by M. C. Cerny
Love Under Construction
A Love By Design Series
M.C. Cerny
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
1. Hunter
2. Taylor Jane
3. Hunter
4. Taylor Jane
5. Hunter
6. Taylor Jane
7. Hunter
8. Hunter
9. Hunter
10. Taylor Jane
11. Hunter
12. Taylor Jane
13. Hunter
14. Taylor Jane
15. Hunter
16. Taylor Jane
17. Hunter
18. Taylor Jane
19. Hunter
20. Hunter
21. Taylor Jane
22. Taylor Jane
23. Hunter
24. Taylor Jane
25. Hunter
26. Taylor Jane
27. Hunter
28. Hunter
29. Taylor Jane
30. Hunter
31. Taylor Jane
32. Hunter
33. Taylor Jane
34. Taylor Jane
Everything After… And The Kitchen Sink
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Fresh * Sexy * Books
Other Titles by M.C. Cerny
Copyright © 2017 by M.C. Cerny
Edited by Emily A. Lawrence
Cover Design by CT Cover Designs
Stock Photo: 123rft.com (#29627763)
Formatting by M.C. Cerny
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Cerny, M.C.
Love Under Construction/M.C. Cerny – 1st ed.
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Dedication
To the Property Brothers on HGTV—you make renovations look hot and fun. Someday, I want to meet both of you and talk design concepts for HOURS. (I promise no filing of restraining orders will be needed, maybe…)
Chip and Joana Gaines—you make home design amazing and you work together without killing each other. Total props on the relationship goals.
To the do-it-yourselfers—those brave couples who flip homes and manage to not kill each other, or commit other felonies—may your lives be peaceful ones from here on out. I barely survived a roof and kitchen renovation (mere planning) so my hats off to you.
To anyone who has undertaken a home improvement project, or considered one. Stop what you’re doing right now—Godspeed.
To my dear parents, who somehow survived building two homes, and kept it together all these years—barely at times, but still managed. You were doing something right. I never did get that horse barn, and if you even seriously consider getting your granddaughter a pony, just remember you’ll be keeping it at your house! I gave up my poop shoveling days many moons ago.
XOXO
m.c. cerny
1
Hunter
“This is it?” Following the GPS, I made the turn, trusting the crisp British woman named something like Sally or Margaret to guide me since my passenger was enraptured with looking out the window. Her slim profile was mostly hidden by her loose pale blond hair while her delicate nose pressed against the fogged glass. Perfecting my poker face driving down the street, I waited for a shimmery ghost to appear and ward us off the property. At the least, I expected Freddie Kruger to slice my tires and Jason to run out of the woods donning a hockey mask and chanting, “cha-cha-cha.” God Save the Queen and my new truck from the pitfalls over cliffs and best friends with big ideas.
My foot pressed the brake, pulling up next to a grey two-story Victorian era house in a depressed block of homes that looked haunted and fresh off the set of The Conjuring. You know, the kind that has wooden siding falling off it, complete with creaking uneven doors and cobwebs thick as wool crowding the window corners, or so I imagined. Looking at it made the shaved hair on the back of my neck stand up, but I would never admit that to anyone even if I were captured by hostiles and water boarded. It didn’t matter that I spent the bulk of my Marine career with the Corps of Engineers; a haunted house was not getting to me.
This house, and I was being generous calling it that, had to be the worst of the lot. A dilapidated structure beyond that must have been a garage of some sort or a place to hide the bodies in winter. If you were looking for the Bates Motel, this could be it, circa the 1890s.
Overgrown shrubs and grass blocked much of the front yard and a large tree had fallen over what I assumed was a gravel driveway from at least fifty years ago. It was a landscaper’s nightmare project between the barren looking grasses and dead shit everywhere. Honestly, I’d be surprised if they didn’t dig up a body somewhere on the property. Tall columns framed the front porch or what was left of it. All I could see from my vantage point inside the truck was a set of rotten wooden steps and a goodly sized hole in the porch veranda. A swinging chair that looked like it had one time been a perfect spot for sipping sweet tea hung precariously by one chain, the rest dragging down on wooden planks. The varnish had easily chipped away a quarter century ago.
A sigh filled the truck from the passenger seat next to me. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”
Confused, I looked back at my best friend of ten years, wondering what crazy ideas that fancy design school in Brooklyn had given her. Naked women with hands full of tits were gorgeous, but this… this building looked like it should be condemned from the structural damage alone, forget about how ugly it was. She needed her eyes and maybe her head examined, but I kept those opinions to myself, merely responding with a grunt in reply to her question.
