CHAPTER 6
Hudson could usually tell whether a client was going to be a pain in the ass in the first five minutes of meeting them, and Patrick “tech dudebro” Ayres was definitely leaning that way.
Still, it would be a big job and would break in Hudson’s new general contractor’s license. So far, he’d only used it for a relatively small job, adding a room to the Sawyers’ house, close to the school. It had been a good test run, but he’d gotten the license so he could sink his teeth into bigger jobs.
There was more money coming into the island. While he still had mixed feelings about that, there was no ignoring the way that people from Seattle, especially, were flocking to Marre, eager to make it a new Whidbey. That meant lots of remodels, rebuilds, even new housing. He knew the island better than any contractor who could be brought in. While it was always the client’s choice, he hoped that he could maybe guide things so that they weren’t building anything too monstrously gaudy, destroying the quirky local color the island had had for years.
“Great house, isn’t it?”
Hudson nodded. “Gorgeous,” he said, and meant it. Now that he was inside, he could see the details he’d wondered about. Intricate crown molding topped each room, details around the doorframes. Even parquet flooring in a herringbone pattern, scuffed though it was. He only got a glimpse of the ornate fireplace mantel.
“I want to keep it authentic, if I can,” Patrick said. “I was lucky enough to cash out with our IPO, and that money let me buy this place, among other things. For me, it’s more important to do it right than to cheap out, you know?”
Well, Hudson thought, that was encouraging, at least. He valued people who valued history and wanted to preserve it.
“Well, mostly authentic,” Patrick amended as they walked down the dark hallway to the kitchen. “Some of the stuff’s too over the top and will need to be replaced, and it’s not like we’re in a period piece, you know? I have to live here.”
He chuckled, and Hudson shifted back to his original thought but held his tongue and opened his leather portfolio, getting his pen out and clicking it open. “So, first things—”
Patrick dove in. “I want a full kitchen remodel. I like cooking, it’s a passion of mine, and I can’t do that here as is. I mean, look at this stove. It’s an antique .”
Hudson couldn’t stop staring. It was an antique, actually, and a gorgeous one.
“I can’t imagine what the oven temperature’s like,” Patrick continued, “much less the heat consistency on the burners, and it’ll be impossible to clean. I’m surprised the fridge doesn’t use actual ice blocks, you know?”
He laughed at his own joke, and Hudson humored him with a smile even as he took in every detail. If they were still in working order, those appliances could be sold for a mint.
“Think they’ll fit in the dumpster?”
Hudson’s gaze spun to him. Was this guy kidding? But Patrick had stopped joking. Instead, he seemed to be mentally measuring the pieces.
“I want all new cabinets. Custom. New appliances,” Patrick said, warming up to the topic. “Flooring ... travertine, probably. Just that one poky old sink? Yeah, that’s not going to work. And the window’s way too small ...”
“All right, I need to stop you for a sec,” Hudson said, finally getting a word in edgewise. “Everything you’re talking about? Is doable. No problem. But we need to get some details down first, okay?”
Patrick looked faintly irritated. “I know what I want, though.”
“That’s great,” Hudson said, employing the charm he was famed for. “Trust me, it makes a difference to have a client that’s not wishy-washy. But I don’t know what you want, and there’s kind of an order that will make that easier. Can I ask you some questions?”
Mollified, Patrick leaned against the countertop, nodding and taking the semicompliment.
“Starting with appliances: You know what you want? Specifically?” Hudson asked.
“A six-burner stove, easily,” Patrick replied.
Hudson nodded. “Brand? Model number?”
Patrick blinked. “I’m just getting a bid from you, right?” he said. “Does it matter?”
Hudson had been ready for this. “Kinda, yeah,” he said. “Because everything else is going to hinge on that. You want custom cabinets? It’s easier to build around the appliances than try to fix and accommodate because we didn’t get the measurements right. Also, it will impact the bid.”
“I thought you’d offer me a selection,” Patrick said with a sniff.
“I can do that,” Hudson said, quickly telling himself that he’d add an asshole tax to this particular bid. “Six-burner, you said?”
