The bell chimed again, and Rachel breezed in, bringing the scent of hospital antiseptic and coffee. “Luke! I’m glad I caught you.”
“Whatever it is, I’m busy,” Luke said automatically. Rachel’s “favors” usually involved heavy lifting or complicated repairs. She and Megan were the twins in the family, and the two were always conspiring to get him to do something. He highly doubted she justhappenedto show up after Megan summoned him.
“It’s not for me.” She settled onto the stool next to him, stealing what remained of his cookie. “It’s Noah Thompson. You remember him? He was friends with Megan and me in high school.”
Luke frowned. “Quiet guy? Always had his nose in a book?”
“That’s him. He moved back recently with his son and bought the old Queen Anne at the end of Maple Street.” Rachel’s expression turned concerned. “The place is falling apart around them. The kitchen’s basically held together with prayers and duct tape.”
“And you’re telling me this because…?”
“Because he needs help, and you’re the best in town.” Rachel nudged his shoulder. “Come on, it’ll be a fun side project. Just look at it, give him an estimate.”
As if it wasn’t bad enough that one sister was colluding with their mother to marry him off, now Luke had her twin trying to pimp out his carpentry skills. It was like no one understood that he liked havingsomedowntime. And if the place was as bad as Rachel claimed, it’d be anything but fun.
Luke thought of his already packed schedule, Keaton’s upcoming project, and the stack of business cards from potential clients he needed to reach out to waiting on his desk. Anderson Homeworks was busier than ever, which didn’t leave time for side projects. Besides, he preferred his hobbiesnottobe an extension of work. “I don’t know, Rach…”
“Please?” She pulled out her phone, scrolling through photos. “Look at this place. It’s got good bones, but…”
The images showed peeling paint, rotted wood, and potentially significant water damage. Luke’s professional interest stirred despite himself. It was the kind of project that made his fingers itch for his tools, his mind already cataloging necessary repairs.
Dammit. He didnothave time to take on a passion project. But he was familiar with the house on the edge of town. He and Keaton used to talk about how they’d bring it back to its former glory.
“Fine,” he sighed, knowing he’d regret this. “I’ll stop by to take a look. But no promises.”
Rachel beamed, hugging him quickly. “Thank you! I’ll text you his number.”
As she hurried out, probably late for her hospital shift, Megan gave Luke a knowing look. “Just a quick job, huh?”
“Shut up.” He drained his coffee, pushing away from the counter. “And wrap up another cookie for the road.”
“They’re for?—”
“Mrs. Patterson, I know.” He grinned. “But she won’t miss two. Maybe three. I know you always make extras.”
Rachel’s photos of the old house were stuck in his head as he waved to Megan on his way out. It would be a big job, probably more than he should take on right now. But something about those images, about the idea of bringing the grand old house back to life…
The sun hunglow in the sky as Luke pulled into his driveway, casting long shadows across his small workshop. He’d built it himself two summers ago, a labor of love that had eaten up every spare moment between jobs. Now, it stood as his sanctuary, a place where he could drown out the rest of the world, building whatever called to his soul. Lately, that had been furniture he posted online, selling at barely over cost so he could fund his next project.
Rachel and Megan were trying to convince him to charge more and set up a website to showcase his work, but this was the one thing he did just for himself. Turning it into a business would take the fun out of creating.
Inside, he flicked on the lights and his ancient radio, letting classic rock fill the space. A half-finished coffee table occupied his workbench, its cherrywood gleaming under the overhead lights. He ran his fingers along the grain, remembering hisfather’s lessons about patience, about letting the wood tell its own story when it was ready. He swallowed hard, wishing arthritis hadn’t robbed his dad of his hobby and them of the time they used to spend together in his parents’ garage.
The buzz of his phone interrupted his thoughts. Keaton’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hey, boss.” Luke wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, reaching for his sander. Keaton hated being called boss, especially by Luke, who’d been one of his best friends since high school. And that was exactly why he did it as often as possible.
“You’re awfully chipper tonight. Must mean you haven’t checked your email yet.” Keaton was the ultimate workaholic. Luke loved the guy, but he seriously needed to learn to leave shit at the office when it was time to clock out. Then again, that was yet another reason Luke was happy to be the grunt and not the responsible adult of their friend group.
Luke’s hand stilled. “That bad?”
“Remember how we thought the Tillerman project would start next month?” Keaton’s sigh crackled through the speaker. “They want to move up the timeline. As in, next week.”
“Shit.” Luke set down his tools, giving the conversation his full attention. “That’s not possible. We don’t have the crew lined up, the permits?—”
“Already handled. Finn and I have been making calls all day.” There was a pause. “But I’m going to need you full-time on this, Luke. No side jobs, no favors, no helping little old ladies with their screen doors.”
The image of Noah Thompson’s Queen Anne flashed through Luke’s mind. “About that…”
