With the footings and pillars all in place, both front and back, and the fence boards currently being stained, Jake’s full attention was on the back deck and front porch. Linda and her work crew had already laid out the paint lines to mark where everything went, so Jake was just checking and double-checking measurements, then he’d head out to the lumber yard. One of the perks of working on a TV show, lots of businesses were willing to offer free and discounted supplies in exchange for getting name-dropped and featured in the final product, so they were paying less than wholesale prices for all the wood.
“How long until we get this deck knocked out?” Ozzy stood behind Jake, hands behind his back. “I’m running out of shit I can do without a full picture of the backyard, here.”
“It’s going to be a couple days, if we’re optimistic. Can’t erect an entire deck in no time.”
Ozzy rolled his eyes. “Fine. Make it as quick as possible, please. I want to get pictures and work through some things on the computer.”
“No problem. Not like I’m working on anything hard.” Jake kept his voice just above a mutter as he finished up his measurements. “You could be fixing the damn tree roots, but sure. Bag on me.” Showering, eating, and sleeping hadn’t led to the strong reset Jake had hoped for. The ghost of his bad mood still hung around, but if he popped off, Ozzy would just get worse and angrier. Not worth the hassle.
After he had things figured, and he talked to Linda to check over the numbers, make sure they didn’t over-or-under-buy on lumber and supplies, he climbed into the truck they’d rented and headed out to do the pickup. Alone again: him, the road, and his feelings.
But at least, in the light of day—and with a bit of caffeine in his system—things seemed to click over better in his brain. Of course, he wasn’tmadat Quinn over anything. Hurt wasn’t mad. Hurt was hurt, and hurt was one-hundred percent on Jake. Quinn was grieving, and if he didn’t want to do that in public? With a stranger? Fine.
By the time Jake got the pressure-treated boards all loaded up, and got the screws and stain and brackets and everything else from the hardware store, his head felt a lot clearer. Hard, tedious work helped. Almost like meditation, loading up board after board, his shoulders and arms tense from effort. He didn’t need to use his brain for it hardly at all, so his thinkmeats got to work on his emotions and worries instead.
Once he pulled back in and they got things unloaded, spread out in the yard and ready to start processing, Jake had already set up some new boxes and parameters in his brain. Quinn wouldn’t take direct help, talk about his emotions? Absolutely fine, his prerogative.
Jake would help how he could. He’d make this house as nice as he could and hope that would be something. Would be enough. And he’d lock himself down to keephimselfsafe. He couldn’tvery well let his whole night, his whole day, his wholeweekget derailed because of Quinn’s reactions. That was unfair to Quinn, and to himself.
Chapter nine
Quinn
For the better partof a week, Quinn couldn’t bring himself to make an appearance at the house. They didn’t ask to meet with him, and it wasn’t like he could do any real good on the work front. They had who they needed, where they needed them.
But when he got the message that they wanted to meet up for more specifics, he had to bite the bullet. So he got the day off from work—cashing in on a lot of good will and saved up PTO—and drove into downtown Springfield. A quick detour before he hit the house.
Ever since that walk-through, Quinn didn’t go a single day without remembering himself snapping like an asshole, getting distant, shutting down. Which was very uncool to push onto the people there to fix things up for him. Do what Quinn was neverable to do with his grandpa’s house, and certainly couldn’t have managed on his own.
Try as he might, he couldn’t get that expression of Jake’s out of his brain. He didn’t deserve that when he was just trying to check in.I need to get my shit under control. And try to make it up to them.Hence his trip into town to pick up some coffee for everyone. Four portable carafes was a lot, not to mention the cream and sugar and cups they’d provided, but he got it all tucked into his passenger seat securely—even if it took wedging his coat in to keep things from spilling on turns—and headed back to the work site on Old Aristocracy Hill. It was clean enough inside that they apparently no longer needed to meet at the Hillyard, which in itself shocked the shit out of Quinn. Even having seen the house the other day, the thought that it was already somehowhabitableenough they could not only be there, but meet up and film there, boggled the mind.
He pulled up and almost couldn’t get out of the car. When he’d seen it last time, even the outside was a total mess. The garbage bin was gone now, the step ladder had been abandoned for actual stairs and a makeshift gangplank leading across the joists to the actual front door, and the siding was blue once again. The backyard was entirely invisible now, blocked by the newly erected fence.
Quinn’s stomach tightened and tossed and he wanted to pull away, and he couldn’t even saywhy. His grandpa would have loved to see the porch put back together, and he constantly complained about the fence, threatened to go out and fix it even though there was no way he could have managed that sort of work.
Quinn shook everything to the back of his brain, then got out and pulled the coffee and everything from the passenger side. When he fumbled his keys out to lock the doors, he saw someone approaching out of the corner of his eye.Maybe it’s Jake.Thetightness in his stomach changed. Not loosened, but turned electric. A talk alone could let them air things out.
“I hope you kept receipts so we can reimburse you.”
Not Jake’s voice. He turned to see Eliza, wearing a simple, heather blue T-shirt and khakis. She held her hands out and he pressed two of the carafes over to her. “Thanks. But I feel like I need to contributesomethingto this. Not like I’ve been very useful since we finished cleaning.”
“Your job is just to benefit, not be useful.” She jerked her head toward the door. “We’ll get you set up, then we have to meet and chat details.”
He nodded and followed her, up the stairs—workers were still screwing in and leveling some of the joists at the far end—across the somewhat shaky pathway, and inside, which only redoubled Quinn’s sense of…oddity.
The stairwell to the second floor was back in order, fresh new drywall mudded in to cover the side where the water damage had been. Any holes in the floor were gone, and the underlayment stretched over the entire thing. Light fixtures and outlets were open, wire nuts hanging loose.
But most of all, it was justclean. Even cleaner than before. A blank slate, primed and ready to go.
“Right over here.” Eliza led him into the living room. A folding table had been set up along the far wall, just next to the window. Mason, Evander, and Ozzy sat on small, padded folding chairs. No one else was present, although more chairs leaned against the other wall.
They set the coffee down, then Quinn got set up with his mic pack while Mason went over the agenda. “Thanks for this. We’ll get through this as fast as we can to get you back to your real life.”
“I took the day off, so no worries.”
“Good,” said Ozzy, shooting sharp glances to Evander every few seconds. “We’ve got a lot to go over. Especially with the landscaping.”
“Especially with the interior design, as well.” Evander nodded to Ozzy, smiling in spite of the complete deadness in his eyes. “This part of the process takes the most hands-on effort from the client, usually. But if we don’t do it, we end up with a house that doesn’t suit you at all. Oswald here would probably give you a succulent garden and a fire-spewing tower in the middle of your yard, left to his own devices.”
