Chapter 11
MAX
The new information I received from Avery makes me more frustrated than I was thirty minutes ago. How much have I invested in remodeling this building, only to have one space finished—and poorly at that? The fact that Avery had to spend her own money to renovate the commercial space also irks me.
I’ll have to find a way to reimburse her. But how do I do that without giving away my identity?
What’s the end goal on that aspect? Am I hoping to leave this town without anyone knowing my true identity? For some reason that feels like a bigger decision than my father’s proposal.
I have an urge to tell Avery who I am, but would that make whatever chemistry going on between us vanish? I don’t know if I’m ready to give that up.
Maybe it’s a fool’s venture to even encourage anything between us when I’ll have to leave soon, but I don’t want it to end. My biggest hope is that the embers I feel aren’t only on my end.
The next item on my list to is hire a contractor. From what Avery said, finding local builders might not be easy. I’ll have to try, though. Small towns prefer their own people for jobs like this.
I walk back down the sidewalk and cross the street to get to the diner. It’s my second time here, but I enjoyed the last meal. Most of the restaurants and food places aren’t open yet, but I’m interested to try them.
“Have a seat anywhere,” the woman behind the counter calls, juggling a few plates as she carries them to a table. She wasn’t here the last time I came in.
I slide onto one of the counter stools. I used to love these as a kid, but my parents rarely took us to places like this.
I grab a menu from the condiment holder and glance over the options.
“What will you be having?” the woman asks as she comes back. I glance up and catch her name tag—Gina.
“Eggs, toast, bacon, and some fruit, please.”
“Anything to drink?”
“Water is fine.”
She gives me a long look, and I laugh, setting the menu aside. “I’ve already had my coffee fix for the day.”
She frowns as she jots the order down on a pad of paper before turning to punch it into the computer. That seems redundant, but I’ve never worked in the restaurant industry.
The diner is busy, chatter filling the room along with the clinking of silverware and the occasional scraping of chairs against the tile floor.
Gina checks on an order with the cook, then makes her way back to me.
“What brings you to our little town?” she asks, a slight drawl in her voice.
“I’m here checking on some flats that aren’t finished yet,” I say, taking a sip of water.
“There are a lot of those at the southern end of town. I doubt you’ll be able to finish them to be usable until next year,” she says, handing me a glass of water.
I add a straw and stir the ice to help order my thoughts. “It’s better to get them done rather than leave them empty. Maybe a few of them would be ready toward the end of the summer.”
Gina raises an eyebrow. “You’d have to furnish them for rentals. It’s a lot of work.”
I study the woman, and there’s a flicker of something in her eyes. “It sounds like you’re the person I’ll need to come to when they’re finished. You can point me to all the right decor and furniture.”
She gives me a small smile, and I can see the small flattery has helped break whatever ice was between us before.
“I do have a lot of experience with decorating. All of this is my design,” she says, waving to the knickknacks all over the diner. “The building you’re talking about is owned by some big company who’ll charge a premium to live there. Do you know the owner?”
What do I say to that? “A bit. He was told things would be done soon, but plumbing, electrical—none of it’s finished.”
Gina leans in slightly. “That’s because someone hired Rusty Simms. He’s the laziest man on the planet. I hope the owner got proof of work before paying him.”
I frown. “From what I understand, the owner had a few people working under him. Seems like things didn’t get communicated properly.” I pause, then add, “Do you know any trustworthy contractors in town? My boss would like to get the project done right.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “Not anyone who’ll be available before summer.”
“What about subcontractors? Plumbing or heating on their own?”
It might not solve everything, but at least it would be a start. I did a fair amount of building as a teenager with Opa Vogel—but that was a long time ago, and I’m more than a little rusty now.
“Not that I can think of.”
Another server walks behind her and says, “What about Talia Bernsen?”
Gina turns with a frown. “What about Talia?”
“I thought she was taking over her father’s building company,” the woman says. Her nametag says Rainy. “Chances are, she might be open.”
A flicker of hope stirs in my chest at the suggestion, but Gina doesn’t look convinced.
“Talia? Good at building? She helped put in the counter here, and it’s still a little off.”
The other woman rolls her eyes. “Gina, she was twelve when that happened. And you’ve been too cheap to fix it ever since.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from reacting. The ease of the callout makes me wonder if they’re related or just that comfortable with each other.
“Where would I find her?” I ask, hoping to redirect things before it turns into a full-blown argument.
