He walked back to where he’d left his truck, got in and sighed deeply. After this, he was going to be firm. Once he was done with these three, it would be only small handyman jobs.

  And no more lowball estimates.

  Yeah, that, too. If he didn’t go completely broke and could still afford to be in business.

  * * *

  Stef was putting a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner when Cass called. “I’m on my way out to meet Dot but I figured I’d call and see how it went with Grant.”

  “Great. And thank God we hired him. Do you know that Brad was about to pull down a weight-bearing wall? The house could’ve fallen down on us!”

  “Whoa,” Cass said. “Home renovation doesn’t seem to be Brad’s gift.”

  “Ya think?” Stef looked out the kitchen window at her son, who was happily trying to scale the apple tree. Fortunately, he was clueless that Mommy had been on the verge of poisoning Daddy. “I swear, the man’s just saved Brad’s life. Or at least our marriage.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “I’m so glad we bid on him. It’ll be just like ha
ving Danny Ocean from Ocean’s Eleven working for us,” she added. The movie had been Cass’s pick for the latest chick-flick night, and thoughts of Brad Pitt and George Clooney were still fresh in her mind. She wondered if meeting Grant Masters had inspired Cass to choose it.

  She was about to tease Cass, since she’d been drooling over George Clooney all through the movie, when a sudden thump on the kitchen floor made her whirl around. There stood Brad, scowling, his briefcase at his feet.

  “I’m home,” he snapped.

  “Oh, hey, Brad’s home. I’d better go,” she said and ended the call. Pretending not to see his thundercloud expression, she said a cheery hello, danced over and kissed him on the cheek. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Obviously. Just like Danny from Ocean’s Eleven?”

  “We watched that at the last chick-flick night at Cass’s house. I told you. Remember? Honestly, Brad. Sometimes you don’t listen to anything I say.”

  “I listen. Why do you think I started on the great room?”

  “Right before Griffin’s shower? I have no idea.”

  Brad picked up his briefcase and marched off.

  She followed him. “Come on, Brad. Don’t pout. This is a good thing. We’ll finally get it done.”

  “I was going to do it.”

  “Yeah, and bring the whole house crashing in on us. You know that wall you were about to tear down? Well, it can’t come down. It’s a weight-bearing wall.”

  “Load-bearing,” he corrected her. “I figured that out. That’s why I stopped.”

  “So what were you going to do?”

  “I was going to do something. I was still thinking about it.”

  “So now you can stop thinking.” He should be relieved. Grateful, even.

  “Thanks,” he said most ungratefully. He left his briefcase at the foot of the stairs and stomped off to the bedroom to change out of his suit.

  More like pout, if you asked Stef, and she marched back to the kitchen to put together a salad to go with their pizza.

  Dinner was a strained affair, with Brad saying very little and glaring at his pizza before every bite. “Honestly, Brad. You’re making too big a deal out of this.”

  “Am I? How much is he charging?”

  “It’s very reasonable.”

  “I’ll bet. It’s gonna take our whole income tax return, isn’t it?”

  And then some. “It’ll be the best money we’ve ever spent.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  Brad ripped off a bite of pizza like some kind of feral animal, managing to chew and glower at the same time.

  “Are you mad, Daddy?” Petey asked in a small voice.

  Brad wiped off the scowl, smiled at his son and ruffled his hair. “Not at you, big guy.”

  Petey looked relieved and he, too, ripped into his pizza slice, trying to mimic his father.

  Stef picked at her salad. Why was Brad being like this?

  After dinner, he took Petey off to play with his LEGO and Stef cleaned up, fuming. The way Brad was acting, you’d think he’d caught her having an affair. It was an easy cleanup, but still it left her feeling cranky. Usually Brad did part of it. Petey, too, who was in charge of helping Daddy clear the table. A small chore, but a nice little bit of family togetherness.

  There was faux family togetherness after Petey’s bath, when they both tucked him in and heard his prayers. The minute her son was snuggled under his blankets, Brad went downstairs to his man cave, leaving Stef alone upstairs. They usually cuddled on the couch and watched something on Netflix or Hulu when there was nothing going on. Not tonight. Brad was holed up down in the basement, and there wasn’t even a ball game on TV.

  Fine. She’d watch something she wanted to. She picked a romantic comedy and settled in. They sure weren’t making very funny romantic comedies these days.

  Or maybe she simply wasn’t in the mood to laugh. She turned off the TV, grabbed her phone and started playing a game, resisting the temptation to go down to Brad Land and grovel, begging his forgiveness. Why should she? She hadn’t done anything wrong. She wasn’t the one who kept tearing up the house and leaving it looking like a war zone. She wasn’t the one who promised to finish things and then somehow never got around to it. She hadn’t tried to pull down a weight-bearing—load-bearing, whatever—wall. She had nothing to apologize for. Nothing! Brad should be up here groveling.

