Fixed Up

Chapter One

As usual, at least these days, Jack arrived at the Barrow Brothers office first. Well, not first, but within a few seconds of his parents. “Nice to know some of us make a point of getting to work on time,” he said without any real bitterness.

“The honeymoon phase is meant to be enjoyed,” his mom said. “You’ll see, when it’s your turn to fall in love.”

He let out a dismissive sniff at the prospect. “Please don’t tell me I have to put up with this until everyone is actually married and honeymooned.”

His sister Maddie’s wedding was in the planning stages.

She’d been with Sy more than a year now.

And his other sister, Logan, had only recently settled into relationship bliss.

Marriage would probably happen eventually, but damn.

That was a long time to endure goofy grins and daydreaming on the job.

He was spared the knowing yet pitying smile his mother often gave him when he complained about such things by the arrival of both Maddie and Logan.

In reality, both remained perfectly responsible when it came to their work in the family business.

He considered it his brotherly prerogative to grumble—had since before he even understood he was trans—and at this point, it was sort of expected.

“Look who decided to join us,” he said on principle from his usual spot at the table, cup of coffee in hand.

He got little more than eye rolls in response. It was, after all, only 8:04.

Coats were hung and coffee poured. Computers booted up and planners opened. By ten after, the weekly meeting of the Barrow Brothers Construction brain trust was underway.

Dad ran through ongoing projects, and everyone gave their updates. Mom noted a few holes in the schedule and wondered if any soft inquiries regarding small jobs might be converted and squeezed in. At the unanimous murmurs of agreement, she said she’d make some calls.

Maddie raised her hand. “Is Rich going to do any work while he decides if he’s going to bother working anymore?”

Their uncle technically owned half of Barrow Brothers.

And while he’d spent most of the last twenty years or so as the face—and mouth—of the business rather than the crew, even that had gone out the window when he’d gone to a trade show in Florida, fallen in love, and decided to retire.

The specifics of how all that would play out remained to be seen, but he’d managed to throw everyone into a state in the meantime.

The whole thing had been going on for the better part of a year.

“He and Cherry are planning to be back in Vermont before the Burlington Home Show in April,” Mom said.

Jack shrugged. He didn’t put a lot of stock in flashy events like that, but they did matter, especially when it came to getting visibility and securing jobs in the neighboring towns.

And he’d rather poke himself in the eye with a voltage tester than stand around some booth and schmooze potential clients. “Better him than me.”

“Better them.” Mom grinned. “Cherry is going to help with the logistics and swears the two of them can manage the whole thing.”

Cherry, Rich’s fiancée, happened to be an event manager.

She’d turned out to be far more of a delight than anyone expected given Rich’s smarmy personality.

But the prospect of her jumping into Barrow Brothers operations implied a lot more than sharing a few hours of her time and expertise. He quirked a brow. “Win?”

“We shall see,” Mom said.

Everyone else nodded their noncommittal agreement.

“Oh, and one last thing. We got a call from the New England Historic Preservation Trust,” Mom said.

Eyebrows went up around the table.

“We did?” Maddie asked.

“They’re advising on the restoration of Hampstead House.”

Maddie’s eyes went up. “Holy shit. Do they want us involved on the project?”

Mom spared a token glare for the cussing, then said, “Not exactly.”

“It is a bit beyond our scope of expertise.” Logan, ever the magnanimous one, shrugged.

It was Maddie’s turn to glare.

“What? It is.” Logan folded her arms. “Not that I wouldn’t love to get my hands on a house that grand.”

It was grand. A mansion, even. Built in the mid-1800s by a Boston banker whose wife had wanted a more pastoral life.

It was a marvel at the time, one of the first houses in Vermont to have electricity.

Jack had vivid memories of taking a field trip to see it in the third grade.

It had fallen into disrepair when the owner died and there wasn’t a local historical society with the funds to purchase it.

“Well, someone with deep pockets has bought it. They’re renovating it to be a private residence but working with the Trust to preserve as much of the historical integrity as possible.”

A chorus of whistles and whispered wows went around the table.

“Did they call just to gloat?” Maddie asked.

Jack laughed. He might have the grumpy sibling reputation, but it was Maddie whose sarcasm could cut like a knife.

“No.” Mom’s stern expression left Maddie looking effectively cowed, but then her features softened, and she looked to Jack. “They need an electrician.”

“They do?” he asked, more than a little surprised.

“The one their project manager lined up fell through. And it seems you, my son, have a reputation.”

He did good work and took pride in it. But most of what he did fell squarely in the arena of what any licensed electrician could do.

Well, what he did on the clock. He did plenty of mad scientist stuff in his free time, but the only people who knew about his penchant for rewiring old appliances and electronics were the people who bought them. Or so he thought.

Getting to tackle the wiring of a historic mansion would be a bucket list thing—personally and professionally. Even without knowing the current state of things or the scope of the work needed, the prospect got his juices flowing.

“It’s an hour from here, though. Are you willing to take on that sort of commute for a month or more?”

It would make for long days, but he’d be hard-pressed to complain about the time to himself, with nothing but music or a podcast or perfect quiet to keep him company. “Sign me up.”

Mom smiled. “I already did.”

