Room For Love (The Fixer Upper)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Luke knelt on Mrs. Chen’s wraparound porch, examining the rotted section of railing he’d promised his mom he’d take a look at since he didn’t have to work until later today. A plate appeared beside him with a thick, overstuffed sandwich and two slices of homemade banana bread. “You’re too skinny, Luke. Eat while you work.”

He grinned at Mrs. Chen. She was a sweet old lady whose favorite cure for boredom was feeding anyone who set foot on her property. “If I eat all that, I won’t fit through the doorframes at my next job. Believe it or not, I do eat, even on days my own mother isn’t hounding me.”

They’d been having this same conversation since shortly after Mr. Chen passed away two years ago. Luke would show up at his mom’s not-so-subtle request, and after some halfhearted protest about not needing anyone to take care of her, Mrs. Chen disappeared while Luke got to work, returning shortly after with a plate of treats and a cup of tea.

At least they were outside today so he could pour the tea into the bushes while she wasn’t looking. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he couldn’t stand drinking something that tasted like flowers, weeds, and dirt. Most days, he choked it down and chugged his soda to get the taste out of his mouth as soon as she was out of sight.

“Good. Then you’ll stay here long enough to fix everything. A drawer in the kitchen sticks and the faucet in the upstairs bathroom drip, drip, drips all night long.” She nudged the plate closer with one slipper-clad foot. “Did your mother tell you my nephew is visiting next week? He’s a doctor in Boston.”

Of course he was. While she and Mr. Chen never had children of their own, it seemed she had an endless supply of nephews, all of whom lived halfway across the country working prestigious jobs. Luke questioned whether it was a coincidence that one of them was either visiting or had recently called her every time his mom sent him over here to fix something.

The two women were meddlers of the highest order, determined to help Luke find a good boy to settle down with. No amount of arguing with them or turning down their matchmaking attempts could make them see relationships weren’t something Luke wanted for himself. One-night stands were much more his speed. Get in, get off, get out. The faster, the better for the latter.

“A doctor? Fancy.” Luke pulled a pencil and measuring tape from his tool belt, marking and measuring the section needing to be replaced. “But you know me, Mrs. Chen. I’m married to my work.”

She clicked her tongue. “Work doesn’t keep you warm at night.”

“That’s what electric blankets are for.” He winked, reaching for his saw. The familiar weight settled in his hands as he lined up to make the first cut. “Besides, what would my mom say if I fell madly in love with your nephew and ran off to Boston to live the life of a kept man? She’d never forgive either of us.”

Mrs. Chen huffed, but Luke caught her smile as she retreated to her rocking chair. This had become their routine—her matchmaking, his deflection, both of them pretending they weren’t enjoying the game.

She sipped her tea as Luke got to work. He jogged down the steps and across the lawn to his truck. An older man waved as he passed by with his ancient golden retriever. A woman he’d gone to school with stepped into the road to avoid them as she finished her morning jog. Luke returned their greetings with easy smiles, letting the rhythm of work and community wash over him. Even if he was looking for a partner, he couldn’t imagine living anywhere other than Maple Hill. He much preferred the quaintness of small-town life over the chaos of a big city.

His phone buzzed. Probably Keaton, his boss at Anderson Homeworks, with updates about next week’s renovation project. He’d check it later—right now, the railing demanded his attention. Mrs. Chen didn’t know it yet, but he also had the materials to replace the boards he’d noticed were going soft. She’d fuss at him, but before long, someone would step right through the porch floor.

He took a moment to run his hand over the planks in the bed of his truck. His dad always said you had to listen to the wood, let it guide your hands. One of many lessons Luke had absorbed in the workshop while watching his father turn raw lumber into something beautiful and lasting.

“Your father must be so proud,” Mrs. Chen said softly as if reading his thoughts. “Such a good boy, always helping everyone.”

Something caught in Luke’s throat. He focused on securing the new section of railing, letting the steady tap of his hammer fill the silence. “He is proud. He taught me everything I know.”

“About fixing things, yes.” She rose, gathering the now-empty plate. “But being kind? That you learned yourself.”

Luke ducked his head, checking his level with unnecessary attention. Mrs. Chen had a way of seeing past his carefully maintained surface, poking around the quiet spots he preferred to keep hidden. “Structure’s important,” he said finally. “Can’t have the railing breaking under your hand.”

She patted his shoulder as she passed. “Some things are worth being a little wobbly for.”

They weren’t talking about her front porch, and they both knew it. Mrs. Chen liked talking in riddles, and Luke humored her as often as possible.

He worked through the morning, replacing the rotted sections and reinforcing the weak spots. What started out as repairing the railing and a few boards turned into a massive project, one he’d have to come back and finish after a run to the lumberyard. Around eleven, his phone buzzed again—this time with a text from his older sister Megan about stopping by the bakery. He groaned, knowing she’d likely lecture him for missing family dinner last weekend.

