After doing some more searching for landscape designers in the area, I only come across one, but his website is really basic, and there isn’t much information about the company. Now I see why my brother, Ricky, is always insisting that having a nicely designed website is important. It only makes sense to choose the Ward company over this other one.
“Screw it,” I mutter, and go back to Ward Landscaping, copying the email address and pasting it into the address bar. I send the company a short email about what I’ve been looking for and how I hope they have some openings. I also mention that my neighbor highly recommends him, hoping it’ll give me footing in the door, and then hit the send button.
I check a few of my emails afterward. Some are from the students in the seminar, sending me shots of their works in progress. I give a few of them a proper response with a little feedback. As I’m finishing an email, my computer dings.
The notification reads: Email From Marcel Ward, CEO of Ward Landscaping & Design.
Holy shit. That was fast. This guy means business. I click the notification bubble, making a mental note to get back to the email I was working on.
Hey there Mrs. Moore,
I’m glad you reached out to me about your project. I’m certain I can accommodate whatever needs you have for your backyard. I must be frank, I’m only responding to this email so quickly because I am at the dentist, a place I really can’t stand, waiting for my appointment, and saw this notification pop up. I am much better on the phone. Will you be available to speak at noon?
Thanks,
Marcel Ward
CEO of Ward Landscaping & Design
I smirk at his comment about the dentist. Witty. That’s good. He’s not some serious asshat I have to be awkward around. I give him a quick response.
Hello Mr. Ward,
Well, I thank you for getting back to me so quickly. A phone call would be much more convenient, that way I can really explain. Noon sounds great. You can call me at 212-907-0486, but if that time doesn’t work out, I am available for the rest of the day so feel free to call at any time.
Best,
Gabrielle Moore
After I finish up the email to my student, I close my laptop, polish off my tea, and then head back to the kitchen. With a humph, I sit on the stool, looking around the empty kitchen. There’s so much to do, yet I’m not motivated to do any of it right now. Without Kyle around, it is never the same. Unfortunately, for the next three days, I’m on my own.
Instead of moping, I write down a list of groceries and other things we need. I should get to know the area better anyway, so after freshening up and changing into better clothes, I stuff the list in my purse, grab my keys off the hook, and head to the garage. With GPS, I can find anything I need.
My problem with shopping? I always end up coming out with more than I’d written down on the list. I only needed the essentials, like toilet paper, water bottles, and a shower curtain, but of course I stopped by the snack aisle, the wine aisle, and many others, until my cart was full.
I stuff most of the bags in the trunk of my Challenger, but they don’t all fit, so I grab the remaining bags and drop them in the passenger seat. As I shut the door, my phone buzzes and I dig in my back pocket for it.
I don’t know the number, but it’s a South Carolina area code, leaving no doubt it’s the guy from landscaping company.
“Hello?” I answer, pushing my red cart to the nearest station.
“Hey, is this Mrs. Moore?”
Wow. His accent is not what I was expecting. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a Southern accent so thick. “This is she,” I reply, keeping the remark about his accent to myself.
“Hey, Mrs. Moore. This is Marcel of Ward Landscaping & Design. Is this a good time?”
“Hey—yes, right now is fine! Just left the store. So glad you called!” I rush back to my car, getting inside. I’ve already broken a sweat from the heat.
“Of course,” he replies. “So, what exactly is it you’re lookin’ for?”
“Well—we just moved in to our new home. We have a pretty spacious backyard, but there isn’t much back there for us to enjoy, so I figured I’d look into sprucing it up. The only issue is I’d prefer that it’s finished before we host our housewarming in a couple of weeks.”
“Describe a couple weeks?”
“I’d say within four weeks, while the idea of our move is still fresh in people’s minds?” I know it’s asking a lot, but I’m hopeful.
“Well, Mrs. Moore—I’d have to say that is a little too soon, considering you mentioned wanting a hot tub as well,” he chuckles.
“Really?” I bite into my lower lip. “So you don’t think you’ll be able to do it?”
“Well, it depends on the size of your yard, for one. Also depends on all you want included. If you’re lookin’ to have hard landscaping, I’d have to set up a consultation with you to map out a design for the yard space and figure out which package you’d like to go along with the space. We have a variety of packages that fit many budgets.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. Maybe I can draw a design I have in mind, if it helps.”
“That’s always helpful. Go for it.”
I push-start the engine. “How long does it usually take for you to design and create the actual layout?”
“To design it, no more than a day or two, as long as you have your blueprints on hand so I can plan with those. As for creating the layout, it all depends on your needs. My average time frame for a full patio with stones, concrete, and all those things is between four to six weeks. Ten max, if the homeowner is looking to add a pool, bar, or anything else.”
“Okay, well, when do you think we can set up a consultation to discuss it? I really would like the hot tub.”
“I checked my schedule before callin’. I’m available tomorrow mornin’ from nine to eleven, then I have to leave town for a commercial job. Would 9:30 tomorrow mornin’ work for you?”
“Nine-thirty sounds great, Mr. Ward. I’ll text you my address.”
“Okay. Sounds good, Mrs. Moore. See you tomorrow.”
“Yep. Bye.”
