Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Construction workers hammered away in the back room, and her head pounded along with every stroke.
For days she’d listened to the same tune—the whine of the saw and the constant whirr of drills.
But there was progress. At least she assumed it was progress.
She supposed it was one of those instances where things had to look worse before they could look better.
The wood floor was covered with drop cloths, and ladders and tools and sawhorses were spread throughout like an obstacle course.
They’d built a wall between the reception area and the studio space, and they were putting up two more walls in the far back corner where her small office would be.
The original hardwood floors would be refinished at the very end, once everything was painted and the dust had settled.
She’d need to hire a receptionist part-time—that was already on her long list of things to do before opening day.
But the most pressing task was putting together the big desk that would be a permanent fixture in the reception area.
If she ever managed to get it assembled.
She was starting to regret telling the delivery man that she could do it herself.
She’d wanted to have a hand in the building of her studio, and this was her way of contributing.
The only problem was it didn’t look like all the instructions had been included in the box, and some of the hardware seemed to be missing.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” she mumbled under her breath, staring at the diagram that made no sense whatsoever. She looked up guiltily when someone knocked on her front door.
Hank O’Hara stood on the other side of the glass, a friendly grin on his face.
She left the pieces of desk and scattered tools on the floor, wiped her dusty palms on her jeans, and went to answer the door.
She stepped back to let him inside and the cool breeze from outside felt good against her gritty skin, the fresh air a relief from the dust she’d been breathing all morning.
“Hey, Marnie, just came to check on the progress and make sure everything’s on schedule.” He looked around with a carpenter’s eye and nodded his head in satisfaction. “It’s really starting to shape up.”
Hank had always been patient and kind, but there was no question that he was the boss when it came to his crews. He had the height of the O’Haras, with sandy-blond hair and green eyes the color of antique glass.
“I think it’s going well,” she answered. “I’ll probably be done putting this desk together by the time we’re ready to open.” She winced and then added, “Maybe. If I’m lucky.”
He grimaced and surveyed the mess she’d made of things on the floor.
“I’ve put that particular desk together before.
Couple of times, actually. Half the instructions are always missing and some of the hardware never makes it into the box.
I’m supposed to meet Sophie for lunch, but she’s stuck at the bookstore with customers for the moment, so I’m at loose ends. ”
Sophie was his wife, and she owned the little bookshop a few doors down. Marnie had already stopped in twice, unable to resist the cozy space with its overstuffed chairs and the smell of old paper and fresh coffee.
“Why don’t we make a trade,” he said. “I’ll put together this desk for you and you can hang your sign.”
He held up the hand-carved wooden sign that said Whitlock Photography etched on each side, the letters elegant and professional.
“Oh, it’s finished,” she said, genuinely surprised. Excitement thrummed inside her. It was really starting to feel real. She was back and she was opening a business of her own. “It’s beautiful. Just how I envisioned it. Thank you so much.”
She reached out to take it from him and gently traced the letters with her fingertip. All those years of running, of moving from place to place, of never putting down roots—and now here she was, about to hang a sign with her name on it in the town where she’d grown up.
“You’ve got a deal,” she said. “That beast of a desk is all yours.”
Her smile was relaxed and easy, and she realized that despite her fears about coming back to Laurel Valley, she was home. Good or bad. This was what home felt like. What she’d been missing all the years in between.
She grabbed the little ladder she’d propped against the wall and took it outside while Hank rolled up his sleeves and got to work on the desk. She would’ve felt him coming if she hadn’t been mentally cursing the little hook that refused to cooperate as she tried to hang the sign.
“Need some help?” a familiar voice said from below.
She let go of the sign to catch her balance and teetered back and forth, bumping her head on the wooden edge as it dangled from one hook and swayed precariously.
“Easy there,” Beckett said, his voice calm and steady. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay. I wasn’t paying attention.”
She looked down at his hands steadying the ladder and then took a deep breath before finally meeting his eyes. She couldn’t hold his gaze for long—there was too much between them, too much history and heartache—but she did it. Then she focused on climbing down so she could be on solid ground.
He looked good. That was all she could think as her brain struggled to catch up with reality.
He’d grown from the lanky, fit teenager she remembered into a man who looked like he’d earned his muscles from hard work instead of the inside of a gym.
A soft blue shirt stretched across broad shoulders and he wore a darker blue flannel over it like a jacket.
His jeans were worn at the knees and his boots had seen better days.
His hair was gilded at the tips from the sun, the waves unruly and a little bit long, like he’d missed his last few haircuts.
His face was bronzed and little lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes when he smiled—smile lines, her mother would have called them.
There was a small white scar at his chin that hadn’t been there when she’d known him before.
She wondered how he’d gotten it. Wondered about all the years and all the things she’d missed.
“I heard you were back in town,” he said.
She rolled her eyes before she could help herself. “You and everyone else. Lila Rose spread the news faster than wildfire.”
He smiled, and something warm unfurled in her chest at the sight of it. “My daddy always used to say find what you’re good at and stick with it. At least she’s consistent. News like that is what keeps this town going.”
“I know,” she said. “I haven’t been gone that long. And I witnessed your little showdown with Hazel the other day. I guess I should probably thank you for taking some of the attention away from me.”
He winced and she could feel the turmoil inside him without even trying. Beckett had never liked for anyone to hurt or be hurt, even when they deserved it. She immediately regretted bringing it up.
“She’s got too much pride and doesn’t like to lose,” he said, shaking his head. “And she’s vindictive on top of it. Not a good combination. But my reputation will weather the storm. She’s going to have to live with that little stunt for the rest of her life.”
Marnie almost asked him what he’d seen in Hazel in the first place, but she caught herself and took a step back. It wasn’t any of her business what he did in his personal life. She’d given up that right fifteen years ago when she’d climbed into that social services van and never looked back.
* * *
It was different seeing her up close and in person rather than from the pictures he’d found on the internet over the years.
The pictures didn’t show that she was just a little too thin.
Or that when she let down her guard, sadness and defeat crept into her eyes like shadows at dusk.
He’d known her as a child and a teenager.
And even though he hadn’t understood the abuse or the kind of nightmare she’d been living, she’d still had that solid core of spine and determination that had been part of her appeal.
That quiet strength that had drawn him to her in the first place.
Now she just looked tired. Worn down in ways that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion.
He’d never gotten over what had happened fifteen years ago.
From their first kiss on the Ferris wheel, to the moment he’d watched Harley drag her away, to the second he’d gotten the news that the truck had been found burned to a crisp at the bottom of Hollow Gorge with two bodies inside.
He’d been physically sick at the thought of what she must have endured before social services came for her.
At the thought that he hadn’t been able to protect her.
And now that he was looking at her again, face-to-face, all he wanted was to hold her close and make the sadness disappear.
He wanted her trust and a second chance at what they’d started so long ago.
But he wouldn’t push her. She looked like a trapped animal, her eyes wide and her stance angled back, already looking for an escape route.
The first order of business was to get her to trust him again.
“Are you going to let me help you with your sign?” He asked, “Or are you going to be stubborn about it?”
“I can do it,” she said, her back stiffening.
“I know you can do it. But sometimes it’s nice to accept help when it’s offered. It’s called being neighborly.”
She stared at him for a few seconds, something flickering behind those dark eyes. Then she stepped out of the way. “I wouldn’t want to be accused of being unneighborly.”
“Can’t say I blame you,” he said, climbing onto the ladder and bending the hook just a little so it fit the bracket better. “You think Lila’s talking about you now, just wait until she hears about that.”