“Hey, it’s the architect,” Nathan greeted him.
“Hello, Mr. Robottom. Gentlemen.” Jamal nodded to the group as he placed his items on the counter.
“How’s the work coming on the new hotel?” Nathan asked.
“Not a hotel, just a bed-and-breakfast,” Jamal corrected him. “And it’s coming along just fine.”
“You think it’ll be done in time for the Christmas in Gauthier celebration?” a man Jamal knew only as Froggy asked in a gravelly, toadlike voice. Hence the nickname, Jamal assumed. “My granddaughter lives up in Michigan. Said she saw an advertisement for Gauthier’s Christmas celebration on the internet all the way up there.”
“It’s the same internet wherever you are,” Nathan said with an eye roll. “Why do you think they call it theWorld WideWeb?”
“Well, hell, I don’t fool with that internet,” Froggy blustered.
Jamal suppressed the urge to laugh. “Mya Dubois-Anderson is in charge of publicizing it, so I have no doubt word of Christmas in Gauthier will reach far and wide.”
“Gauthier owes you a lot for opening this hotel,” Nathan said. “It’s nice to have tourists passing through, but it will be even better when they can stay for a couple of days and spend some money.”
Jamal nodded. He knew just how much having Belle Maison up and running would mean for Gauthier’s local economy.
“I was hoping you gentlemen could suggest someone who could help me with the renovations. I’ve got a few guys coming out to do the heavy lifting, but I need someone who can handle the delicate woodworking without damaging it.”
“Did you try Phi—” Froggy started.
“I just came from Phylicia Phillips’s place,” Jamal said. “She’s booked up.”
“Yeah, Phil gets a lot of work. Did you see the job she did on the Rosedale house?” Nathan whistled. “That girl is better with a wood chisel than her daddy was.”
“Do you know of anyone else?” Jamal asked. He didn’t particularly want to hear about how good Phylicia would have been. Dammit, heknewhow good she would have been. Maybe if he offered her twice whatever the job she was currently working on paid? Would she consider giving it up and coming to work for him?
Jamal winced at the selfish thought. He didn’t know much about Phylicia, but she didn’t seem like someone who would risk damaging her reputation for a few extra bucks. If anyone could respect the notion of integrity and a strong work ethic over money, it was him. He could be making an impressive salary as an architect with his family’s construction business, instead of reallocating money from his savings in order to open a bed-and-breakfast. But he was a helluva lot happier, and no amount of money was worth giving that up.
“If you think of someone else who may be able to help, give me a call,” he told Nathan as he pocketed his change and headed out of the hardware store.
He waved at a couple of folks as he drove down Gauthier’s Main Street. For a city kid, he’d allowed this small town to thoroughly charm him. It looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting, with its brightly colored storefronts sporting striped awnings and hand-paintedWe’re Opensigns hanging in the windows. Jamal hadn’t known towns like this still existed, especially with predominately Black populations.
Moving to Gauthier had been, without a doubt, one of the best decisions he’d made in his thirty-three years. He had been slowly dying back in Phoenix, but this small town had given him a new start. Having the freedom to live life on his terms instead of being bound by the confines of the Johnson Construction legacy had changed everything. He was finally free to pursue his dreams of opening his own architectural firm, without having to face his father’s derision.
So why was his firm still just an idea on paper?
A jolt of anxiety ricocheted against the walls of Jamal’s chest. The sensation had become commonplace, rearing its head whenever his mind so much as tiptoed in the vicinity of his underdeveloped career plans.
He quieted the unease by picturing the Victorian and what it would mean to Gauthier. The men back at the hardware store had reiterated how appreciative the town was that he was renovating Belle Maison. It would be selfish to think about his architectural firm when so many would benefit from the B&B.
“Yeah, you’re all about the noble self-sacrifice,” Jamal muttered.
Renovating the Victorian was a stalling tactic, and he damn well knew it. Just like the renovations of the Georgian he’d purchased when he moved to Gauthier nearly a year ago.
He didn’t have the time or energy for a mental debate over why he continued to avoid moving forward on his architectural firm. There was too much work to be done, regardless of the true reason he was doing it.
Despite his exhaustion, Jamal drove straight past his house, forfeiting the hot shower and food his body craved in exchange for getting in a few more hours of work on Belle Maison. Now that he had the replacement bulb for his work light, there was no reason for him to call it quits for the day.
Sitting at the bar in her kitchen after a fitful night of very little sleep, Phil sipped a cup of piping-hot coffee and thumbed through the latest issue ofAntique Abodes.There was a feature on a Greek Revival in Natchez, Mississippi, that a young couple had spent the past five years restoring. She wondered if she could swing a trip up to Natchez. It was worth the three-hour drive to see the house firsthand.
If she was lucky, she wouldn’t have the time to drive into Mississippi to look at someone else’s restoration project; she would be too busy with her own. The caretaker at a home on St. Charles Avenue in New Orleans had emailed yesterday afternoon, informing her that a decision would be made soon on the restoration job she’d bid on. It wasn’t a huge project—a bit of work on some of the home’s antique furniture—but it would be welcome income. She was barely keeping her head above water, and the waterline was gradually creeping further up her neck.
Phil spotted the mail carrier in front of her next-door neighbor’s house. She set her coffee cup down and was waiting outside when Paul Ricard pulled up to her mailbox.
“How you doing, Phil?” he greeted her.
