7. Caden
Caden
Maybe I shouldn’t have called the crew in.
No, screw that. It’s exactly what I should’ve done.
I spent my weekend working out, surfing, and attempting to relax, but the thought of losing my manager to something as trivial as a roof leak gnawed at me relentlessly.
Then there’s the fact that Good Grinds made a prestigious list, and as much as I loathe the attention, I also know it’s a public fuck you to my father who laughed in my face when I bought the place.
I’m not letting that slip away from me now.
So now I’m here, parked on the street in front of her house, holding a cup of coffee that’s gone cold. I need to go in there and break the news that I called the company for her, and they are on their way.
“Shit,” I mutter as a white work van with the blue logo I grew up seeing turns the corner, pulling up behind me.
Eddie is never early to a job. Is this karma for being a bulldozer over Fia’s life?
“Hey, man.” I jump out of my Jeep, jogging over to greet him as he rolls down the driver’s side window.
“Since when do you own a Victorian in the historic district?” he grumbles, cigarette teetering on his lips, a gas station cup of coffee balanced in the other hand.
Eddie is a bit rough around the edges, old enough to be my father, but a good honest guy.
He does what he says he’ll do, and that’s all I can ask for.
“It’s not mine, but I am responsible for this house.” The less detail the better, I don’t need Eddie’s crew reporting back to my father. He’d be up my ass on this.
Eddie continues to stare, his eyes boring into me, and I shrug nonchalantly.
“The owner is the manager of Good Grinds, and she’s in a bit of a situation.”
He laughs and shakes his head. I know what the bastard’s thinking.
“You said it was an emergency.” He ashes his cigarette out the window.
I blow out a sharp breath, gripping my car keys in my fist. “Let’s just say without her, my business would crumble, so yeah, this is an emergency.”
“Uh-huh.” Eddie smirks and I give no response. “You want us to start now?” He taps the side of the work van.
“Give me a few minutes actually.” I glance at the front door. “I need to let her know you’re here.”
Eddie sucks in a lungful of smoke. “Why do I get the feeling she has no idea we were coming?”
I turn away, unable to answer that because how do I explain my short fuse right now, my irritation that Fia’s pretending everything is fine when it’s not. That I lost sleep over this. That I want to shake her because she’s not thinking straight.
I can’t.
So I walk to the porch instead of explaining.
The door swings open before I can knock, and I’m met with Fia’s doe-eyed stare.
She’s in tiny cotton shorts and a thin tank top, hair thrown into a messy bun, no makeup on her face. A mug of coffee steams from her grip.
“What the heck are you doing here?” she rasps, peering past me at the quiet residential street.
“You never reached out to my guy,” I state.
Fia bats her long eyelashes. “I’m sorry, it’s a bit early and my boss is standing on my porch. I didn’t reach out to him . . . so you’re here?”
I bite my lip and lean on the open door. “Can I come in?”
She looks even more stunned, but moves aside.
It smells like oatmeal and coffee inside. Morning light shines through the front windows onto the oak wood floors that creak as I settle into the foyer.
Fia spins to face me, taking an exaggerated sip of her coffee. “I didn’t sleep much last night—can you just tell me what this is about?” She pops her hip as she stands awkwardly in front of me.
“I’m assuming you still have the leaks.” My voice comes out harsher than intended.
Fia rolls her eyes, so that’s a yes.
“I have my crew out front, the ones I told you would cut you a deal.”
Her eyes snap to mine, bewilderment on her face.
“They can start today.” I cross my arms, my green cotton shirt stretching across my shoulders. “They’ll work when you and Daisy aren’t here.”
Fia’s mouth hangs open, and I stare at her plump pink lips a second too long. She makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, but there’s no accompanying smile.
“Okay, hold on.” She taps her temple. “Let me get this straight. You scheduled work . . . for my house . . . without asking me?”
I can’t tell if she is elated or homicidal so I respond calmly.
“Correct.”
Daisy starts crying in the other room. Fia inhales sharply and turns on her heel, marching down the hall, leaving me there alone.
I follow her slowly as she picks up her daughter out of the playpen in the living room and hands her a sippy cup. I try not to look at the way Fia’s shirt rides up, exposing way more of her skin than I was prepared to see this morning. She’s oblivious to it.
“Why the hell . . .” she begins muttering. “What gave you the right? You can’t just do that, Caden.”
“Listen, it’s already done.”
Fia starts to fuss with an insulated lunch pail on the counter, adding packaged snacks to it. She snaps her head up as I stand there leaning against the kitchen wall.
“I’m sorry, but I tried to make it very clear that I don’t have the money. Thank you, but please tell them to leave.” She opens the refrigerator and grabs something out, balancing Daisy on her hip. The toddler twists in her mother’s arms and smiles at me. She really is a cute kid.
“Like I said, it’s taken care of.” I push myself up—ready to leave, ready to be done conversing.
“What’s that even mean?” She stops moving about the kitchen and stares at me. “Like, you paid for it in advance?” She asks like it’s the most absurd thing to ever come out of her mouth.
“Yes.” I stand very still now, shoulders clenched, brows raised.
I actually paid a bit more just to get Eddie out here early this morning, but that’s not her concern.
“So, we good then?” I ask, about to turn and leave.
“No!” she spits out, dropping her head. “You shouldn’t have done that. I can’t . . . I can’t pay you back. I was planning on texting your guy”—she rolls her eyes as she says it—“but because of my age and student loan debt, I couldn’t secure a loan.”
My heart squeezes uncomfortably as she continues to avoid my eyes. The last thing I wanted to do was make her feel incompetent or incapable—two things I think she’s quite the opposite of.
