Write Me Home
Page 4
She shuffled onto the deck after him. “Hey, you know how to fix a broken door?”
So, she did know how to ask for help. “There ain’t much I can’t fix, Red.” He jogged down the stairs toward his Jeep before she had the chance to give the nickname a new meaning.
He pulled out, turned up the country music station, and saluted as he drove past her. Halfway down the driveway, he stole a glance in the rearview mirror. Still grinning, he stretched an arm out the window and cranked the music. Welcome to the mountains, sweetheart.
Red? Good thing a breeze was blowing in from the woods. Cass’s boiling cheeks might’ve caught fire otherwise.
She barreled back inside, not sure which irritated her more—the fact that she needed his help or the fact that he knew she needed it.
Ti almost stumbled into her at the intersection between the two halls. At least she had clothes on now. In a long, flowy sundress, she twirled around and landed an arm across Cass’s shoulders. “Okay, I know I said I could live without Starbucks, but tell me you at least have some form of coffee in this place.”
Cass cracked a grin before she could stop herself. If nothing else, Ti’d always be a source of amusement. She prodded her forward. She’d deal with drawing up a contract for Mr. Jack of All Trades later. “No telling what we’ll find in the kitchen.”
Jax brushed against her legs from behind. She glowered at him. “Oh, so you hear the word kitchen and come running. Where were you when I was trying to defend you earlier, huh?”
He sat on his back paws, squinted, and meowed. That face got her every time. She rubbed his side with her foot. “Cheater.” She looked up at Ti and nodded toward the front door. “Would you run to my car and grab the paper bag behind the driver’s seat for me? It has Jax’s food and some other groceries in it.” She raised a brow. “Including coffee.”
“You said the magic word.” Ti winked and made a beeline for the deck.
Jax bolted ahead of Cass into the dark room. “Now you decide to be fearless.” She flipped on the light switch and pinched her lips to keep from laughing. How was it possible that they never upgraded this place?
Scenes from the weeks she’d worked as a dishwasher flooded in with each section of the kitchen she faced. The walk-in freezer, the breakfast nook with giant steel pots hanging on the wall, the industrial dishwasher beside the three-part sink system with a stack of green crates beneath it.
She ran a hand along the faded-yellow countertop. The longer she took it all in, the more she couldn’t picture it looking any different.
Ti whisked in and set the bag on the counter. Jax stretched his front paws up the cabinets and meowed again. She rubbed his head. “I’ll feed Jax before he dies from starvation. You find the coffeemaker.”
“Deal.”
After fishing through two bottom cabinets, Cass pulled out an ancient coffeepot that looked as stained as the dark wood paneling on the walls. “Not sure we want to use this sucker.”
Ti examined it. “Hey, if it brews coffee, it’s all good.”
Hard to argue with that. At least, for the moment. She added the grounds and bottled water, plugged it in, and jumped back. No sparks. That was a good sign. She renumbered the other items on her clipboard and added a line at the top.
1. Pick up a new coffeepot.
Even in the middle of nowhere, a girl has to have her priorities.
Ti hoisted herself onto the counter. “I think I might need to borrow Jax later.”
Cass glanced from her grocery list toward her calico, dropping a mouthful of dry food beside his bowl. “Borrow him?”
“If I chase him up a tree, surely McDreamy will come to my aid.”
Cass chugged her bottle of water before she gagged. “Leave my cat out of your love life.”
She bobbed her brows. “Who said anything about love?”
Oh, brother. They were perfect for each other. Swagger and all.
“Just don’t distract him from work.” She scoured the top cabinets for a mug. She needed coffee. Fast. Sawdust dumped out of the third cabinet she tried. That couldn’t be good. She ran her fingers along the chewed-up shelf. Mice? Nothing her new handyman couldn’t fix. No doubt, he was an exterminator on the side.
