Mr. Fixit

by Lauren Landish

  Shutting off my truck’s engine, I look inside, trying to decide whether I want to sit down and enjoy the atmosphere or if I want to grab ‘n’ go. It’s not that I don’t like the cafe, but at seven thirty in the morning, I’m in no mood to put up with pretentious bullshit, and sometimes, the local bankers like to turn Mindy’s Place into Mini Wall Street. My jeans and work boots do not fit in with that crowd.

  But they seem to still be asleep, and I remember that banks don’t open until I’m already working today. I yawn, rubbing my eyes and feeling the intense need for caffeine. Getting out, I check my watch and decide I’ve got a few minutes to actually enjoy the cafe. Maybe I’ve even got time to enjoy a bagel. Not much more. I’ve got three jobs today, and unless I want to be roofing a garage by starlight, I need to get a move on.

  Walking in, I see Mindy behind the counter, grinning a smile that’s way too bright for this time in the morning. She must be sipping some of her own goods. I give her a wave as I walk up. “Hey, Beautiful, does your husband know you’re here to see me every day?”

  Mindy laughs. She and I have done this dance for at least the past year and a half, since I started helping out Oliver. “Pretty sure he knows you come in here to see me. In fact, he said if you stare at my ass anymore, he’s gonna kick yours so hard you’ll have a second crack. Steele lines it up . . . it’s good!” she jokes, making a field goal sign with her arms.

  I laugh. It’s what I love about Mindy. Successful business owner, sure. But she’s still approachable, and she knows I’m just messing around. Oliver does too, but I still gotta get my jabs in. “Any day he wants to try, but don’t be sad when you have to take care of his broken body. I float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, and kick like a mule.”

  Mindy shivers and starts giving a phantom massage while gyrating her hips. “Do your worst, Caleb. I’ll take care of my man’s body anyway, anyhow, anytime.”

  I cringe and give up, laughing. “Ok, you win . . . I don’t want a mental image of that. Ever. Can I get the usual?”

  Mindy rolls her eyes. “For here or to go?”

  “I have time to drink it here, but pack it to go anyway. And can you throw in a bagel with cream cheese? Gonna need the energy today.”

  “One of those days, huh?” Mindy asks, and I nod. She reaches down and pulls out ‘my’ cup, a fifty-ounce insulated cup with a built-in straw. Mindy twirls it on her finger and sets it down. “One Caleb-sized full-caff, sweet as my sister, roughly the thickness of motor oil coming right up.”

  I wander over to the far side of the counter and take a seat. It’s my favorite. From here, I can watch everyone coming in and out of the door and still get to talk with the staff.

  There’s a rattle from the back, and I see Oli coming up the stairs from the basement kitchen. After a quick kiss on Mindy’s cheek, he walks over, a mock scowl on his face.

  “You here harassing my wife again?”

  “Just for a minute. Gotta get my daily fix before heading out today.”

  He nods, taking the seat next to me. “Got anything interesting today?”

  “Three jobs. The first two aren’t much. Mrs. Henderson needs a bush yanked out of her yard—and no comments from you, Mindy. I realize I set myself up as soon as I said it!” I add offhandedly, getting a laugh from them both. “Then I’ll do some painting for the Portnoys, and then the afternoon’s going to be patching Kelly Roberts’s garage roof.”

  Oliver nods. “You got time to go over a couple of things really quickly upstairs?”

  “Yeah, of course, anything for you. You know that.” The assistant who’s been watching my coffee brings over my huge cup and bagel, which I pick up and make a quick sandwich of. I raise my cup to Mindy. “Thanks, Mindy!”

  “Anytime, Number Three!” Mindy calls, and I have to laugh. It’s a joke between the two of us. Oliver, of course, is Number One. I’m not even sure who Number Two is. But I’m Number Three on her list of guys. I’m good with that.

  Following Oliver upstairs, I take a quick sip of my coffee, which they iced down just like I like in the summertime. I like hot coffee like any good handyman, but right now, it’s damn near ninety degrees by ten in the morning, and I can use anything to cool me off.