After sending him my address, I head home with a car full of groceries and a big smile on face.
THREE
MARCEL
OF COURSE she lives in Venice Heights. It’s the first thing to run across my mind as I pull into the driveway of Mrs. Moore’s house.
Most of my business has come from this exact neighborhood, and though they have been good to me, the demand here is off the charts.
With every new resident, it means I get an email or phone call to set something up, and oftentimes they want it done in an unreasonable time frame. While I appreciate the business, it’s making it a lot harder to wind down my residential work to become more commercial based.
Ward Landscaping is growing—has been ever since I opened it in 2014, where I got my big start working solo on a home for the governor, who needed a last-minute job before a big outdoor party. His backyard was ruined due to a tropical storm, so he looked up local landscapers, called, and then booked me. He couldn’t thank me enough for the work I did, and had even recommended me to all of his friends, most of whom wanted residential work. I’ve been on good ground ever since.
I kill the engine of my truck and step out, taking a thorough look around. The front yard isn’t too bad, and the driveway is appealing. The bushes and flowers in front of the house are well-kept, which is a given for newer homes. After collecting my notebook and laptop, I walk up the steps and give the door a knock.
It doesn’t take long for the door to be answered. A young lady swings it open, a big smile on her face. Her eyes are wide and green, not a trace of makeup on her face. Her curly, dark-brown hair is pulled up into a messy bun and she’s wearing a long-sleeved white shirt. Her hands are covered in a bunch of chalky-looking shit, as well as her clothes. Her smile slowly falls as she focuses on me, like I’m the last person she expected to show at her doorstep.
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br /> “Uh—hi.” She’s mildly confused. “You’re Mr. Ward?”
“Yes ma’am, I am.” I take a step back. “And you’re Mrs. Moore?”
“I am,” she responds, a slight pep in her voice. She extends her arm to offer a hand, but obviously realizes they’re dirty because she yanks it away just as quickly. “Uh—I’m sorry. I was upstairs working on a sculpture. Please, come in. I’ll wash my hands and we can get started.”
Nodding, I follow behind her, watching as she hustles toward the kitchen, which is in plain view from the door, due to the open layout.
“I’m sorry about the mess!” she calls out. “I think I mentioned to you that we’ve just moved in. My husband will break down the boxes and take them out when he gets back.”
“Not a problem.” I enter the kitchen, looking at the large four-top table set up by double doors. “Okay to sit here?”
“Yeah, go right ahead,” she urges, scrubbing her hands in the sink. She rinses and dries them off as I place my laptop and notebook on the table.
“Wish I had more time, Mrs. Moore, but I’ll have to make this a quick visit. The job I’m headed to needs me there for an early meeting.”
“Oh, no problem at all.” She smiles, turning for the fridge and pulling out a bottled water. “Can I get you anything to drink at least?”
“Sure. I’ll take one of those bottles of water you’re havin’.” She hands one to me with a small smile, then pulls out the seat across from mine. “So, before we actually get into the details, can I take a look at the backyard?”
“Oh—yes, it’s right this way.” She rushes to the double doors to my right. I follow her lead as she unlocks them and pushes one of the doors open. She steps out of my way and I walk out, giving it a hard sweep.
“It’s pretty spacious,” I laugh.
“I know…but to be fair, I want a small patio space. Just enough for a few people to sit, stand, or whatever. I’d like to still keep some of my grass out there, in case I decide to get a dog or something, you know? I love dogs.”
“I get you.” I take another step out, studying the bushes that skirt the yard. Pulling my cellphone out, I take a few pictures to have on hand. “It’s a great view, though. Beach right there. I see why you’d want to have a comfortable spot out here too.”
“Yeah. This would really make it the dream home we envisioned having.”
“Well, let’s go inside and talk it over, Mrs. Moore.”
“Oh, man. You know what—Mrs. Moore sounds really weird, so just call me Gabby,” she laughs, walking in behind me and shutting the door.
“Very well, Miss Gabby.” She laughs at that. I smirk, sitting and opening my notebook. “Don’t mind it. It’s a natural habit. Everyone is Mister or Miss where I’m from.”
“Where are you from exactly?” she asks. “I noticed how heavy your accent was on the phone yesterday. Caught me by surprise,” she laughs. “It’s obviously from somewhere around here, right?”
“Yep. Born and raised in Summerville, South Carolina. Spent most of my adulthood there before movin’ to Hilton a couple years ago.”
“Oh. That’s nice.”
“And what about you? Seems like you’re from upstate. I’m hearing a slight accent from you too.”
“Oh, yeah. Born in Albany, New York. Lived there until I was seven, then we moved to Fredericksburg, Virginia.”
“Interesting. And now you’re here?”
“Where I lived, it always rained or snowed, especially in New York. Needed a change of scenery.” She smiles and shrugs. Apparently, she loves doing that—smiling, that is. Momma always told me people who are always smiling are usually the ones hiding the biggest secrets. But that’s none of my business. For all I know she’s just a regular woman, happy to be in her new home. Probably married to some rich, arrogant prick like all the rest of the women in this neighborhood. Either way, not my problem.
