Chapter 26
THIS IS CRAZY. THIS IS SO STUPID.
BILLIE
When I get to Darcy’s, I’m still wound tight from yesterday’s meeting, but I manage to get myself into work mode once my meds and the caffeine kick in.
I’m on autopilot, going over the windows and doors with installers and listing a few materials I need to get here in the next few days. It’s the end of the day, so when we finish up, everyone takes off. Except me.
I head to my truck to drop off a few tools and change from work boots to flip flops, rolling up my jeans a little.
As I’m walking to the back deck, Darcy comes out with two glasses of ice water, setting them on the table. The sun is still high, but we’re in the shade, overlooking the water. It’s beautiful here. Peaceful and quiet. A total contrast to how I’ve been feeling inside.
“The window frames on the guesthouse look good. Seals are tight. We’ll be ready for interior work next week.” I give him my work smile as we both sit down. He greeted everyone when we got here, but didn’t hover after offering us all water or coffee.
Darcy is a great client. Neve has been saying as much since they started working together over a year ago.
She was the one to bring me onto this project as his interior designer, and as the one managing the project for him here since he lives in Toronto.
Neve and I have always agreed, when it comes to communicating with clients, it’s best to be consistent and concise.
That’s much easier when there are fewer people participating in the back-and-forth communications, so as the project manager, she’s always been the one to keep Darcy in the loop.
But now he’s here, and it’s equal parts wonderful and awful.
“That’s great. Thanks for working so hard to make this happen before the end of summer.” He takes his sunglasses off, propping them on his head where his wavy hair molds perfectly around the frame.
“Of course.” I pry my eyes away from his handsome face and change the topic to the marina project. “So, we need documentation that we can meet the environmental timeline. How can we prove six weeks is standard?”
“I reached out to the firm for a letter. Something showing examples of similar timelines.” He sits back in his chair, seeming entirely relaxed.
Makes sense, since it’s his house and all.
It’s nice to see him less tense than the last couple of times we’ve been around one another.
“Maybe I can get testimonials from some other towns who have done this kind of revitalization, too. I think we have the data we need. I just need to present it better.”
“Not better,” I reply automatically. “Differently. In a way that leaves no room for my dad or anyone else to poke holes in your research. It’s all there.
” My cheeks heat the longer I talk. I’m holding myself back from praising him too much because that could be misconstrued, but he deserves it.
“How do we show that storage units are a dead-end investment for the town? They don’t generate foot traffic and don’t support other businesses. ”
“Facts,” Darcy points at me. “I’ll run some numbers on the economic multiplier effect. Every tourist dollar spent has a ripple effect on the town, whereas every dollar spent at a storage unit goes straight into the pocket of whoever owns it.”
“Yes. We need to show them what a parking lot enables, not just what it is.” This feels good.
“And show projected revenue increase for existing shops to get them on board.” Darcy takes a few notes on his phone as we talk, and I’m so thankful for his foresight.
“Right. It’ll create an experience. More than a place to just put cars.” I want to add a snarky comment about the storage unit, but I leave it out. I don’t need to keep putting that shitty idea down to make ours sound better. It is better.
“And connection. Literal, since it’ll connect the marina to downtown, but also between the people and the local artisans and food producers.” He sticks out his tongue as he types, focusing on getting our ideas down.
When he stops and looks up at me, I don’t have time to straighten my head, which has fallen to the side, or to wipe the smile taking over my face. I’ve been caught.
“What’s that look for?” he asks, not letting me get away with it.
“Nothing, just… thanks. For not giving up on this.”
“I’m not giving up on anything.” His statement is loaded, and the little voice in my head telling me it’s about more than the project needs to shut up, so I straighten, pushing my chair back.
“I should get going. Lots to do.”
Darcy stands, walking around to the front of the house with me. Neither of us says anything until we’re on the driveway.
“See you at the next meeting, then?” My voice comes out too loud, too squeaky, too unnatural.
“Yeah. See you then.” He’s the picture of calm, with his hands in his pockets. He stays there as I get into my truck, turn it on, and drive away.
I’m a few minutes down the road, mind racing with every unsaid word between us, when I land on the question he asked me in Neve’s kitchen.
It’s an easy answer I haven’t allowed myself to voice.
The question is the same one I had when I decided not to continue with university years ago: “What do you actually want?”
Back then, I wanted to run an honest business, hire single moms and women who had been overlooked in the trades.
I wanted to give an opportunity to people who normally wouldn’t be given one.
My dad laughed at me then, saying I was delusional, dreaming of things that weren’t possible, and that would drive me and the business further into the ground.
I invested every penny I had saved up into building the business back up.
All while he continued to tell me I would fail.
I’ve made Cameron Construction more profitable than he was able to, and I think the fact I’ve succeeded at making this dream of mine come true pisses him off.
Not everyone can afford to chase dreams.
His words yesterday were meant to hurt, and they did. But I’m doing what I set out to do, aren’t I? And I’m doing okay. Better than he ever did.
I grip the truck’s steering wheel and do a U-turn in the middle of the empty road. “Fuck it.”
My heart is pounding so hard, it’s vibrating my ribcage. My fingers are cold, shaking, as the nerves settle in. “This is crazy. This is so stupid. This is—No! This is what I want, dammit.”
As I round the corner, putting me less than one kilometer away from Darcy’s place, fucking Tammy is standing in the middle of the road. Of course she is.
I stop the truck, honking, but the fat pig is unmoving. She doesn’t even flinch. I get out, slamming the door. “Are you kidding me right now?” I yell at the animal, walking closer, and still, no reaction. “Tammy, I swear to God—”
The pig takes off running directly through a mud puddle and heading straight for me.
“No, Tammy.” I stand with my arms straight out. “No, no, no!”
Too late. There’s mud everywhere because, by the time I’ve thought to run back to the truck, she’s already bumped into me and knocked me to the ground.
Tammy snorts as she walks into the open field, in the direction of the farm she came from. It sounds an awful lot like a laugh as she trots away proudly.
“Fuck you, Tammy,” I yell at her. After getting up and brushing my muddy hands on my equally muddy jeans, I get back in my truck. “I don’t care. I’m doing this,” I mutter, knowing I’m going to have to clean the inside of the truck yet again.
When I pull into Darcy’s driveway a little too quickly, he comes running from the back deck, where he must have been sitting.
As I close the driver’s door and stand next to my truck, though, he stops dead in his tracks.
Here I am, covered in mud, looking equal parts determined and ridiculous, with a side of cuckoo.
“Groundhog Day,” he says slowly.
“Yeah.” I take a step toward him on the front porch. “That’s what I want. I want it to be Groundhog Day.”