Standing back, Luke admired his progress. Mrs. Chen emerged for a final inspection, running her hand along the smooth wood. “I’ll come back when it’s a bit warmer out to seal everything for you. That’ll keep it protected and looking nice.”

“Perfect, as always.” She pressed an envelope into his hand—payment, despite his protests. “And take these.” A container of cookies appeared from behind her back. “Growing boys need food.”

“I’m thirty years old, Mrs. Chen. I think I’m done growing.”

“Never too old to grow.” She fixed him with a knowing look. “In all ways.”

Luke tucked the container under his arm, gathering his tools with practiced efficiency. “Tell your nephew I’m sorry we won’t get to meet.”

“Next time,” she said, serene and certain. “Someone special will come along, you’ll see. Then maybe you’ll fix your heart instead of houses.”

He laughed, but something in her words followed him down the porch steps, settling between his shoulders like sawdust that couldn’t be brushed away. The morning had warmed, the spring sun casting shadows across carefully manicured lawns and familiar streets. Despite having lived here his entire life, he was always impressed by the beauty of Maple Hill with its carefully maintained historic districts and newer sections built to fit in.

The last thing he wanted to do was visit his sister, who’d no doubt have heard about the latest attempt to set him up with someone. She wasn’t as relentless as their mom and her friends, but Megan made no secret about wanting to see him find someone to spend time with.

Like everyone else, she was certain finding the right guy would change his mind.

Not. Going. To. Happen.

At least there’d be coffee. And maybe, if he played his cards right, a few of those chocolate chip cookies she pretended not to save for him.

Sweet & Simple’s bell chimed as Luke pushed through the door, the familiar scent of fresh-baked bread wrapping around him like a warm blanket. The scent always reminded him of Megan. For as long as he could remember, she’d been obsessed with baking the perfect loaf of bread.

What started as a hobby in the kitchen of their childhood home morphed into dreams of owning her own bakery. And she’d actually made it happen. His sister’s bakery bustled with the usual lunch crowd—a mix of regulars occupying worn wooden tables and tourists who came to Maple Hill to see the local artwork adorning exposed brick walls up and down Main Street. Recently, she’d hung smaller pieces around the bakery as an impromptu gallery, allowing visitors to take the local art home with them.

Megan stood behind the counter, her dark-blonde hair escaping its messy bun as she arranged a display of pastries. She glanced up at his entrance, narrowing her eyes. “You’re covered in dirt and sawdust.”

“Good afternoon to you too, favorite sister.” Luke brushed at his jeans, sending a small cloud into the sunlit air.

“Funny, I heard you tell Rachel she was your favorite last week.” She pointed her pastry tongs at him. “And stop making a mess in my shop. You know where the broom is. Use it.”

He leaned against the counter, snagging a cookie from a nearby tray. “Don’t worry, I will.”

Luke loved getting a rise out of his sister. She was such a perfectionist he was surprised she hadn’t hired someone to walk around behind her customers, sweeping up the crumbs as they fell to the floor.

“Those aren’t—” Megan sighed as he took a bite. “Those are for Mrs. Patterson’s birthday party, you big jerk.”

“She won’t miss one.” He reached for another, but Megan swatted his hand away. “Besides, I spent the morning fixing Mrs. Chen’s porch. I’ve earned a reward.”

“Ah, so that’s why Mom texted me about Dr. Chen from Boston.” Megan’s lips twitched. “Apparently, he’s very successful. And single.”

Luke groaned. “So I’ve heard. Is it possible for those women to not rally the troops in some sort of mission to get me to the altar?”

“Nope. Small town, big mouths. And it’s kind of sweet how dedicated they are to the cause.” Megan nodded toward the coffee machine. “Your usual?”

“Please.” He settled onto a worn wooden stool, watching as she worked the espresso machine with practiced ease. “And maybe one of those apple turnovers?”

“Those are for?—”

The bell chimed again, cutting off Megan’s protest. Luke turned, cookie halfway to his mouth, and nearly choked. Aaron—or was it Adam?—from last weekend’s bar hookup stood in the doorway, looking equally startled.

“Luke,” Maybe-Aaron said, a flush creeping up his neck. “I didn’t know you lived around here.”

“Born and raised.” Luke forced a smile, mentally cursing the universe. This was exactly why he preferred meeting guys in Afton. “How’s it going?”

“Good, good. Just thought I’d…” He gestured vaguely at the pastry case. “I stop in whenever I’m in the area. I swear, some secret ingredient makes it impossible to drive through without a pit stop to stock up.”

An awkward silence stretched between them. Luke could feel Megan’s curious gaze bouncing between them like a tennis match.

