5 - Lauren
Lauren
If anyone told me even just a week ago that I'd be going out for breakfast with my real estate agent for fun, I probably would've straight up laughed.
The old me wouldn't even have considered it and in fact, up until my last text exchange with Clara from the night before, the current me wasn't considering it either.
But she'd been so helpful during this whole process, and it was now thanks to her recommendation that I had the best remodeling company in the city working on my house.
The least I could do was take her up on her offer to meet.
When I arrived at the spot wearing a midi skirt, chunky sweater and knee-highs, Clara waved me down the second she saw me. She looked different out of her work clothes, younger somehow. She had on flared yoga pants, an oversized blazer and baseball cap with small gold hoop earrings.
I felt awkward as I approached her table, nervously anticipating a hug. But instead, Clara simply put a hand on my shoulder before taking her seat again.
We played out idle, casual greetings before she asked how things were going with the renovation plans.
“Good,” I said honestly. After the walk through with the guys, I had to make arrangements for the separate, general inspection that would signal one of the last hurdles before the renovation could actually begin.
“I was sorry to hear about the drama with your plumbing,” Clara said, looking and sounding genuinely sympathetic. “The agent who handled this house before me swore up and down that he had everything checked before he retired.”
“It's okay,” I shrugged. “The guys from Cornerstone already managed to get it fixed.”
Clara beamed. “They're pretty good, huh? I've only heard fantastic things about them but I was curious about how you were getting along.”
I pressed my lips together, my fingers tapping on the table.
Despite it being the first thing that came to mind, I could hardly tell Clara that I found all three of the main crew members to be insanely hot.
Even if we'd been lifelong friends, I wasn't sure how much of that I’d be willing to admit to anyone…
Including myself when it came to a certain black-haired, leather-clad jackass.
“They're mostly very professional, especially the foreman. He seems very competent so I'm sure things will go well,” I told her diplomatically. “I have to thank you for the recommendation."
She looked happy with my answer. We chose some items off the menu and carried on with our conversation in between taking bites of pancake and scrambled eggs and maple bacon. Everything was so good.
Over the course of the meal, I learned a bit more about where Clara went to school, how she got into real estate and how long it took her to carve out a stable career to the point she could live off of it.
In return, I gave her the sanitized version of my own backstory, sharing how I got into photography and what made me move down to Chicago in the first place.
“A feeling?” she pressed in disbelief. “You packed your life into a few suitcases and moved out based on a feeling?”
“It's not like I had any real home before this,” I noted. “It wouldn't have taken much.”
“It's still brave of you,” she said, taking a sip of her mocha.
“Some might say stupid,” I replied.
“Yeah, some who are less brave.” The silence that dipped behind her words felt surprisingly comfortable. She pursed her lips. “I'd give anything to have that kind of courage, you know?"
“Are you thinking of moving out of Chicago?” I asked.
“Well, that wouldn't exactly be the most practical move, would it?” she said, her upbeat voice more subdued than usual. But then she quickly shook it off. “One day, maybe. I'd rather hear some more about the places you've traveled to.”
I wanted to tell her that it wasn't too late for her to be spontaneous, if that's what she wanted.
But I wasn't sure if we were quite on that level yet.
So instead, I told her about some of my favorite shoot locations and as I did, I realized that she may very well end up being my first friend here.
Was that weird at all? To befriend my real estate agent?
As the conversation wore on, it dawned on me that I didn't care if it was.
Clara was funny and easy to talk to. It felt nice to be seen and heard for the first time in a long time, to feel present. And I hoped that one day, I might return the favor.
*
“These floors have obviously lost load-bearing capacity.” The inspector, a broad-shouldered man with a salt-and-pepper buzz cut drew his nose up in open disapproval. He might have looked like an active high school sports coach if not for the noticeable gut overhanging his belt.
Any nerves that his words could’ve amplified were set at ease when Brock shook his head. “Yeah, and that matters only if the floor needed to meet the weight requirement to take a 30-ton pumper truck.”
The inspector scowled but checked something off on his clipboard hard enough for me to hear the pen.
This is what the entire inspection had been like so far; a push-and-pull between a man who clearly took his job too seriously, and one who was good enough at his own to know when that overzealousness would run the entire operation into stagnation.
Callum had quietly filled me in on how Brock was already not too fond of what he referred to as “DOB lackeys.” They tended to lean towards being as overly critical as possible for the sake of liability shielding, audits or sometimes just straight up reputation-building.
But Brock wasn't having any of it, skillfully rebutting every point of contention. I was confident enough in his capabilities that I stopped paying attention to him and the inspector and instead headed back to the engine bay, now more eager for the whole thing to be over with than nervous.
Callum was there, staying to clear out the very last of the residual clutter. There were a few leftover vacuum tubes, cord spools and other miscellaneous garbage that hadn't been taken out yet.
“I'm pretty sure this responsibility doesn't fall on you,” I said, walking up to him. He turned to face me.
“This just makes things easier for when the real work begins,” he said simply, sharing another of his charming smiles. “I just figured I'd get a head start.”
“In that case, I'll help you,” I said, heading over to join him.
“You don't have to, Miss Lauren,” he started and I waved off his protests.
“You don't have to. This isn't part of your job description but it is my house and I want to help you,” I said.
He didn't look convinced but seemed to accept that he wasn't going to win this one. As we began to work together, I couldn't stave off my curiosity any longer.
“Hey, Callum? I've been meaning to ask you something,” I told him.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Brock has a very… mature work ethic for a man his age. I mean he's what, maybe thirty-three? He acts fifty. I don't know, I guess I just find it interesting,” I said. “Almost intimidating, really.”