She wrenched open the last door by the fridge. Mugs. Finally. She pulled one down and washed it twice before grabbing the coffeepot. Why did he have to be so . . . irritating? With his impossible-to-ignore dimples. And those eyes. She spun around. “What kind of Italian has eyes that blue?”
Ti stretched out her crossed ankles and batted her own lovely blues. “The sexy kind.”
“You don’t count. You’re only a quarter Italian.” Like that mattered. Cass grew up around enough Italians in Astoria to know any percentage was more than enough to flaunt.
Ti hopped off the counter. “Guess he’s just special.”
“Is that a synonym for charmer?”
“Oh, c’mon. Give the guy a chance.” She flitted around her for a turn at the coffeemaker. “He might just be your saving grace for this place.”
She didn’t need grace. She needed a worker who could handle following orders. Hopefully, he’d turn out to be half-decent with a hammer. With as much as she had riding on this sale, she couldn’t afford for him not to be.
Mug in hand, Ti followed her out of the kitchen toward Grandpa’s office beside the front door. “Wow.” She bumped into Cass’s shoulder. “What happened in here? Someone set off a bomb?”
Cass waded through papers and mail strewn around the floor and sifted through even more piles scattered all over the desk. “No idea.” Grandpa wasn’t this messy, was he?
“Oh my word.” Ti swiped a picture frame from the top mantle, blew the dust off, and cracked up. “Look at us. What were we, like, five there? This had to be primary week.” She handed her the faded picture of a group of kids from one of their earliest weeks of camp.
Cass brushed a thumb over the glass. “I don’t even remember half these people.”
“They probably didn’t come back.” She elbowed her. “Couldn’t hang with the cool kids.”
Cass laughed. “Must’ve been your hot pink slap bracelet that intimidated them.”
She snagged the picture back. “Better than the leopard-printed one you were rocking.”
“Only ‘cause I let you talk me into it.”
“Hey, it caught the attention of that boy next to you, didn’t it?” Ti returned the frame to the ledge. “Seriously, girl, someone had to give you fashion pointers.” She dashed out of the room before Cass could swat her.
“What’s wrong? You worried about getting a paper cut?”
Ti poked her head back inside and looked around, face scrunching. “Sorry, hon. You’re on your own on this one. You know paperwork and I don’t mesh.”
Never had. She smiled. “Give me a minute, and then we’ll make a grocery run, ‘kay?”
“Perfect. I’ll be on the deck, soaking up some rays. Holler when you’re ready. Oh, and let’s check out some paint colors while we’re out, too. I’ve already got a ton of ideas.”
Of course she did. Good thing one of them saw possibilities in this place.
The screen shuddered behind her. Still gripping a handful of mail, Cass slumped into Grandpa’s old desk chair and surveyed the mess, not sure where to start. She peered up at the old picture again. Why couldn’t life be as simple as it seemed back then?
A glimpse of a phone cord peeked out from under some papers. Maybe she should call Dad. Ask his advice. The thought hardened in her stomach. No. She’d do this on her own. Same way she’d been doing everything for the last fifteen years.
She opened a side drawer, unburied a letter opener, and grabbed the first envelope. Had to start somewhere. Her eyes scanned past the city’s letterhead but only made it to the middle of the first paragraph before the letter opener clattered to the ground. She rocketed out of the seat. Tell me I’m not reading this right.
chapter Four
Gamble
Glimpses of daylight crested the trees and cast a glare over the fog while puddles from last night’s rain splashed over her Nikes. Halfway up the steep driveway, she braced her hands against her knees, stole a minute to catch her breath, and rotated her ankle. The cut was still tender, but she’d learned long ago to push through pain. Only the strong succeeded.
Straightening, she wiped the sweat from her face with the inside of her shirt and readjusted her ponytail.
A rustling noise drew her gaze toward a squirrel hopping branches above the overgrown path leading to the softball field. Her arms fell to her sides as she stared. Beneath spindly limbs, fractured boards from the footbridge poked out in multiple directions.