  Closing the door to save the cool air and give us some privacy, Oliver walks around to the other side, grabbing a stack of folders. “So I was thinking—” he begins, but stops. “Caleb, how backed out are you on your handyman stuff?”

  “Right now?” I ask, pulling out my phone and checking my schedule. “If you’re talking Monday to Friday, I’m booked through to next Thursday. If it’s an emergency, I can bump people around, work on weekends. Why, what’s up?”

  “Nothing that’s an emergency, but we just closed a few deals and I want to get them into rental shape before the summer’s out,” he said. “At least three of them are in the University District, and you know that with the school year coming up . . .”

  “You want them looking good for all the new tenants before classes start,” I finish for him. “What’re you looking at?”

  “Two houses—nothing big—but also a sixplex that’ll need a good amount of sprucing up,” Oliver said. “I’m sure I could hire other people to go over them, but I trust you to do the job right and not fuck me over on hours either.”

  I nod, grateful for the straight talk. Oli’s right, a lot of handymen and contractors around here charge guys like Oliver based not on how much the job’s worth, but how much they think they can get away with. Not my style.

  Oliver continues. “So what I was thinking, if you can, start the work on the sixplex as soon as possible, mainly just clearing the smell at first. You know how college kids are. Then move on from there. You’re doing a roofing job today, so you’ve got a lot of the materials still, I take it?”

  “Of course. What else?”

  We go over the plans, and I’m glad to see that Oliver’s right. Other than maybe jumping on the defunking of the sixplex, nothing is an immediate job.

  “I think I can get this cleared out soon,” I tell him and raise an eyebrow as he picks up another folder. “You must want to buy me a new truck.”

  “Not quite,” Oliver says with a smirk. “This next one, we haven’t made an offer on yet. I wanted to see if you can add a gable to the front to make it symmetrical. That one might need a drive-by and to check the codes.”

  “I can take a look on Sat—” I start, but before I can finish, the office door bangs open and Cassie comes in. Seeing her come into the office with her boundless energy lifts my mood. I never really admitted it before, but she’s stunning.

  She isn’t dressed for success like she normally is, just in a t-shirt and jeans. What makes her stunning, though, is the light in her eyes, the fierce look of determination that I’ve seen before. When she’s like this, the higher the Cassie volume is, the prettier she gets. And right now, she’s cranked up all the way.

  I’m looking at a five-foot-one hurricane of energy, moving so fiercely that I’m surprised her hair isn’t flying out in all directions, her face lit up with a smile that could power Washington if it stretched just an inch wider.

  “I found it!” she declares, jabbing a fist in the air. “I found the one!”

  “The one what?” Oliver asks, amusement in his voice as I sit there, still too flabbergasted to talk. “And good morning, by the way.”

  “Yeah, yeah, good morning, guys,” Cassie says before her sparkling eyes light up again. “I found my first project!”

  Chapter 7

  Cassie

  Slurping, I spoon the last of my Corn Pops into my mouth. I blink, wishing I had my morning coffee already, but I can’t make coffee to save my damn life. At least, not compared to what Mindy makes, and it’s like being exposed to real beef after eating nothing but tofu all your life—there just ain’t no going back. I’ve tried bribing her to learn her secret, but she’s not talking. So I only drink home brew if I’m in a pinch.

  I was up all night last ni
ght looking at the property information on 614 Douglas, using all the websites I’ve got at my disposal for research. I did comparatives on the neighborhood, got in contact with the owner and got title information, pictures of the inside, and more.

  By the time I lay down at four in the morning, I knew my initial feelings were right. The house is definitely going to be my first project. I just have to convince Oliver.

  I still didn’t get much sleep. The problem was, the numbers just weren’t golden. It isn’t a shoe-in, as the comps really show that the profit margin is tight, at best, but I know I can do it. And more importantly, I need to do it. The house deserves it after surviving my wild youth. It’s the home of some of my best memories, and it was the house that waited patiently while Mama and I kept promising to bring it back to its former glory . . . and we never delivered. I tossed and turned all night, mentally prepping my speech to get Oli to agree.