From there, they hashed out the details. Complete gutting of the existing cabinetry, something that broke Hudson’s heart a little, because while they were battered and could use some refreshing—new paint, or if he had his way, maybe just treating the natural wood—the cabinets were period authentic to when the old mill owner Karl Bauer had built this house in the late 1800s. There was a pie safe and matching plate rack. The frame of the window was wide, ready to accommodate plants.
Yeah, if you liked to cook, you probably wanted something more modern. But ripping out everything and tossing it away—including the beadboard, to be replaced with some god-awful who-knew-what—just felt wrong. Also, if this guy did throw everything out, you could bet your ass Hudson was taking it. It was no different from his grandfather scooping up that clock at the garage sale from people who were tossing what they thought was junk. Just because Patrick couldn’t see the value didn’t mean Hudson was going to let this stuff get destroyed.
After a lot of measuring, a long punch list, and some notes about who he’d tap for the more important elements of the job, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll send along the bid with all your options,” Hudson said.
“I spoke with some other people on the island who said you would be perfect for this job,” Patrick said. “Which is good, because the last remodel I did cost way too much for what they did, in my opinion.”
Hudson mentally upped the asshole tax on this bid. If he didn’t love this house and didn’t want a new project so badly, he’d have walked by now with some polite excuse.
“That said, I do have some experience with remodels,” Patrick pointed out, his smile turning sharp. He shrugged. “So I know what it takes, and I know that it should be cheaper, seeing that you’re local and all.”
Hudson kept his temper, but his charm was starting to hit its limit. “You’re absolutely right,” he said, hoping his voice drawled out, calm and maybe a little amused. “Not only that, but I know the best electrician and plumber on the island, and if there’s a trade that isn’t available here, I know some great specialized contractors out of Tulalip and Mukilteo.”
“Not Seattle?”
Hudson shrugged. “These are people I trust, that I’ve worked with before.”
Patrick looked at him thoughtfully. “I’ll be honest—I also heard you were a handyman.”
Hudson’s charm slid, and his tone turned cool. “That a problem?”
“ And a licensed contractor?” The disbelief was clear.
“The general contractor license was recent,” Hudson admitted. “Feels like the island’s going to be in need of more of that kind of work.”
“Have you actually done any work?”
“I have helped organize projects,” Hudson said, feeling the back of his neck heat. It was worse knowing that Patrick wasn’t actually wrong. He didn’t have much experience, technically. Just because he knew he could do this didn’t mean that Patrick ought to take him on faith. “And I’ve built an addition, here on the island. I’ve got photos on my phone, or you could go see it—the Sawyers would probably love to give you a tour.”
“That’s not necessary.”
Hudson could tell from the pursing of his lips that he’d just fallen to the lowest tier of Patrick’s candidates and felt the muscles in his arms tense. He put the pen in the leather binder, then closed it with a snap.
“I’ll get you a bid by next week,” Hudson said.
“That’d be great.” Patrick’s smile was polite and broad. He shook his hand halfheartedly, though. “Looking forward to seeing the difference between local and offshore prices, honestly!”
Which felt like a message: if Hudson wanted this job, he’d better come in rock bottom. If Patrick had so much money that it “wasn’t an object,” why the hell would he want to cut corners on so gorgeous a house? In his favorite room? If he was passionate about cooking?
Hudson tried not to fume as he headed out to his truck, but he slammed the door with more force than necessary.
This had been a total waste of time. Even though he felt angry, what was worse, he felt that little sting of pain, heard that voice from his past, that was always, always triggered in these kinds of situations.
I didn’t want to stay stuck on this shitty island with a fucking handyman!
As he started the truck, he glanced over, across the street, to Willa’s relatively small farmhouse. Compared to the imposing Victorian, it was a happy pale buttercream and looked cozy and inviting.
Just as well he’d decided not to see her, he thought. Because today, if she was withdrawn or wary, he probably wouldn’t help the situation with his dark mood. He pulled out of the driveway and headed for home.