by Violet Duke
Okay, maybe that latter feature was his soul talking, and not necessarily the library.
Though Jake was a proud midwestern boy to the core, sometimes he wondered if he hadn’t been a mountain man in a past life. There were only a few rural and streamside forests in the state, and, after juvie, he’d made it his mission to visit every single one. Over the years they’d become his refuge whenever the ghosts from his past threatened to yank the ground out from under him and drag him through quicksand. Truth be told, those solo trips out into nature were the only times he’d ever felt a bone-deep comfort and connection to his surroundings.
Until now.
Looking around, he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly it was he liked so much about the cozy town, but all he knew was that if his brother had bought this library with the intention of changing the feel of the place, or messing with any of its historic country charm and untamed rustic bones, Jake was prepared to fight hard to keep it all intact.
Dammit, he was getting invested in the project.
Frickin’ Carter.
“Hey, you must be Jake,” called out a man who could’ve easily passed for a tall big brother of the red-bearded Viking-looking dwarf from Lord of the Rings as he walked over, tool belt slung over one shoulder and clipboard in hand. “Name’s Paul. Thanks for coming down.”
“Good to meet you.” Jake shook the man’s Hulk-size hand, feeling a touch of nostalgia over the striking resemblance between the friendly Nordic giant and his former mentor, Erik, who he’d always thought sounded exactly like that growly dwarf from Middle-earth.
Jake still missed hearing that curmudgeonly grump’s thunderous bark keeping every worker on his crew on their toes from sunup to sundown.
Speaking of. Jake looked around, surprised at how quiet the job site was. “Did I get here too early?” There was only a handful of guys working as far as he could see.
“Nah, I just sent some of my guys down to check on a friend of ours a few blocks over. Poor thing, her bakery flooded this morning. Heard there was some pretty heavy damage. The boys have been there helping out with the heavy lifting for the past hour, but they’re on their way back so you can get a chance to meet ’em.”
Paul gave Jake a hearty pat on the shoulder then that would’ve shaken a few teeth loose on a smaller guy. “Boy am I glad you’re coming on board on this; we could use your expertise. Frankly, most of the things on these project plans seem like overkill for our little library if you ask me. But it’s your buddy’s dime, so who am I to say how the guy wants to spend it?” He held up the unusually thick project clipboard he was carrying and shook his head. “Never seen such detailed preconstruction plans like these. You two been friends long? He always been this, err, exacting about stuff?”
Jake snorted. Exacting. A nice way to say bullheaded. Um, yep. All my life.
“He does have a tendency to go big when he gets an idea in his head,” he replied, choosing to address only the second question. He wasn’t sure why it bugged him that the foreman hadn’t been informed that Carter was his brother, but he shook off the aberrant, mildly hypocritical feeling and pointed at the clipboard in Paul’s hands. “Could I take a look at the job details? Carter didn’t give me a whole lot of info. Just heard about it today, in fact.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. The sale just closed a few weeks ago. Came home the night the deal finalized to find a message that the new corporate owner, SME Enterprises, wanted me to handle the job ASAP, no expenses spared as long as I could restore it just so. Truthfully, when I’d first heard that a big ol’ company wanted to buy our little library, I thought for sure they were going to bulldoze it and make some fancy spa or a tucked-away country inn for the rich and famous or something that they could turn around and sell off.”
Jake shook his head. “That’s not SME’s style. They usually work with top national brands that have big in-house creative teams or tech companies and labs. Sometimes universities and private academies. I’ve never known them to work on anything like a spa or an inn.”
Or a small-town library, for that matter.
“Huh. No kidding. You don’t see that kind of hands-on attention to detail with most of these corporate owners. Hell, after my bid for the library got accepted, he actually called me directly and kept me on the phone for three hours discussing things. Then he e-mailed me a shitload of photos that looked like he’d downloaded every Pinterest page out there with small-town libraries from around the world.”