“Well, let’s discuss what you’re lookin’ for.” I open my laptop and go to my pricing sheet, then pull the pen from behind my ear, uncapping it and writing down her last name on the top of the paper. “I have a variety. Anything you have in mind that you really want back there?”
“I actually drew a quick sketch of what I wanted. Maybe this will help?” She stands and walks to the counter behind her, grabbing a white sheet of paper and sliding it across the table. I look over it as she speaks again. “A blueprint of the backyard is beneath it. I know for sure that I want a hot tub. Since we have the beach, I don’t really care to have a pool. I also want a full patio with a built-in fire pit. Also, big flower beds to go around it, to give it a little life and lots of color.” I place her design down to write everything she just said, nodding. She continues. “Maybe built-in seating where people can sit, in case we don’t have enough chairs for everyone.”
I give a little laugh at that.
“What’s funny?” she inquires.
“Nothin’.” I finish writing the last thing she mentioned.
“No, tell me,” she says with a small laugh.
“Well, I’m tryin’ to figure out who you think can create so much within a four-week time frame is all, Miss Gabby. These projects take time. I would need at least six weeks for yours alone.”
“Oh.” Her face falls. “So it can’t be done?” She unleashes a sad sigh.
“It can. It’s more of a risk for the business, if anything. In order to finish it, I’d have to have my men working overtime to get it ready in time for the housewarming you mentioned. Not only that, but I’ll most likely have to work with them to give an extra hand and to make sure everything is running smoothly. I have a different crew for the spa and bar. My landscaping crew would handle the patio and ground work.”
“Would you be willing to give the extra hand?”
I put on a smile. “I don’t deny many jobs, Miss Gabby. Especially one like this, when it means so much to someone so…bright-eyed.”
“Bright-eyed?” She guffaws, propping her folded arms on top of the table. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?
“Just means this is exactly what you said it is. It’s your dream home. You’re proud of it, and it’s my job to make sure you have the backyard you’ve always dreamed of havin’.”
“I see.” She grins, looking hopeful again.
“The only issue I’m seein’ with you is the time frame, and that’ll determine whether I can take this project on or not. I need at least eight weeks due to this commercial job I’m runnin’ at the moment. Once that’s over, I can focus on your project a bit more. If you can give me just a little bit of a stretch, I can definitely squeeze it in for you.”
Her lips twist. “Well, I haven’t told anyone when we would be doing the housewarming, so I can work around your schedule.”
“Exactly what I’d hoped to hear. We can’t rush these kinds of projects. If you hadn’t given me leeway, I would have had to refer you to someone else.”
“I understand.” Her olive eyes shimmer.
I lower my gaze to my laptop. “Well, the package I would suggest to you is our Mover’s Package. This package includes a nice twenty percent discount for recent movers, and also includes installation of the patio space, a walkway, shrubbery and trees to shade the area, two full-sized flower beds and the option of a hot tub or half-sized pool. You mentioned a built-in fire pit with seating and a wet bar, but that will cost you a little more.”
“How much more? Can you give me the total for all of it?”
“Sure you’ll be able to handle the number I’m about to give?”
She folds her arms. “Throw it at me.”
“For all of it, you’re looking anywhere between $10,000 to $20,000, depending on what appliances you want at the wet bar and whether you want built-in seating there as well.
“Holy shit.” She lowers her gaze, nodding. “Well, I have about ten grand saved. If it’s more, I can always ask my husband to cover the rest of it, if he likes the idea.”
“Wait a minute.”
I hold a hand up. “You haven’t spoken to your husband about this?”
She locks on my eyes. “We’ve talked about getting a landscaping company, but I’m really only supposed to be looking. What can I say? I like to take initiative.” She smiles sheepishly. “I was hoping I could surprise him. I’m paying for some of it with money I’ve saved. Just want to do something nice around here, take the load off of him.”
“Hmm.”
A silence sweeps over the kitchen table. Her gaze stalls on mine.
“I tell you what.” I shift in my chair, straightening my back. “I’ll add in the fire pit and seating with the package so you can get the discount, that way all you’ll really have to worry about is the wet bar and hot tub.”
Her eyes light up. “Oh, Mr. Ward, you really don’t have to do that. I can reconsider the fire pit and seating. It’s really not a big deal. I can just get more chairs if I need to.”
I hold up a hand. “No, no. My job is to make sure you’re happy, Miss Gabby. You’ve just moved in, lookin’ to be happy here, right?”
She nods and sighs.
“Okay, then. Don’t think too much of it. If you really want that built-in seating and fire pit, I’m more than willin’ to fit it into your budget.”
She gives me a relieved smile. “Thank you. I really appreciate that. So…how much would it be total?”
“For everything, including construction costs, I estimate about eighteen grand plus tax. I offer payment plans as well, if you need them.”
“Okay, great. A payment plan would be amazing.”
“If everything works out, the budget shouldn’t change too much,” I tell her.
“Great!” she chimes as I write down the package and features she wants added. “And when do you think you can start?”
“Next week I’m full, but the week after, I’m all yours.”
“Good.” She stands with me. “I’m really glad to hear that.”
The Man I Can't Have (Ward #1) (Ward Duet) Page 3