“Okay, listen.” I exhale, and she reluctantly looks at me. “If the money part bothers you, just think of it as a bonus for how much growth you’ve brought to Good Grinds.”
Her lips twist, and she fusses with Daisy’s curls. “But to be clear, it’s not a bonus, it’s a twelve thousand dollar loan?”
Something like that.
I shrug. “Yeah, sure, however you want to look at it.” But I can see she still needs convincing. I make a show of looking at my watch. “Do you want a fixed roof or not?”
“How did you get this company to come so quickly?” Fia narrows her green eyes. “You’re not connected to the mob or something, right? Because I really don’t want to be involved in that.”
I restrain myself from laughing.
“If I was in the mob, do you really think I would tell you?” I smirk.
Fia turns bright red.
“You read too many books. No, Fia, I’m not in the mob. It’s my family’s company.”
She nods slowly. “So, what, your dad owns a roofing company?”
“Brooks & Sons is my father’s construction business . . .” I steel myself, the familiar discomfort creeping in anytime I have to talk about the family business. “They do a bit of everything. And as much as it kills me to say it, they are the best in all of coastal Carolina.”
“That tracks.”
I know what she means, because I’m used to it.
They see my last name, and they think they know everything. The rich boy with daddy’s money. Parents who accumulated a lot of wealth and like to show it. It’s not me, I’m not them, but I’ve grown tired of trying to convince people otherwise.
“Alright, clearly I made a bad judgement call. I’ll go tell them to leave, jobs off,” I reply and turn on my heel. I make it halfway to the front door before Fia rushes after me, breathless.
I turn around, brows lifted as she reaches towards me, like she wants to grab hold of me, but she pulls back at the last second.
“No—wait.” She huffs and grimaces, fist against her forehead. “Okay. As a loan, which I will pay back, I accept it.”
I walk to the door and release a heavy sigh. “Good choice, Hanson.”
I’d just cracked open a cold beer and finished mounting an additional rack in the garage for my new surfboard when my phone rings. Groaning, I reach for it. After this morning, I was looking forward to spending the day at home, alone, unboxing my board, and avoiding everyone.
When I see it’s Eddie though, I pick up.
“Hey, man, what’s up?” I ask, leaning over my workbench, putting my tools away.
I gave him clear instructions to call me first with the assessment of the house. My only goal is to save Fia from any additional stress. I haven’t even told her about being named in Wilmington’s top ten—or how I need her to handle the interview.
One thing at a time.
“You’re lucky you got deep pockets, kid.” He lets out a gruff laugh, and I stop fidgeting with my tools.
“Fuck. Lay it on me.” I cross the concrete garage, taking a swig of beer. Probably gonna need another after this phone call.
“We found all the original leak spots,” Eddie says, then the pause. “We’re gonna have to gut the attic. That’s the easy part.”
I shut my eyes. I was not expecting a gut job.
“The bad news—there’s a lot of black mold on the second-floor ceiling.
Looks new though, and it’s not everywhere, but it’s enough that no one can live in the house while we clear it out.
We sealed it up temporarily, but she’s going to need to move in a couple days so we can bring in a mold remediation team. ”
I drop my head into my fist. Well, fuck me.
“Okay, so how long are we talking for the whole job?”
He’s quiet for too long. I don’t like it.
“Probably six weeks,” he says.
I lean my head back against the wall.
“They’ll have to remove insulation,” Eddie continues with a heavy sigh, “re-drywall, probably treat vents, then we can build the new roof. It’s a big job. We’re looking at doubling the initial cost.”
“Alright, I’ll make the calls to the remediation team.” There goes my free afternoon.
Minutes later, I’m hunched over my kitchen island, with my laptop open and another beer in hand. I make more calls and send a few emails. I started this mess, so I’ve got to see it through.
One thing’s clear—I’m not telling Fia about the cost doubling. The money’s not a worry for me, it’s a way to secure my business. A necessary cost. But she doesn’t need to know nor stress about it. As far as she’s concerned, no matter what happens, she only needs to repay twelve thousand dollars.
I can’t imagine Fia’s going to react well to the mold or to learning she has to move out for six weeks . . . but I need her more than I care to admit. Though she has family in the area, I’m not sure she can go stay with them.
Dropping my head in my hands I stare at my phone screen, my stomach tight.
I had to bulldoze, didn’t I?
I shoot my best friend, Matt, a text.
Caden: Hey, is that apartment beside you still for rent?
I empty my beer and glance out at the pool in my backyard. How I’d love to just throw my phone in there.
Matt: No, man, sorry, someone moved in last week. You looking for something?
Caden: Just helping out an employee, need a short-term rental close to the shop.
She’ll need to walk, considering she has a car she doesn’t drive.
Matt: Damn . . . might be rough since it’s summer. All the good places are rented out, even my vacation rentals are booked solid til October.
He’s right.
Needing to clear my head, I drop my phone on the kitchen island, and step outside. I promptly strip down to my shorts and jump in the pool. The sun is blazing, but the water’s cool, and I float for a minute, wondering how the hell I’m going to fix this.
Then I look towards the back of the property, and my stomach does a little flip.
The new addition to my property sits untouched—a guesthouse I built for resale value. It’s clean and has a private entrance, a stone path to the driveway, and a fully stocked kitchen.
“Shit,” I groan, swimming up to the side of the pool. I run my hand through my wet locks and rest my elbows on the concrete, staring at the pristine white cottage.
She’s going to hate the idea. And she’ll have to get new tires so she can drive to work . . . but it might just be the only solution.