And some not even of this world, from what Jake could see. He was pretty sure a lot of the photos were artistic renderings of mythical libraries. All pretty radical, and a touch extreme, but nothing too far removed from the realm of possibilities, carpentry-wise.
Well, for him, anyway. Christ, he really wanted to work on this project.
Incredibly, each page of rough plan notes was more involved than the last. To the point where he began seriously questioning why on earth his brother had taken this library on. True, he didn’t have the fancy degrees Carter did, but even Jake could tell these plans couldn’t possibly be typical of a sensible SME acquisition.
The most damning evidence being, of course, the budget.
He let out a low whistle over the grand tally on the last page.
Paul nodded. “I know. Biggest damn budget I’ve ever seen for a project this small.”
That was the final clue pointing to this being anything but a business project for Carter.
Which meant Paul was no doubt being very diplomatic in describing Carter as “hands-on”—as opposed to “more intrusive than a hemorrhoid.”
“Let me guess. Carter’s arranged for you to have an engineer and an architect at your beck and call 24-7, along with a magical fast track on all the permits. Am I right?”
“Never seen anything like it. Approvals were coming in faster than I could ask for them.” Paul tapped on the thick manila envelope under the clipboard. “Gotta tell you one thing, though—the guy does everything aboveboard. He may be greasing some folks to get things moving, but he definitely isn’t cutting any corners or breaking any rules. I respect that.”
Jake had to smile over that tidbit. Yep, his brother was nothing if not a color-in-the-lines kind of guy. “Well, I’m definitely interested in the contract. Count me in. Do you need me for building framing and rough carpentry, as well, or just finish work?”
“To be honest, I have a full crew who I’d normally have handle the whole thing, rough to finish, but they’re not experienced on this specific kind of design, and only a few of ’em have done historic restorations. I’ve got a few ideas, but nothing on the level of what Carter wants. That’s why I agreed to Carter’s stipulation to bring you in separate as basically a specialist.”
Paul flipped back to the renovation plan and pointed out different points in the timeline. “So my guys will handle all the initial construction, but then it’ll basically be your show from there since I’ve got a big residential job coming up in a few weeks. I’d usually leave just my newbies with you to do grunt work and finish trims, but I want my main journeymen and some of the older kids to get some training on this stuff. At least for a few weeks. They’re good; you can put them to work while you’re training them. With them helping you, I think we should be able to meet the four-month time frame Carter’s given us to complete the project.”
Jake nodded, liking that he was going to be able to do some teaching, which he always enjoyed. “Sounds good. With these tight deadlines, I could use all the guys you can spare.” Checking the list of work and the rough computer sketches again, he did some quick calculations. “So we’re looking at me getting started here in about three weeks then?”
“As long as the weather holds up, yeah, that sounds about right. But I want to work faster to get us some cushion—you never know what we’ll run into with these older constructions. I’ll keep you updated, and we can meet about the design a few times, but, yeah, if all goes as planned, you can probably start ordering supplies in
about two weeks.”
Suddenly Paul stepped back and eyed him for a bit, sizing him up. “Say, you got another big job scheduled before then?”
Granted, the Burtons’ doghouse was going to be the size of a MINI Coop to effectively house their mammoth mutt, but he wouldn’t consider it a big job. He decided to be straight with the guy. “Got a few things lined up that I can move to the weekends. Man to man, I could use some bigger work during the week. You need another hand on deck?”
“Carter sent me a portfolio of your work from the past few years, and I was pretty blown away. If my crew wasn’t already full-up, I’d hire you in a heartbeat.”
Jake nodded in understanding, although mentally he was still back at that whole part about the portfolio of his carpentry work. How the hell . . . ? Anyone that knew Jake knew he wasn’t a snap-a-selfie-on-the-job kind of guy. The camera on his current cell phone had broken within the first week (they really should make those things less sensitive—he couldn’t be the only one who’d accidentally dropped a two-by-four on his phone before). Plus, little-known story, the one time he’d made the effort to stick an old camera in his toolbox two or three years ago with grand plans for a website, he’d been shocked to find that stores didn’t sell film anymore.