* * *

Ellie hadn’t gotten past the foyer but already had to remind herself not to gawk.

The intricately carved wood could use a good polish and some repair but looked magnificent nonetheless.

The wallpaper along the staircase had faded and begun to peel but didn’t seem beyond redemption.

Of course, all that was just basic appreciation.

The thing that really caught her eye—that literally made her heart flutter in her chest—was the mural.

It covered the wall to the right of the stairs, from where the wainscoting ended all the way to the ceiling.

The imagery was traditional for the time period the house was built.

The pastoral scene featured women in long dresses delicately arranged on blankets under a tree.

A couple of men joined them, and a few more sat on horseback nearby.

The colors had faded and yellowed through the years, but the heart of the work remained intact.

She couldn’t wait to get her hands on it.

Pablo, the project manager for the renovation and her tour guide for the initial walk-through, breezed into the adjoining room, so she cleared her throat and hurried along, only to find even larger and more exquisite murals in the dining room, sitting room, and study.

She’d seen pictures, but nothing digital and the size of a computer monitor could do justice to the real thing.

Even in their current state. She gestured to the hunting scene in front of her. “These are stunning.”

“Aren’t they just?” Pablo turned, arm swishing to the side with a level of flair Ellie couldn’t even pretend to possess. “The owner wants all of them saved, if possible.”

It would require closer investigation to understand the scope of the damage, the integrity of the plaster behind the still vibrant colors. “I’m certainly going to do my best.”

“She doesn’t want it to be like a museum, though. No plexiglass walls or climate-controlled boxes.”

Ellie couldn’t help but laugh. “If she did, I’d tell her she should be hiring someone far more qualified than me.”

Pablo mocked offense at the notion. “You are what she wants.”

And what she was willing to pay for. “She” being Beatrice Castleton, the eccentric pickle heiress who’d bought Hampstead House and wanted to preserve it.

But also renovate it. And also live in it.

Ellie had yet to meet the woman, but something told her she should be grateful for the buffer of a project manager.

Especially since part of her contract included staying in the servant’s quarters tucked at the back of the house.

“Well, I’m flattered, and I can’t wait to get to work. ”

“That’s what I like to hear, Ms. Lancaster.

” Pablo glanced at the iPad he carried like a security blanket.

“Water and heat are on, but only your room and the kitchen currently have electric. Those rooms were upgraded this century at least. Work lights and such for the rest of the house will run off the generator.”

She nodded. It was further into the weeds than she needed for the walk-through, but she’d take whatever she could get.

The more she knew, the easier it would be to work around the carpenters, plumbers, and electricians doing the rest of the work.

She’d learned the hard way many of them considered her work the frosting to their perfectly constructed cake.

Hell, one guy on a job in Worcester literally told her to “get out of the way, sprinkles.” Though, in hindsight, he might have been going for something crass that went over her head.

Fortunately, she didn’t anticipate crossing paths with him again.

“Will that work for you?” Pablo asked.

Crap. What had she just missed? “I’m sorry?”

“Oh, I was going over the schedule. You’re clear to move in whenever. I have a key for you. I think the electrician is coming sometime this week to do a walk-through of his own, but the rest of the crew won’t be onsite until next Tuesday.”

A full week away. A full week for her to get her bearings, prioritize her projects, and figure out how to work around dozens of gruff guys who wouldn’t take her seriously. “Sounds perfect.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to do your initial assessment by then? I know Bea is anxious about the state of things.” Pablo angled his head and gave her a once-over, like he was gauging her fortitude more than the reasonableness of his request.

“Absolutely. I may need to cut a couple of holes in walls to check the integrity of the plaster and lathe at the back. As long as you’re okay with that, I should have a complete report, with options and any additional budgetary considerations.” Ellie held her breath after the last bit.

Pablo tapped at his iPad and gave a brisk nod. “Of course. I’m not sure Bea will want to hash through specifics when she’s here, but if you send them to me, I can present them when she’s in a space to take it all in.”

Ellie nodded, again relieved that she’d be dealing primarily with Pablo.

She had experience with difficult and volatile people, not to mention a lifetime of experience shielding her mother from unnecessary stress.

But it would be nice to have Pablo running interference on the inevitable snags along the way and get to play artist instead of mediator. “I’ll plan to have that to you ASAP.”

They finished the tour of the main house and ended in the small room that would serve as her eating, living, and sleeping space for the next two months.

Modest, to be sure, but it had a tiny private bathroom attached and a big window that faced the backyard.

Considering she’d spent the decade after college living at home to help her mom manage living independently for as long as possible, having it all to herself felt almost magical.

“I’d forgotten how Spartan it is. Are you sure you want to stay here?” Pablo’s face made his opinion on the matter abundantly clear.

“It’s totally fine.” Especially considering she’d just gotten her mother moved into assisted living, sold her childhood home, and was technically otherwise homeless.

Pablo didn’t even pretend to hide his repulsion. “If you say so.”

“Some nice linens for the bed, a cute chair and rug.” It wasn’t hard to envision making it her own. “Trust me.”

“You’re the artist.” He flicked his wrist, and Ellie decided to take it as a vote of confidence rather than doubt.

“I most certainly am.”