Chapter 4
DEVON
The closer we get to my house, the more nervous I am.
I’m not ashamed I live in what amounts to a construction zone. And I’m proud of the improvements I’ve made so far. But I am aware of how it looks. The house and yard need a lot of work.
“I hope you have an open mind,” I say as I make the turn onto my street.
“About?”
“The mess you’re about to walk into.” I shoot her a smile as I slow down.
“I’ve barely started. The kitchen and family room are finished.
One bathroom and two bedrooms are useable but the rest…
yeah, the rest is a mess.” I don’t mention one of the bedrooms needs a second coat of paint and only has a blowup mattress in it.
“I’m not here to judge you. How could I when I just ran away from my own wedding? Talk about a mess.” She laughs, but there is little humor in it.
“True. Although your reasons for running are valid.”
“As are yours.”
I can’t argue. With working at Boyd’s and doing the renovations myself—except when I can convince my brothers to pitch in—this place is taking longer than any other I’ve turned over. Especially seeing how both my brothers have had their spare time taken up in recent months.
Not that I begrudge either of them for that.
Or dislike Livi or Lexi for monopolizing their time.
I’m thrilled to see Carter and Garrett so happy and in love.
And honestly, I’m a little in love with their girlfriends too.
Both are genuinely nice and treat my brothers like equals when they could easily look down their noses at our working-class background.
Like the pompous prick Elizabeth was supposed to marry.
In fact, when I think about it, Elizabeth is nothing like him either. It’s one of the reasons I didn’t understand why she was marrying him. Although, before tonight most of my knowledge of her fiancé came from Livi and Lexi, a little from my brothers.
“Okay, remember I warned you,” I say when I turn into the driveway and inch the car through the broken gates. I make a mental note to get those fixed sooner than later.
“Oh!” Her gasp of surprise swings my head toward her. She’s smiling at the eyesore in front of us. “It’s beautiful,” she says, her voice soft and dripping with awe.
Her eyes are bouncing around as she leans forward, taking everything in, and her smile stretches wider. Her actions tell me her words aren’t said to humor me.
Taking my foot completely off the accelerator, my gaze moves back to the windshield and house in front of us. I try to see it through her eyes, not the eyes of a builder who knows how much is wrong with it.
The Victorian beauty has seen better days and it’s going to be a struggle getting her back to her former glory. But I’ll do it. “She’s not quite there yet. But she will be.”
“No. She is now. It’s like standing in front of a movie icon from the 60s. The beauty is still there. It’s in the wrinkles and age, all the stories written during a long life. The stories yet to come.”
I love that she can see what I did when I first found this place. She might have been appalled at the idea of breaking things earlier, but I hope she’ll be open to it now.
When I pull to the side and stop under the makeshift carport I erected for my car and bike because the triple garage is filled with building supplies and tools, she hops out and walks to stand on the path in front of the house.
Taking my time, I lock the car and walk over to stand beside her.
We’re quiet. Both looking at my rundown house.
It amazes me how I’m able to see visions of what something like this can become.
I hope Elizabeth can do the same, but even if she can’t, her fascination with the property is obvious and makes me smile.
“C’mon, let’s go inside.” I lead the way up the cracked and crumbling path, ignore the overgrown flower beds on either side of the stairs and make it to the porch only to find she hasn’t followed me. “Are you coming?”
“Yes. I just want to take it all in.” She grins. “I can see ladies in their Sunday finery sitting at a wrought iron table sipping tea from delicate china cups over there.” She points to the end of the porch away from the door.
“The research I’ve found on the place revealed a wealthy family commissioned the build and owned it for most of its life.
” I look up above the door where the name of the house is proudly displayed in a red and gold stained glass window.
“The last ancestor died over a decade ago and the person who bought it wanted to develop the site. Luckily a local historical group was able to stop the demolition. But unfortunately Marigold has been neglected since then.”
“Do you have to renovate a certain way?”
“Yes and no. I’m able to do whatever inside. I only need to keep the outside as it would have been when it was built in the 1800s.”
“Good. The outside is glorious; it would be a shame to change any of it.” She finally takes a step toward me. “Are you modernizing the inside?”
“Just the plumbing and electricals, kitchen appliances, heating, cooling. Everything else I’m trying to refurbish or replace with replicas.” I smile sheepishly. “Some of the reproduction pieces I’m doing by hand myself.”
“It must be so satisfying to restore something like this.”
“It is. It’s also a huge learning curve, and a challenge I hadn’t anticipated.
Although I like what I’ve done before.” I unlock the door and push it wide.
Motion for her to go in ahead of me. “Flipping newer properties has its challenges as well, but this old girl, she’s complicated and captivating in ways I never expected. ”
“Will you sell once you’re done?”
The answer to her question should be a simple yes. It’s what I’ve done up until now. Unfortunately, the longer I spend inside these walls, the more I want to stay. “I’m not sure yet.”
She grins at me. “You’ve connected with the place.”
Nodding, I close the door and step past her. “I have. I think I did the minute I saw it hidden behind a decade of grime and ivy.”
“I can see you living here.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You barely know me.”
“I know.” Her smile is a little wobbly. “But I can see you coming down those stairs just the same.”
She’s not the only one who’s had visions of this being my home. Her insight is a bit unsettling, if I’m honest. And it brings me to a question that has been rolling around in my head since she told me what she overheard at her failed wedding.
“How come you didn’t suspect your ex was gay?”
“Good question.” She frowns, her gaze moving over the in-need-of-TLC timber floors beneath our feet. “I guess I didn’t want to see it. He was a means to an end for me. Get married, Grandfather hands over control of the company to me and Edward.”
“Why doesn’t he hand it over now? You work there, right?”
“Yes.”
“Always?”
“Yes, right out of uni with my newly printed degree in finance.” Her frown deepens. “Is it bad that the CFO hates math?”
A burst of laughter flies out my mouth before I can choke it down. “You don’t like math?”
Now she’s scowling at the floor. “No. I’m good at it. Not that being good with numbers makes me like them.”
She seems more upset by that revelation than she was when she told me about her groom getting his dick sucked by the best man. Time to let some of that emotion out.
“Let me show you the formal dining and living spaces I want to open up by knocking down the wall between them.”
“Is that what you meant when you said I could break something?”
“Yes.” Putting a hand on her lower back, I urge her deeper into the house. I’ve got everything ready to go to remove the wall. “How’re your arm muscles?”
If she’s up for it, I’ll let her swing a sledgehammer all night or until the last piece of drywall and stud are down. Whichever comes first.