Page 63 of Her Property

Her life coaching business, Full Heart Coaching, was doing great, with enough clients that she should be doing fine financially. But the brand new one-bedroom condo she’d bought earlier this year—a core component of her own Big Life Plan, which she always made her clients map out—came with a blisteringly expensive mortgage. And the ‘personal fulfilment’ part of that plan she insisted her clients budget for—theatre and museum tickets, lattes and dinners for one—came with a cost too.

Most of her clients knew that before becoming a life coach, Lucy had worked in a high-end decorating firm, until she discovered she preferred talking clients through life dilemmas over design ones. She used her personal story to demonstrate that the path to happiness wasn’t often a straight line. So when a beloved client Alfred Jones came to her out of the blue earlier this week asking her to step in as interior designer of his new lake house, she’d been curious, but not serious.

“I don’t do that anymore, Alfred,” she’d told him. She’d taken the call in the middle of a lunch meeting—not something she ever normally did, but her lunch mate, a potential new client who reeked of old family money and slimy self importance, was screaming into the phone at some minion of his, and had been for the past ten minutes.

“Lucy, I’m desperate,” Alfred had said. “This so-called top-notch designer abandoned the job without having so much as dropped by the site, and the project is only six weeks out from completion!”

“Did they say why?”

“Some harebrained excuse about their schedule—I think they decided they didn’t want to make the trip up to Jewel Lakes every week.”

Lucy loved Alfred. He was tough on the outside, but she knew from his coaching sessions how kind he actually was. But he was asking her to do a job she hadn’t done in years.

Still, for the briefest moment, Lucy had let herself daydream about what it would be like to take the job. She still followed all her favorite blogs and social media accounts from when she was in the business. And knowing Alfred, her budget would be wide open.

But she shook the idea off as soon as she’d entertained it. She was far too involved with her life as it was now. “I’m sure I could provide you with some names.”

“I don’t want names, I want you! The build will grind to a halt while we wait for someone new. Please, Lucy. My contractor is top notch; a really down-to-earth guy. You’d have to move up here to get it all done before the build wraps up of course, but—”

“Alfred!” Lucy had said, shocked. On top of it all, he wanted her to stay up there, too?

“I know, it’s quite the ask. But that’s why I’d make it worth your while. All expenses paid plus $50,000 on completion.”

Lucy nearly spat out her water. Fiftythousanddollars? For six weeks of work?

That kind of money would cover an entireyearof mortgage payments. And logistically, it could work. Her job was portable, and her little sister Sadie would kill to move into Lucy's place as an apartment sitter. Sadie was a bit of a drama magnet and currently dealing with not only a complete dud of a boyfriend, but a challenging roommate situation in her Uptown shoebox apartment.

As Lucy sat there actually contemplating this wild idea, her potential client leaned over and slammed his fist down on the table, eliciting gasps from nearby diners.

“Idiots!” he shouted. “I should have known by their cheap off-the-rack suits!”

“I don’t know him,” she whispered apologetically, shifting in her own 100% off-the-rack suit she’d busted her budget to buy last month. She was met with skeptical raised eyebrows, because of course she was out for lunch with him.

You wouldn’t have to be if you took Alfred’s offer.

Lucy was the farthest thing from spontaneous. But she was always telling her clients not to let fear get in the way of opportunities.

“Are you on thephone?” her client said as he sat back down.

Lucy’s jaw dropped at the man’s hypocrisy. “Yes,” she said.

“Then get off!”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Lucy threw back. She promptly got up and stalked out of the restaurant to scattered applause.

“Lucy?” Alfred had said, confused.

“Yes, Alfred,” she said, before she could change her mind. “I’ll do it.”

Now that she was here, the facts she’d conveniently shoved onto the back burner when wooed by the big paycheck were coming in hard. She’d be spending six weeks in the country, dealing with construction workers.

She was going into her own personal lion’s den.

Lucy had grown up in a small town just like this. Her stepdad Stan, who was around until she was fourteen, had worked as a commercial plumber, and she’d forever associate contractors with guys like him. Loudmouthed, controlling jerks who didn’t leave any room for her to say anything. While she may have discovered her voice since then, she’d promised herself when she left Coombes she’d never go back to the country again.

But as Lucy took in Barkley Falls’ picturesque main street (called Main Street, naturally), she had to admit this place was a lot nicer than her hometown. Coombes was a mill town, where Barkley Falls’ bread and butter appeared to be tourism. Unless it was just being cute, if that was an economy. All the shops, with names like Aubrey’s or Debbie’s Place, were open to the unseasonably warm May afternoon, their little striped awnings casting shade over the cute bell-trimmed doors. Barrel gardens flanking doorways overflowed with lush spring blossoms. And the people on the sidewalk seemed to be a mix of New Yorkers on holiday and locals amicably chatting on street corners.

Lucy scowled. Just because it was cute, it didn’t mean the people here wouldn’t have the same small-town, closed minded mentality. They’d still know all your business, and on a construction site, all the dudes would still be men’s men, waiting for her to screw up. Waiting for her to blush bright red so they could laugh and point, like Stan’s crew used to do.

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