  They usually went to bed at the same time. Together. Come bedtime, she climbed the stairs to their bedroom alone. Once there, she could hardly ignore the unfinished master bathroom. There was the bathtub, half-out, filled with a rubble of tile. How would he like it if she went downstairs and ripped out the toilet in the half bath off the man cave?

  Probably wouldn’t bother him at all. He’d just go off into the woods behind the backyard and find a tree to mark.

  She went to the bathroom down the hall and took a bubble bath, telling herself it was relaxing her. She wasn’t stalling going to bed alone. She finally got tired of adding more hot water to the cooling tub and climbed into their queen-size bed. Fine. If he wanted to be sleep deprived, let him.

  She rolled over onto her side, shut her eyes and stayed awake until midnight, when he finally came to bed.

  She turned on her bedside lamp and greeted him with “You should be glad we’re getting this mess fixed.”

  “This mess that I made?” he said sarcastically.

  He looked neither penitent nor reasonable. The scowl was still firmly in place, set in cement.

  Okay, wrong approach. She tried diplomacy. “Admit it, Brad. We bit off more than we could chew.”

  “I was chewing just fine,” he snapped.

  “Well, I wasn’t.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this now,” he said stiffly. Stiff, stiff as a board, stiff as the pile of boards out in the backyard.

  She could feel her blood pressure rising. “We could’ve talked about it earlier if you hadn’t been hiding in your man cave. Must be nice to have a place all your own that’s finished.”

  “It’s not my fault this place came with a finished basement,” he growled.

  “And it’s not my fault that I can’t stand living in an unfinished mess. Jeez, Brad.”

  “I’ve been doing the best I can. Sorry it hasn’t been good enough for you.” He grabbed his pillow and the afghan she kept at the end of the bed and started for the door.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded.

  “Someplace where I can sleep,” he called over his shoulder and stalked out of the room. A moment later she heard the guest bedroom door shut.

  The next morning he didn’t look as though he’d gotten any more sleep than she had. “Remember what Pastor Lawrence said when he married us? You should never go to bed angry,” she reminded him as he stood over the Keurig.

  “Pastor Lawrence isn’t married to my wife.”

  Okay, that was mean. “If that was supposed to be funny, it’s not.”

  He lifted his cup and pointed it accusingly at her. “You bid a lot of money on that guy.”

  This again. “We agreed I could spend money at the auction.”

  “Some money. I didn’t know you were going to spend our entire income tax return.”

  This wasn’t a good start to the day. “Come on, Brad. Don’t be like this.”

  “Like what? Pissed that you committed us to spending all that money? We always decide together what we’re going to do with our income tax return.”

  Guilt gave her a sharp poke. “I’m sorry. I guess I got carried away.”

  “With a guy who looks like George Clooney.”

  Was he jealous? “The man’s old.”

  “I heard you.”

  “I was teasing Cass. Honestly, Brad.�
� She came up to him and put her arms around his neck. “You can’t really be jealous of a man who’s probably twenty-five years older than you!” He was still frowning. “Look,” she went on, “I’m sorry I didn’t check with you. It was just that I was so excited to get this...” Don’t say “mess.” “This...well, everything done and—” Don’t say “out of my hair”! “—off your plate. I would think you’d be glad.” There. That was pretty diplomatic.

  He wasn’t falling for it. “Yeah? Well, thanks for deciding what goes and stays on my plate. You just couldn’t trust me to handle it, could you?”

  “Maybe because you weren’t handling it?” she retorted.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He took his mug of coffee and left the kitchen. “I’m late for work.”

  Late for work. Right. He was his own boss. He could come and go as he pleased.

  And usually it pleased him to hang out another half hour and have breakfast with Petey. Not today. Very mature.

  “If you’re having that big a problem with it, I’ll just spend my half of the return,” she called after him.

  No answer.

  She grabbed a sponge and began to attack the sink. If that was the way he was going to be, fine. Let him go to the office and sit at his desk and pout. Let him be miserable for a day or two. It would be nothing compared to the misery she’d been enduring for the last nine months.

  Nine months. A woman could grow a baby in nine months. Why couldn’t her husband finish a couple of home improvement projects in that time?

  She got Petey up and off to school, and then, feeling irritable, she texted Griffin. Lattes?

  Can’t, Griffin texted back. Working with Beth today.

  Poo. Well, Cass would be at the bakery. With luck, she’d be able to offer a listening ear. Stef made her way to Gingerbread Haus and found it unusually busy for a Tuesday morning. Cass was too occupied with waiting on customers to have time for a shrink session.