I couldn’t bear to be the bringer of bad news and watch her little nose scrunch up, lip torn to shreds by her perfect front teeth, and those blue eyes of hers welled with tears. I might be an asshole in general, but this girl could wreck me faster than a truck on Interstate 84 barreling like a bat out of hell on ice. Nope, I was keeping any opinions I had about this house to myself.
“The realtor even said the house isn’t haunted.” She looked back out the window transfixed, while I let the potential horror of the situation work itself into my mind fully.
Think about this, Hunter… Think before you speak. My commanding officer had said that to me easily a thousand times during my first deployment. Aaron Henderson would have been proud to know I did not make this woman cry, not on purpose anyway.
Barely concealing my wince, I asked, “Did the realtor have those ghost hunters check it out to make sure?” My fingers tapped the wheel annoyed, and Taylor Jane touched them, freezing me with her smile. Her touch did that to me, an immediate balm that
sucked out the bad feelings and replaced them with good ones even years later. It was some kind of woman voodoo when she did that.
“Oh, Hunter, ye of little faith.” Her face softened with a side smile and I felt myself falling deep down that rabbit hole of no return.
What kind of a fucking realtor gives a house a character reference? “Ooh, it’s nice with a white picket fence and the bodies are buried the required ten feet from the property line and propane tank.” A whack-job, that’s who, and probably one with a snarky accent like my GPS wench, Sally.
“Yeah, babe, because that’s a legitimate reference for a house that looks like it’s about to fall down.” Muttering was all I could manage besides sticking my big foot in my mouth.
“Hunter.” She rolled her eyes, and I swore I should have thrown the truck into drive and headed to St. Mary’s for some damn holy water and Pastor Rooney to lead the exorcism, because I was sure spinning heads were coming next from behind the fallen door on the porch.
Worry filled me because I knew firsthand how impetuous my best friend could be. “You, uh, didn’t sign any papers yet, did you? I mean… please tell me you haven’t done anything with it yet.” I paused, trying to find a delicate way to say this to Taylor Jane before heaving a sigh and cutting right to the most important question I had for her. “For the love of God, Taylor Jane Bryant, please tell me you had an engineer come and look at it first?” I was hoping this was still in the idea phase and I could talk her out of it, maybe find some other depressed house with far less problems to flip, or heck, not at all. I would find walls in my own house she could paint, put up shiplap, and decorate if it meant not committing to a money pit nightmare.
“Of course I did.”
Groaning, I could only imagine what unqualified idiot she might have hired and I was insulted she waited until now to consult with me.
“To which part?” Who in their right mind buys a property within a week of moving home? Getting through a conversation with Taylor Jane required major clarification and a few Hail Marys. We had been close at one time and the distance between us now hurt, though it was arguably all my fault.
“All of it, Hunter. I had Scott Crenshaw look it over last week and then I put an offer in.”
“Honey.” I was going to kill that fucking idiot. “Scott Crenshaw barely passed junior year geometry.” My mind winced remembering the dipshit kid who had a longtime crush on Taylor Jane until I was forced to have words with him that same year before prom. Jackhole pissed himself and I hadn’t even touched him. I wondered what balls he grew even thinking of speaking to her in the decade since that passed. That fucker knew I had a construction business since I came back from my last deployment.
Shaking my head, I figured that was another confrontation looming between us in our very near future. Taylor Jane was off-limits to the idiot population if I had any say in it.
“He went to college.” Taylor Jane huffed defensively and this time my eyes rolled. I’m sure Scott went to college. Probably some online school that had no way to adequately measure his ability to tell if a building was capable of standing, let alone undergo major renovations of the sort I’m sure Miss Design TV had hopes of doing.
“Hardly the same thing.” Mumbling under my breath, Taylor Jane eyeballed me from under her thick lashes. Because we were fighting, I waited for her blue eyes to laser mine faster than a whooshed light saber slaying me. I rolled my eyes to look at her in a stalemate.
The only geometry Scott Crenshaw paid any mind to involved the curvy ones attached to a willing and available female, which had better not be Taylor Jane. Shoving a protractor right up his ass was tempting. I wasn’t normally an over protective dick, but part of me felt a responsibility to her over the years that defied time, folded notes in tenth grade, geography, and a few verbal spats.
She continued to ignore any concerns I might have had for the haunted pile of wood and proceeded to tell me more details. “I’m so lucky I found it when I did, even outbidding a second buyer.” Her enthusiasm under normal conditions was contagious until I sorted out what she actually said… there was a second buyer?
Someone else wanted this dump… and she spent more on it?
Oh Christ.
My brain hurt trying to keep up with her. I’m sure luck had nothing to do with this, just a bubbled housing market that had yet to recover fully in our part of the country.