That had seemed like some sort of sign from the universe at the time.
“Would you be willing to work nonunion?” ventured Paul, pulling Jake away from the perturbing image of Carter waving a magic wand over his life like a meddling fairy godfather.
“Nonunion works for me. I go where the work is.”
“Perfect. I was actually going to ask if you could head over and put in an estimate at that bakery I told you about. The owner is going to have a shit ton of repairs. I don’t want to leave her in a bind, but I need my guys here, and I don’t want anyone from outside overcharging her.”
Sadly, that happened way too often. It always pissed Jake off to hear about contractors price gouging business owners in a tough spot.
“Plus, the bakery is sort of . . . eclectic. Outside the box. Right in your wheelhouse.”
Jake took that as a compliment. “You know if anyone else has bid on the repairs yet?”
“I doubt it. Most of the guys I’d vouch for are booked solid with the weather warming up. Told her as much this morning on the phone. So she might even hire you on the spot if you tell her I sent you.” His voice turned a touch menacing then, eyes narrowed something fierce. “She’s a sweet girl—damn near like a big sister to everyone in town. Carter gave me his word that you’re good people, so don’t go making him a liar. You best not even put in a bid at the bakery if you’re not a hundred percent sure you can do right by her.”
Huh, they certainly were a protective bunch here. It was nice. “I stand by my work, Paul. And my customers always say my estimates are the lowest. Considering I need the work, I can go a bit lower than usual for your bakery friend to make this happen.”
“Nah, no need to go overboard. Just be fair.” Paul fished his card out of his wallet. “Here’s my number in case you need to get in contact with me. Let me know how it goes. Either way, though, check in with me in about two weeks for a status update on the library job. Carter already gave us your résumé, so I have all your info.”
Of course he did. Why would Cinder-freaking-ella have a portfolio without a résumé?
Clearly Carter didn’t mess around with meddling half-ass.
Jake pocketed Paul’s card. “Sounds like a plan. And thanks for the heads-up about the bakery. I’ll drive over now and put in a bid.”
“Good. Remember, we’re all watching you. That bakery owner is beloved in this town. If you screw her over, I promise you, you’ll have to sleep with one eye open because we’ll hunt you down. And as soon as we find a cesspool vile enough for the likes of you, we’ll be dumping you in it.” He gave Jake a toothy grin and a friendly, bone-bruising double shoulder pat totally at odds with his descriptive threat. “By the way, welcome to Juniper Hills.”
Yep, it was official. Jake was really starting to like this town.
Holy shit.
Jake did a double take as he walked into the colorful little bakery on the north end of town. The place looked as if a massive water bomb had exploded in it.
This was easily the worst case of pipe flood damage he’d ever seen. Not only were the bakery and kitchen a mess; from what he could see through the exposed holes in the ceiling, and judging by the size of the commercial water pipes that had burst, the apartment above had also taken a small beating and would likely need fixing, as well.
There had to be a few weeks of work here at the very least, which he knew was going to be tough news to break to the owner. As he walked around, he did a quick assessment to get a better ballpark budget and timeline. Ceiling, drywall, floor, cabinets—all pretty straightforward repairs and restorations. Luckily the major pipe joints affected hadn’t been directly over any of the pricey appliances; they’d managed to dodge a bullet there. Unfortunately, though, he could tell a lot of the decor had gotten waterlogged badly enough to require replacing, along with some framed photos and personal effects on one of the display walls.
Pity. Broken things could be fixed. Good memories were irreplaceable. And the ones meaningful enough to keep close by on a daily basis were always the hardest to part with.
Wonder if she was able to salvage any photos from the fire.
He stilled to a dead halt. Just like he always did when those random thoughts about her were triggered.