  But I’ve only been working for Oliver for less than a year. Sure, I got the McCormick property off his back, but taking one albatross off only to put another one on isn’t in his plans at all. But I’ve got faith. Still, I was so frenetic with energy, I had to resort to my trusty Mr. Rabbit because post-orgasm sleep is the best sleep. Even after the quickie session, though, I barely did much more than doze.

  I get in my car and drive to the Flaming Dragon building, walking in the front door to see Mindy smiling and joking with the morning customers. The professional crowd is just starting to come in, and for the first time, I feel a bit out of place in the same jeans I wore yesterday. I was just so addled when my alarm went off that I was barely able to brush my teeth and pull on fresh undies and a decent t-shirt.

  “Hey, Sexy Star,” Mindy greets me, her normal big smile helping a little. She gives everyone in her ‘family’ nicknames, and I’m Sexy Star. I appreciate the gesture, really. “No offense, but you look like wired hell.”

  “Thanks,” I reply, feeling a shot of adrenaline as I remember why I’m here. “I’ve been up all night, so could I get a triple ‘spresso with a shot of whatever you got that’ll have me perky?”

  “On it,” Mindy says, grinning and heading over to the machine. “What had you up all night? New man?”

  “Ha!” I say with a laugh. “No, I found something better. I found my first project. I need to talk with Oliver about it.”

  Mindy stops and gives me a warm look. “Good for you! If that’s the case, I’ll throw in some extra perkiness.”

  I slam my triple espresso, trying to build on the excitement and momentum that Mindy’s words light inside me. Licking the last drops of dark, sweet liquid out of the glass, I take a deep breath and steel myself. “Okay, I’m off.”

  “Drop it like it’s hot,” Mindy says in farewell, and I chuckle, popping my hip into the door upstairs in reply. With every step up to the second floor, I can feel the excitement build in me, and by the time I reach the first landing, I’m almost running up the stairs. I hit the door, my prepared speech flying out the window as soon as I burst in, seeing Oliver at his desk.

  “I found it!” I yell, fist pumping like a madwoman from the Jersey shore. “I found the one!”

  “The one what?” Oliver asks, smirking. “And good morning, by the way.”

  “Yeah, yeah, good morning, guys,” I reply, realizing that Caleb’s there too. “I found my first project!”

  “Your first project? Surely, some guy didn’t ask you to marry him since I saw you last?” Caleb jokes. “How much of a loser did he have to be that not only did he ask you, but you’re calling him a project too?”

  I stick out my tongue, blowing Caleb a raspberry. He’s as handsome as ever, looking dressed for work, obviously, in his boots and t-shirt, with what looks like a nearly a pony keg of something in front of him on the desk, his personal drink holder that he takes coffee to work sites in. “No, smart ass. As if I want to get locked down into sandwich making for some dad bod who only surfs the couch. The house . . . I found THE HOUSE.”

  It’s pretty clear by the tone of voice I used that I’m saying it all in capital letters, and Oliver’s eyebrows lift by a good half inch even as he leans back in his chair. “What house? Whatcha got?”

  I take a deep breath and walk around Oliver’s desk, opening up my bag to hand him a flash card and some of the stuff I printed out last night. “It’s all on the sheet, but here’s the basics. It’s a three-bedroom converted farmhouse on a quiet street, two and a half baths. It could become a four-bedroom, but one of the rooms has been used as a home office and walk-in closet. It’s on a full acre of land, and there’s a huge tree out front begging to have a tire swing on it, and a front porch. It’s not quite a starter home. It’s a step up from that, but it’s the sort of home a young couple could raise a family in for the next twenty or thirty years if they wanted.”

  Caleb whistles softly. “Sounds idyllic. What’s wrong with it?”

  I glare at him. Way to cockblock me there, buddy. I’m so going to take it out on you if I get the chance. “Shush, I’m trying to create a mood here.” I look back at Oli, who’s giving me the same look, and I know I’ve got to get it together. I try to remember what the hell I was going to say with my speech and take a moment, opening my laptop and pulling up the pictures. “Here’s the house. I know it’s going to need some work—”

  Oliver snorts as he scrolls through the shots. “Yeah, that’s not the house you just described. Other than the obvious, what’s it need?”