Callum laughed and I felt a fluttering warmth in my belly. His laughter was almost melodious, the kind of honeyed baritone sound that felt like a Southern evening and made him look ten years younger.
“Well, he certainly had more than a few chances to practice and if you saw any of them, you'd be far less intimidated, trust me.”
There was no malice in what he was saying, just a simple statement rounded by the kind of fondness that suggested memories lay beneath it. We carried on for a few more seconds before I decided to just go for it and ask the question anyway.
“Like what?”
Callum's eyes shone with mirth like he'd just been waiting for me to ask.
“Brock and I once spent three days on a kitchen remodel, losing our minds over a single outlet that just wouldn't get any power. We traced every wire, tore out half a wall and were about five minutes away from giving up and calling an exorcist.”
I giggled, trying to picture these two tall, rough-hewn guys freaking out over a haunted power outlet.
“Hey, we were running on two hours of sleep a day and it was scary at the time,” Callum said defensively.
“I wasn't judging, don't worry,” I reassured him. “I was just admiring the diversity of solutions you were willing to consider.”
“We were desperate,” he admitted helplessly, shaking his head. “Imagine flipping a light on in the bathroom and a blender starts screaming in the kitchen.”
“The stuff of nightmares.” I tossed a wayward pipe over to the far wall. “So how did our fearless leader manage to solve the mystery?”
Callum suddenly looked sheepish, scratching the back of his head.
“We eventually figured out the previous owner wired the outlet to a light switch in the guest bathroom on the other side of the house. Brock was so mad he wanted to charge extra for the stress and waste of time alone but I thought it was kinda funny.”
“It is funny,” I laughed. “That must've been a while back, huh? I can't picture Brock Lawson now wanting to sue for being made to think a site was haunted. I thought he'd rather try and rush the ghost.”
“He probably would've still tried,” Callum admitted. “It wouldn't have been the first time.”
“Okay now this one you have to share.”
He told me more stories of the jobs they finished over the years they'd worked together, some so funny they made my stomach ache with laughter, others so disastrous I almost dropped whatever I was holding at the time.
But yet they'd never left a job incomplete. That was one thing that came through every single anecdote no matter the flavor. When Brock took on a project, he stuck with it.
Seeing the faith and trust Callum put in him set me at ease knowing my own house was in his hands, and I could feel the tension ease from my shoulders and neck as I continued to learn more about a history I hadn't been privy too.
But even between all that, I noticed that Rafe's name hadn't come up once.
“And what about Rafe?” I asked casually, trying to strain any unnecessary emotion from my voice. A look of surprise flashed over Callum's face.
“What about him?” he asked.
“Didn't sound like he was involved in many of your shenanigans,” I explained. “I thought he would've made at least one appearance by now.”
Callum chewed the inside of his cheek. “Well, he's new. Hasn't really been around long enough to join in on any of the fun just yet.”
I felt my brows knot together in a slight frown. “I thought you said you could vouch for him.”
“And I can. I've worked with him enough to know that he's good at what he does, he's just a bit… temperamental. My mom would've called him a man of many seasons,” he said.
“That's a very generous description,” I huffed.
Callum's eyes sparkled. “Who knows? This is the first major team project he's working on. Maybe this will turn out to be one for the history books, too.”
I hummed, not quite sure if I liked the sound of that. If that was true, it meant that, judging by their existing corpus, my time with Rafe and Cornerstone would either be categorized as something hilarious or a complete and utter catastrophe just barely weathered.
I didn't like my odds.
“I think I'm done here, Miss Wolfhaardt.”
The inspector's drawl came down the stairs and into the bay before I saw him and Brock take the turn. I barely registered that Rafe wasn't with them and knowing him, he was probably out playing hooky. I couldn't have cared any less, really. Not an iota, not a speck, not a jot.
Nope.
I put my hair up into a bun and placed my hands on my hips. “Did everything check out okay?”
“For the most part, yes.” The inspector squinted at his clipboard.
My eyes darted between him and Brock. “That doesn't sound too promising.”
“There are a couple of issues with the preliminary inspection, but it's nothing I didn't notice the first time and nothing I can't have fixed before we start building. You can rest easy.”
“Thank you!” I said, genuinely so grateful to hear the news but Brock “First-Names-Freak-Me-Out” Lawson looked so uncomfortable at the casualness of my tone that I redirected my happiness to Callum, opting for a high-five instead.
He didn't even hesitate.
“Now, I just want to put it out there that I probably could've strung up more red tape than I currently am. You have my good friend Clara Reyes to thank for that one,” the inspector said, his face softening for the first time during the entire day.
I couldn't hide my shock. Clara? She didn't mention knowing the inspector or that she'd even reached out to him.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He shrugged. “She gave me a call when she found out I was the one doing the inspection and said that I'd better pass this firehouse or else.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “So you probably owe her a box of chocolates or something. She's partial to Turkish delight.”
I didn’t quite know how to feel. I wasn't used to having people in my corner, let alone after such a short period of getting to know them. A soppier woman might've teared up but instead, I made a mental note to get those Turkish delights.
As I saw the men out of my place, the inspector turned to me. “You seem like a nice girl. I understand that most people get nervous about these things but I'll give you one last piece of advice; I'm not the one you have to worry about. Just keep that in mind, would you?”
I was about to push back on that but he simply gave me a small, dismissive wave and scuttled off to his truck. I was left standing in my now-empty driveway with a thousand questions and a frown. Why was everyone in this damn city so freaking cryptic?