The ironic parallels between past and present were never subtle when they hit him out of the blue and yanked him back to that night. Fists clenched, muscles locked, he didn’t dare move because he knew what came next—the deluge of flashbacks that would slash and slice like visual shards in a mosaic of pain and devastation. One after another. Always in shattered fragments.
This time the mental image they all pieced together to form was from after the fire for a change. A pile of charred rubble where a house full of irreplaceable memories had once stood.
The remaining air in his lungs bled out of him.
To hope that anyone would be able to recover anything good from a wreckage like that . . .
His fault for wondering.
Deep breaths. Get your shit together, man. You need this job.
It took a while. Longer than usual for some strange reason. But, eventually, he was able to claw his way back to the here and now.
His vision slowly blurred back into focus. And immediately, he had to squint to dim the effect of all the bright colors in the bakery registering full-force on his retinas again.
“Eclectic,” Paul had called it . . . apparently using the same thesaurus that had supplied his earlier description of Carter as merely “hands-on.”
For what it was worth, Paul had been right about this being in Jake’s wheelhouse. He dug everything about the bakery. It had style. And life. Like Juniper Hills, there was something about it he liked that he just couldn’t put his finger on . . .
“Hey, you!” called out a low, muffled voice from the kitchen. “Think you can give me a hand for a sec?”
Jake headed on back to the kitchen, where a plumber on a ladder was elbow-deep in pipes up above the ceiling tiles. “These damn galvanized pipes are working my last nerve. Could you hand me that red pipe press by my tool bucket? The shortest one.”
Jake went over to grab the smallest of the big hedge-clipper-looking clamps, along with the tallest stool he could find to stand on so he could hand it to him. Professional unwritten rule—climbing up another man’s ladder face-to-ass with him while he worked being just an accident waiting to happen and all.
“Thanks, man. With the foundation settling on this lot, it was just a matter of time before these old pipes burst. Could’ve been a lot worse if no one had been here when it blew.” The plumber proceeded to grunt and curse and clang away with his pipe press and wrench. “You here to give an estimate on the repairs?”
“I’m hoping
to. Have you seen the owner around?”
Suddenly a woman’s soft voice pierced through the air from behind him to answer. “I’m the owner.” Her quietly charged words hit him like a Taser, with fifty thousand volts of pure, ungrounded emotions as she added, “So you can take this as a request from management when I say, please get out of my bakery. Now.”
Chapter Four
It was him.
Of all the bakeries, in all the towns, in all the world, he walks into mine.
It didn’t matter that she hadn’t seen the guy in more than fourteen years; Emma had no doubt in her mind that the man standing before her in her bakery right now was Jake Carmichael, literally the boy next door she’d had a crush on from the day he and his family had moved into the house next to hers back before her junior year in high school.
The summer her nine-year-old brother Peyton’s house-fire death had ripped her family apart.
“Emma Stevens.”
It wasn’t a question. And even through his thick beard, she could see he wasn’t uttering that nonquestion with a smile.
She hated that she cared, that she noticed how much lower and grittier his voice had become over the years . . . and how much it still sounded the same.
Everyone always says the best defense is a strong offense, right? Well screw “strong”; she was going straight to a DEFCON 6, downright jugular offense. “What part of my request did you not understand, Jake?” She turned her back on him and headed to the front of the bakery, index finger helpfully pointing out the door to him. “I asked you to leave.”
Whatever you do, don’t look at him again, Emma.
Of course, he didn’t make it that easy on her. She heard him approach her from behind, and she spun around to stop him from coming any closer.
Arms crossed like a shield, emotions kept ruthlessly in check, and all facial expressions wiped clean, she looked him straight in the eye . . . only to find that, shockingly, he was meeting her gaze head-on. After all these years, Emma wasn’t sure what she’d expected Jake’s reaction to be if their paths ever crossed again—it’d be a lie to say she hadn’t thought about this moment more times than she could count.