“Outside of town,” Rainy says, lifting a large tray of food. “Head left here and follow the main road up and over the hill. Knock on the lime-green house. You’ll find them there.”
Lime green isn’t a color I’d ever choose for an exterior, but right now, I’m not in a position to be picky. I just need someone who can get the job done.
“Thank you for the meal,” I say when I get the bill.
“Anytime, honey,” Gina says. “We’ll see you the next time you come in. Good luck with those apartments.”
I walk out of the diner and debate on whether I should walk or take the car to find this Talia.
Maybe I’m not used to driving as much because of the ease of transportation in New York, but I’d rather not have another gasoline problem.
And I need to decide how long I’m staying so I don’t have to keep extending the rental.
Across the street is a cluster of e-bikes, which I hadn’t noticed before. I cave and use a card for one since there’s no way to pay with cash.
There are a few large buildings and hotels along the ocean as I head out of town, and I keep an eye out for anything remotely green. Leave it to a small town to give directions based on landmarks. Then again…it works for me.
The road inclines, and I’m only part way up and breathing harder than I should be. The hill is extra steep, working the motor on the bike so much but getting me nowhere. I have to start pedaling when my momentum is on a backward drift, and I’m out of breath once I make it to the top.
I really need to get out of the office more when I get back to New York.
A little farther down, I spot the lime-green house.
It’s…a choice.
But right now, if she can fix what’s been done or not done, and do it right, that’s all that matters.
I park the bike on the grass and walk up the cement steps, noting the crumbling edges. Not exactly a glowing recommendation for a builder.
Then again, maybe the last thing she wants to do after work is fix her own place.
I knock.
Nothing.
I knock again.
The door finally swings open, and a balding man peers at me through narrowed eyes, as if he hasn’t adjusted to the daylight yet.
“We don’t accept solicitors,” he slurs.
“I’m looking for help with a building project. I was told to ask for Talia Bernsen?”
His nose scrunches, and he turns to yell into the house. “Talia! You got a date out here?”
I blink. “Not a date—someone from the diner—”
“Talia, better hurry before I run this one off too.”
I take a step back, nearly slipping on loose gravel.
“Go back to your chair, Pa,” a female voice calls.
The man disappears, and a petite blonde woman steps into the doorway, shutting the door so I can’t see behind her. There’s a streak of light-blue paint under one eye, and her overalls are covered in multicolored splatters. I wonder if she’s the one who painted the murals around town.
“You asked for me?” she says, one hand settling on her hip.
She reminds me a little of my sister, Georgina, when she doesn’t get what she wants and she’s ready to debate—or cry—for it.
“Yes. I need—” I stop myself before saying too much. “I was told you might be available to take on a project. Some unfinished apartments near the marina.”
She raises an eyebrow nearly to her hairline. “Someone in Penrose Beach recommended me?” she asks, tapping a finger against her chest.
“Yeah. I was at the diner. One server said you might be available since most contractors are booked. Rainy, I think it was?”
“Do you own the building?” she asks, tilting her head back to study me.
I’m not expecting that question, but I feel good about how I answer. “I’ve been asked to find someone to finish it. From what I understand, Rusty was supposed to handle it.”
She snorts. “You’re lucky he didn’t blow the place up instead of remodeling it.”
“That tracks with what I’ve seen so far.”
“I’m not your cheapest option,” she says bluntly.
“At this point, the priority is getting it done and done right.”
She studies me for a moment. “And you trust me to do that?”
“I’ve learned there are few reliable options in town,” I say. “Do you have time before The Season starts?”
She lets out another quick laugh. “You want it done in a matter of days? Good luck. There are, what? Eleven units left?”
I’m surprised she knows that much. “Ten and a half, and one finished one that needs some updates as well.”
“Best I can do is half by the end of summer.”
“Okay. And the rest?”
“That depends on how quickly you pay. If I’m not waiting months on suppliers, things move a lot faster.”
There’s a pause.
“Payment won’t be an issue.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, assessing. “When do you want me to start?”
“Tomorrow, if possible.”
She sighs, as if this isn’t a big deal to her, and yet, she’s lightly bouncing on her feet. “Eight a.m. I’ll bring the paperwork.”
“What kind of paperwork?”
“The kind that keeps me from getting sued. We’ve learned that lesson already.” She frowns, and I can tell there’s a story there.
I almost smile. “Sounds good.”
She gives a curt nod and then shuts the door.
Yeah. This is going to be interesting.