What happened to this place? Grandpa’d been a workhorse his whole life. Cared for this property like it was an extension of his character. If it’d gotten too much for him to keep up with on his own, he would’ve hired someone to pick up the slack. Even if that meant delaying other bills.
She slicked back the strands of hair curling over her forehead from the humidity and left her hands on her head. Was that why he’d gotten behind on taxes? Because some contractor drained him dry? But then why would the camp be this rundown? None of it made any sense.
The questions drove her up the last half of the driveway and straight into the other question she’d put off all weekend. Ethan DeLuca. His black Jeep towered over her Passat. When she’d told him he could start Monday, she hadn’t meant at sunrise. Who was this guy?
She took the steps two at a time and jogged across the deck. A mouthwatering coffee aroma greeted her through the screen. Rather than slam behind her, it eased shut. He fixed the door? How long had he been here?
Down the first hall, she peered around the corner toward the back bedroom.
“Coffee?”
She flinched at his voice. Hiding her reaction, she leveled her shoulders and turned.
In jeans and a Mets shirt, of all things, he flashed a smile that was every bit as charming as she remembered and handed her a coffee mug. “Italian roasted. Nothing beats it. I was about to have a second cup, but it looks like you could use it instead.”
She stiffened, cringing at what she must’ve looked like after her run. Wait, what did it matter? This guy was a potential contractor, not a potential date.
He released the mug but not his gaze.
She ran a hand down her ponytail. “What?”
“Sorry. It’s just . . .” He rubbed his stubbly jaw. “Your eyes were green when I first saw you, and today, they’re blue.”
“They’re hazel, actually.” She pointed to her blue sweatshirt. “They change depending on what color I’m wearing.”
“Any other superhero traits I should know about?” His lips slid sideways.
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, dodging men’s witty charm.”
He laughed. “And holding nothing back, apparently.”
She breathed in the steam from her mug, unable to tame her smile. “One of the benefits of growing up in New York City.” Man, she missed home already.
His face fell. He looked away and kneaded the back of his neck.
What was that about? Did her being from the city intimidate him?
The awkward silence swirled around her with a breeze coming through the screen door.
Ethan met her glance, grin back in place. “At least you admitted you think I’m charming.”
“Among other things,” she mumbled before taking a sip of coffee. One swallow, and she begged her face not to admit it was one of the best things she’d ever tasted. Right. She turned toward the bathroom so he wouldn’t see her cave.
“It’s already done.”
She stopped to look behind her. “What’s done?”
He jutted his chin at the room. “The bathroom ceiling.”
If his satisfied expression were any indication, he must’ve thought he could play her. Too bad for him, she’d built her whole life around high standards. No way he’d done a sufficient job that quickly. She’d been gone no more than forty minutes.
She mimicked his overconfident nod and resumed her trek down the hall. If he expected to pass off some shoddy work to get a free room, he’d clearly underestimated her.
Around the doorway, she skidded to a stop. A splash of coffee spilled over her mug, dragging her assumption down with it. He hadn’t only patched the ceiling flawlessly. He’d painted and cleaned. She wouldn’t have known there’d ever been a hole at all if she hadn’t seen it beforehand.
Her back found the wall behind her. She set her mug on the sink and studied the place over. So, maybe he really did have superpowers. Or an ulterior motive. Either way, she couldn’t fault him for a lack of quality. And now that she’d have to skim thirty thousand dollars off any profit she made on the sale, she couldn’t turn down free labor. Every penny counted.
After chugging the rest of her coffee, she stopped inside Grandpa’s office to grab the contract she’d drawn up and headed outside.
“So? Did I pass?” he asked from a yellow Adirondack chair beside the door.
“You certainly have skills. I’m impressed.”
“Thanks.” Stretching that satisfied grin of his even wider, he flipped the top of a sketchbook over and set a pencil next to his mug on the chair arm.
“Don’t tell me. You’re an artist, too.” Was there anything he didn’t do?
He glanced at the book. “I’m not sure it qualifies as art. More like a hobby. But it relaxes me. Helps me clear my head.”