“Right,” Luke said, just as Maybe-Aaron said, “Well…”

They both laughed, the sound strained. Maybe-Aaron ordered his coffee and a dozen treats to go, and Luke pretended to be fascinated by the art showcase from students at the local middle school until the bell chimed his departure.

“So,” Megan drawled, sliding Luke’s coffee across the counter. “Want to tell me about that?”

“Nothing to tell.” Luke took a long sip, savoring the bitter warmth. “Just someone I met at Murphy’s last weekend.”

“And he clearly made quite an impression since you can’t even remember his name.”

“Andrew,” Luke said confidently, then winced at Megan’s raised eyebrow. “Aaron? Adam?”

“You’re hopeless.” She braced her elbows on the counter, fixing him with what he called her “mom look.” “Would it kill you to actually get to know someone before jumping into bed with them?”

“Probably.” He picked at the cookie crumbs on his plate. “Besides, I’m too busy for anything serious. Speaking of which, Keaton’s got that big renovation project starting next week, and?—”

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 just happened to 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 having some downtime. 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 hobbies not to be 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 did not have 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 hung low 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 his father’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…”

“Whatever you’re about to say, the answer’s no.” Papers rustled in the background. “This is the biggest contract we’ve ever landed. If we pull it off?—”

“It could put us on the map,” Luke finished. “I know.”

What he knew was that Keaton would never be satisfied by how busy they were. He was bound to put himself into an early grave trying to live up to his old man’s reputation. He failed to realize they were already on the map because of the decades his dad spent building the contractor company he’d handed over to Keaton a few years back.

“Exactly. So whatever charity case Rachel’s trying to rope you into—because I know that’s what this is about—it’ll have to wait.”

Luke picked up a scrap of wood, turning it over in his hands. “You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“Don’t need to. I know you, and I know your sister. She finds strays. You fix them up.” Another pause. “Look, I get it. But we need this win, Luke.”

The wood grain blurred under Luke’s fingers. Keaton was right—this was their shot at moving beyond local renovations. Maybe even expanding beyond Maple Hill. The market for bigger jobs had been pretty dry, and it felt like every proposal their numbers guy, Finn, put together had been undercut by one of the bigger firms out of Afton. Maybe Keaton was right. They needed to score a home run on this project.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “You’re right. Luckily, she hasn’t even texted me the number yet.” Luke didn’t mention who she was trying to get him to help. Even though Keaton was Rachel and Megan’s age, Keaton and Luke had been friends since they were teenagers.

That meant Keaton knew way too much about Luke as the gangly younger brother who got caught checking out the guys his sister hung out with—Noah included. If he knew Luke was even entertaining the idea of helping the guy who’d been an integral part of his sexual awakening, he’d be insufferable.

“Good man.” Relief colored Keaton’s voice. “See you bright and early Monday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

The call ended, leaving Luke alone with the radio’s soft melody and the weight of responsibility settling between his shoulders. He should feel relieved—he had a legitimate reason to turn down what would clearly be a massive undertaking. The house needed more than a quick fix. It needed someone who could dedicate time and attention to bringing it back to life. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would have bought it in its current shape, thinking they could move in and then do the work.

So why did the thought of saying no leave him feeling hollow?

Luke moved to the workshop’s small window, where the last rays of sunlight painted the sky in shades of pink and gold. Across the street, the Peterson kids chased each other with water guns, their laughter carrying on the evening breeze. Their father stood on the porch, calling them in for dinner.

It was the kind of scene that made Luke love Maple Hill, even as most of his friends moved away, seeking bigger opportunities. Here, everyone knew everyone. They looked out for each other, fixed what was broken, and celebrated small victories.

His phone buzzed again—Rachel, this time, with Noah Thompson’s contact information and a string of grateful emoji. Luke stared at the message, thumb hovering over the screen.

The Tillerman project could change everything for the company. For him. It was the kind of opportunity he’d been working toward since joining Keaton’s crew straight out of high school. The smart move would be to focus entirely on that, to push aside any distractions.

But somewhere in town, a single father and his son were living in a house that needed more than just repairs. It needed someone who understood the importance of solid foundations, of making something old feel like home again.

Not sure when I’ll have time, but I’ll give him a call when I can.

It wasn’t the refusal he’d told Keaton he’d give. And he’d been honest with Rachel about it not being a priority. As far as he was concerned, that was a decent compromise.

You’re the best! He needs someone who won’t try to screw him over.

Luke tucked his phone away without responding. Monday would come soon enough, bringing with it deadlines and expectations and the weight of potential success. For now, he had a coffee table to finish, wood grain waiting to tell its story under his hands.

The radio switched to an old Eagles song, Glenn Frey’s voice urging him to take it easy, and Luke smiled despite himself. Maybe Mrs. Chen was right. Some things were worth being a little wobbly for. Was he ready to find out what those things might be?