  “It’s a For Sale by Owner. I talked with the owner last night, and he was really helpful. He emailed me an inspection he got when he moved out. First things first, the porch will have to be totally replaced. Apparently, the guy tried to use trailer jacks on it and screwed up. The interior needs to be cosmetically gutted. The paint’s at least eight years old, the kitchen lino over a decade.”

  “Looks like a refugee from the seventies,” Caleb comments. “Lime green? Fuck, that’s horrible.”

  “The whole place will need new flooring, but there’s a hidden jewel underneath,” I say. “I know for a fact that underneath the bad carpet in the rest of the house is real black walnut flooring. Sand it down and refinish it, and boom!”

  “Black walnut flooring covered with carpet?” Oliver says wonderingly. “If it’s still good, that could be helpful. Still, what are the costs involved?”

  I give him a rundown of the costs, showing him the Excel spreadsheet I worked up. Of course I don’t have exact numbers, but it’s a start. “Given the recent sale prices of properties in the area, I’d say the top price we could get on the sale is maybe three hundred thousand if we get an upswing in the area.”

  Oliver nods and looks over the spreadsheet some more before sitting back and tapping at his lip thoughtfully. “I’m going to be honest with you, Cassie. I admire the enthusiasm, and you know I appreciate your eye for visualizing what this house could be. And it could be beautiful. I see the outside of the house and I see what you mean. But look at the numbers. That’s pretty tight profits. I’m not sure it’s something I want to take on right now when we have higher-percentage investments on the books.”

  I shake my head, fire burning deep in my heart as I click back to the pictures. “I knew you’d be looking for higher-margin investments, and I have another we can talk later about too. But I can do this. I found it, researched it, and have outlined the project. I want to do it all, start to finish, and show you what I’m capable of. I obviously can’t afford it on my own, but I do have enough for the down payment, so I’ll have a stake in it. Just give me a chance, please?”

  Caleb laughs lightly. “Think you’re ready to fly solo, baby bird? I could push you out of the nest myself if you want.” He gets up and reaches out with his long muscular arm to push me in the shoulder, but I hop to the side. He goes to follow but freezes when he sees the look in my eyes. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you? What’s got you so fired up about this place in particular? By the time you get your profit, you’d probably have made more sl
inging frappes downstairs considering the number of hours it’s going to require.”

  Oliver nods in agreement. “I don’t think so, Cassie. You might be ready, and I’m willing to let you try. But it’s not this project. Don’t you want a sure thing your first time out?”

  I shake my head, crossing my arms over my chest and putting on what I hope is my most stubborn look, although I’ve been told it looks pouty. I can’t help it. I have a natural worry line that looks cute, dammit! “Nope, I want this one.” I look from Oliver to Caleb and back, both of whom look less than impressed. “Look, it’s my house. The one I grew up in. I want to fix it up, make it pretty and functional so it gets the family it always deserved. Right now, it’s going to rot. I need to do this. I know that puts me starting off on the wrong foot. I know I’m using my emotions more than my brain on this, but that house deserves better than what’s happening to it now. I’ll put in work myself, elbow grease and sweat and blood and whatever else it needs. Please.”

  Oli looks at Caleb, who looks back. Both of them are definitely surprised by the vehemence in my voice. I know I’m sounding a little whacked over this, and yeah, I’m breaking rule number one of property investment, which is you make decisions with your calculator, not with your heart. I’m normally a perky upbeat smartass, so I’m sure this is a shock. But seeing 614 Douglas, I have to do this. Because there’s more than just good memories there. There are bad ones too, bad memories that aren’t the house’s fault, and I want to exorcise those demons from the house and from my soul. I want to sweep them away, leaving behind just the little seedling that’s in the bottom of my heart.

  Oliver looks at Caleb again, then at me. “Caleb? How much time can you clear over the next two months on your schedule?”

  Chapter 8

  Caleb

  At Oliver’s question, I knew the inevitability of the situation. It was like watching fate at work. After Cassie’s pleading, he had to give in. I got the call while I was at the Portnoys’, cleaning up from painting their fence before heading over to the Roberts house to take care of her garage roof, where her son had somehow put a croquet ball through the roof.