Like writing music used to do for her.
He moved the sketchbook to the next chair over and pulled himself up. “Don’t worry. No drawing while I’m on the clock.”
That was the least of her concerns. “What does your grandma think about you staying here?”
He tugged on his ear. “Said it was about time.”
“What does that mean?”
“With Nonna, there’s no telling.” He laughed.
He’d better not be one of those almost-thirty-year-old bachelors whose family can’t wait to hook him up with someone just to get him out of the house. ‘Cause she’d hate to have to break some little Italian grandma’s heart.
She grasped at one last straw. “What about your allergies?”
He shimmied a white pill bottle with a pink label out of his pocket. “Problem solved.”
The guy had a solution for everything, didn’t he? Okay, it still kind of bugged her how he’d conveniently shown up here on Friday, eager to offer his help. But he was beyond skilled, punctual, hardworking, and artistic to top it off. She curled the top corner of the contract over her finger, at a loss for any reason not to hand it over.
A vehicle roared up the driveway with a muffler that should’ve been banned for noise pollution. “Nice pad, DeLuca,” a guy called from the passenger window of a pickup truck toting a motorcycle on a trailer.
Cass looked from the two men to Ethan. “What’s going on?”
He shrugged. “I can’t move in without some of my stuff.”
Move in? She hadn’t even officially agreed to it yet.
Ti stumbled onto the deck in boxers and a cotton shirt with one side of a wide collar drooped over her shoulder. She parted the hair strewn across her face. “Isn’t it a bit early for a party?”
“Sorry for waking you, ma’am.” A burly guy wearing the same gear Ethan had on when she’d first met him tipped his hat at Ti as he jogged up the stairs. A younger guy, carrying a duffle bag over each shoulder, followed on his heels.
Ethan clasped hands with the first and leaned in for a hug. “’Sup Briggs. Thought we said three o’clock.”
“Yeah, sorry, man.” He raised the front of his ha
t and wiped his brow. “Captain called a half-day drill. So, it was either now or tomorrow.”
“No worries. I appreciate you driving out.” Ethan squeezed his shoulder. “Ladies, meet Lieutenant Briggs and my buddy Sanders. Guys, this is Cassidy and Treble, my new . . .” He swayed his head. “Employers.”
Ti lifted her palms. “That’s all Cass.”
“Either way, you girls are real brave, taking on this hoodlum.” Briggs shook their hands. “Did he warn you he snores?”
Ethan shoved him toward the house. “Me? Get outta here.” He looked behind him. “Sanders, you hearing this garbage? Help me out.”
The guy shook his head. “Sorry, bro. Briggs out bench presses you. I know when to keep my mouth shut.”
“Oh, yeah?” Ethan hooked an arm around his neck, tugging his head down. Sanders tossed the bags and crouched to wrestle him.
Ti opened the door. “Anybody else up for some coffee?”
Sanders perked at the offer and gave Ethan a wide-open shot to his ribs. He doubled over, fake moaning. “You’re dirty, DeLuca.”
Ethan swept a glance at Briggs. “Learned from the best.”
“Hey, now. No dragging me into this.” He followed Ti inside with Sanders shuffling after them.
Still laughing, Ethan ran his fingers through his hair on his way toward the truck. “See what I have to live with?” he called behind him toward Cass.
Yeah, camaraderie, drills, a life he seemed to love. Why was he leaving that behind to come here? Was this really about his grandma? Something didn’t add up.
She met him at the tailgate. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t ya? What if I’d turned down your offer?”
“Guess I’m a gambling man.”
She clutched the contract while pushing her sweatshirt sleeves up her arms. “I think that’s called arrogance.”
He grinned. “I like to think of it as hope.”
“You learn that from growing up in a small town?”
His brow furrowed. “From someone much braver than me,” he almost whispered. Heaving a bag from the truck bed over his shoulder, he dodged her stare. “So, we good?”