Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
JAMES
Five days later…
Randy gave me back the keys to my truck two days ago, again warning me that I should look into getting a new truck even if I planned on keeping my hunk of junk. For once, I didn’t immediately disagree.
It’d been five days since that day at the estate, and I still felt like a grade-A asshole. Jealousy had gotten the best of me, a shit day had gotten shittier, and my savior was the one person I envied for what she had that I didn’t.
I needed to apologize, but I lacked ideas on how to go about it.
Until this morning.
I was out in my workshop, a two-car garage attached to mine and Emelia’s home, when a box toppled off a shelf, spilling a bunch of little crystals all over the place.
Crouching down to pick up the mess, I looked at the shelving where I’d originally placed the box. I could have sworn I’d set it at the back of the shelf, and on top of another box, so why was it the only one lying spilled on the floor?
Shrugging off the sensation that something was at play, I began popping each piece into its box when it occurred to me. I’d seen these same crystals before.
And then I knew.
I had an apology to give, and a peace offering to deliver.
Grabbing the lot, I headed for the house. There had to be a pad of paper somewhere that was clean enough to write on.
MAGGIE
I arrived home to find a box on my front step.
“Odd, I don’t remember ordering anything,” I mumbled to myself, unlocking the front door, then stabbing at the packing tape with my keys. Dropping them in my purse, I opened the front door and walked in as I pulled the tabs apart.
Inside, I found a piece of folded paper, and beneath, crystals I’d only seen on the chandelier that hung in my foyer, the one I hadn’t yet begun looking to find replacement parts for.
What the hell?
Setting my purse on my makeshift workshop table in the foyer, I set the box next to it, then pulled the piece of paper out, only to find it was a note from some Jamie. And as I read, I began to understand who this Jamie person was.
Dear Maggie (I’m sorry, it’s the only name I have since it’s what your girlfriends called you),
I can’t begin to express how stupid and ashamed I feel for the way I conducted myself a few days ago.
Here you were, a helping hand on an otherwise shitty day, and I behaved like an ungrateful idiot. I’m sorry.
I was saving these crystals for a project I thought I’d be working on by now, but things fell through, and I thought you might have better use for them.
In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I know a thing or two about old homes.
I didn’t mean to behave as though you knew nothing or demean your intent with your own home.
Truly, it was none of my business. If you’re ever in the market for some tips and tricks, feel free to call.
Thanks for the rescue,
Jamie Sullivan
And right there, following his name, was a phone number.
For the first time since I’d kicked that condescending jerk out of my house, the residual anger that still simmered inside me whenever I thought of that altercation fully dissipated.
And as though she had a sixth sense, my phone vibrated in my purse. Pulling it out, Serena’s name popped up on my screen.
Serena: Did you call him? We discussed this. You need a restoration specialist, and you said so yourself that he’s the best you’ve seen so far.
Me: Not yet, but he left me something while we were out shopping.
Serena: He did?
Serena: What was it?
Then my phone began to vibrate in my hand.
“Giiirl!” she said as soon as I answered. “Spill.”
“Nothing to spill. He left me chandelier crystals. That’s it,” I explained.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“But you’re gonna call him, right?” I heard rustling in the back, some tinkling of dishes, and the whirring of the espresso machine and milk steamer.
“I will.”
“Like now, right?”
“Serena,” came out on a sigh. “Don’t tell Alice this because she’s gonna read more into it than she should, but he left me a note.”
“Get out!” She shushed someone in the background, and I could only imagine how flustered the person probably was right then. If they were a customer, I doubted they would have enjoyed being on the receiving end of her shush. “What did it say?”
“He apologized,” I told her. “The crystals are some kind of peace offering. He said something about how they’d be better used in my house since the project he’d wanted to use them for fell through.”
“That’s it?”
“Yup,” I popped the p.
“You’ve got to call him. Like now! Thank him, or something,” Serena stated, and added, “Thanks, enjoy!”
“I’ll call him,” I confirmed. “Today.”
“Good girl! Let me know how that goes. Bye!”
The woman had hung up long before I could return her farewell.
Yeah, in case you missed it, I’d been informed, by Alice no less, that my visitor from five days ago just so happened to be a restoration specialist if the magnetic decal on the side of his truck was anything to go by.
Leave it to Alice to take a snapshot of the damn thing and text it over. Of course, I’d only seen it later that evening, long after that stupid exchange.
Had she only texted, I would have simply let the information slide and never done anything about it, but then Alice mentioned it while she, Serena, and I had dinner together after our Friday shopping trip.
Next thing I knew, we were creeping on the man’s website, deeply absorbed in his portfolio, with pictures of very intricate and varied projects. And my stomach sank.
He’d been exactly what I’d been looking for, had the advanced degree of expertise, and experience that was needed to bring the original splendor of my Tudor back from the brink of death.
Now that he’d proved he wasn’t a total jackass (hey, even the nicest of people could be an asshole at times), I felt like maybe a second chance to start off on the right foot might be needed.
Between his gifting me the crystals, his apology, and explanation, I realized that I probably wouldn’t find any better anywhere else.
Was there another specialist out there? Sure. Could they do what Jamie Sullivan could do? I bet they could. But something in the pit of my stomach told me that he would be the man to give me what I wanted. Needed even.
With my resolve cemented, I grabbed my phone, fished out the contact I’d created for Cornerstone Revival Company, and hit call.