“You know, it was actually under budget, quite a steal.”
I’m sure it was a steal, right from her pretty little bank account. I was going to strangle that bank manager when I saw him next. If it was still Phil Harmond or his kid that took over, Paul, I was going to torture the life out of them both and then maybe bury them in the backyard of this shithole for taking advantage of her.
Her overly positive attitude told me this was pretty much a done deal. In fact, I’d place bets that she’d already signed the paperwork, damning the next three to six months of my life working on this thing.
My choices were to either help her, or I’m sure smarty-pants here would find someone else to do it. Yeah, only one option here. I sure as hell didn’t want a shitty contractor taking advantage of my best friend.
“Taylor Jane Bryant.” Using her full name, something only her parents and myself did, I needed her attention focused. “Honey, there’s a lot that goes into flipping a property. I mean, did you talk to anyone about this? What about your dad?” If her father, Alan, knew about this I had to shake my head at what the world was coming to. Alan Bryant was as protective of her as I was.
My skepticism must have been transparent because she resumed her full pout. “Don’t be condescending, Hunter, I’m not fourteen, I realize that. The bank wouldn’t have given me a mortgage if they thought this was a terrible idea.” The bank manager was probably dazzled by Taylor Jane’s big blue eyes and thought nothing of giving her a loan she had no business taking.
“I even drew up my own RFP and budget.” Smiling made her face light up with this inner energy you had to see to believe. Yup, fuck a duck. She dazzled the shit out of that bank manager with her mortgaged request for proposed funds. Where would she even get the collateral? I was afraid to ask about her parents’ house and couldn’t help the groan that passed my lips. It was useless to fight the tornado that was Taylor Jane Bryant.
“Hey.” She tugged on my arm, getting my attention. “I spent the last four years watching the Property Brothers do it while I was in college. It’s going to be fun working together, bestie!”
Oh God… even I knew of those guys, both nice, but a bad influence on Taylor Jane.
She tried wrapping her arm around my head, pulling me down to rub her knuckles against my scalp. She used to do this in high school and the feelings I tamped down back then roared with an intensity I barely reined in. It was irritating and put me into way too close proximity of my best friend’s breasts. Beautiful perky mounds I should not have been noticing. I tried thinking of other things, thinking of the girl I was casually seeing, but nothing stymied the softness and fresh smell of the girl right next to me.
I pushed back gently, untangling myself from her. “Are you seriously telling me you want to flip a house because two wankers on TV….” Pushing her off me gently, I couldn’t even finish my sentence that’s how flustered she got me. Taylor Jane had a full head of natural blond hair. Now I’m not saying she was that type of blonde, but I had my moments when I wondered if there were stereotypes for a reason.
In the silence of the truck, she flicked something off her leg and looked up at me with her big bottomless blue eyes.
Hook.
Line.
Sinker.
Shrugging, she fluttered her eyelashes, and I knew I was doing this before the words even left my mouth, telling her to knock it off with the puppy eyes. She was my apple pie and girl next door that couldn’t compare to anything else in this world.
“How hard could it be?” And there it was, she’d already barreled through like a rodeo bull
and tossed me hard. I couldn’t say no in good conscious.
Damn it.
“If you don’t want to help me, Hunter, just say so and I’ll find another contractor willing to work with me.” She sighed, looking over her dream house from a B rated horror film.
Oh hell to the fuck no is she going to pull that trick with me.
Some happy meals lacked French fries.
Crayon boxes were often missing crayons.
Taylor Jane… had a sparkle that rivaled fucking vampires.
I’m so screwed.
Grumbling, I caught a hint of her smile and decided to roll with it. What choice did I have? “Tell me what you envision here.” Turning the key to the truck off, we sat inside the cool dampness. It didn’t help that there was a humid light rain falling and everything was wet. Our breaths kept the inside windows of the truck fogged, blurring the structural lines of the house outside. I don’t bother putting the truck back on to defog anything because I was going to pretend through the clouded windows that some level of ignorance was bliss. For all I knew we would have to bulldoze the lot and start from scratch. The fog mocked me like the structural integrity of the house.
“I want to update the property, restore much of its historic charm and add elements that make it a uniquely modern home that anyone would be pleased to own.” Yup. She was going to be the death of me, just tell me where to sign up and to make sure my life insurance was paid in full.
“So… not too many structural changes? Like you don’t want to knock down a wall and build an indoor pool or anything?”
Taylor Jane laughed, but I had to be reasonable. This woman could talk you into buying sand in the desert, so a simple house flipping project could be the next Mall of America if I wasn’t careful. A man’s gotta be prepared, if you know what I mean.
