Page 12 of When It's Us
Both sides will end up being a complete gut job. Rotten subfloors in both bathrooms, crumbling porches, and outdated electrical made it a big job, but it’d bring him a nice profit when all was said and done.
There’s no shortage of Hayes land to build on, but when I asked Hales, she said she’d rather stay in town—for now. Hudson gave her a break on the rent, and when she’s ready, we can build her exactly what she wants.
I love designing from scratch and tailoring a home to the buyer. Still, there’s something just as rewarding about reworking an existing space—finding ways to make it functional without losing its character. You could call me a jack of all trades, but building is where my passion really lives. Still, I don’t mind putting my own spin on something old.
“Here you go, sugar,” Margo says, setting a plate stacked high with pancakes, eggs, bacon, and a side of fruit in front of me. “Can I get you anything else?”
“I’m good. Thanks,” I say.
My phone dings with an incoming text, and I pull it out, expecting another round of texts from my brothers. It’s actually one of my sub-contractors, Jason.
Some dumb shit backed into a foundation wall yesterday during backfill. Jason was supposed to get back to me on the timeline to repour that section. It’s a pain in my ass, and it’ll likely add aweek to the job, but thank fuck it wasn’t one of my guys who did it, so it won’t end up costing me anything more than time.
I quickly thank him for getting things squared away so quickly and exit our messages. That’s when I see one from my sister-in-law, Wrenley. It’s time-stamped from six this morning, before I woke up as the third in a hippie fuckfest.
Furrowing my brow, I click to open it, and I don’t have to wonder anymore why my brother was up my ass this morning.
Wren:Hey! Hope you’re having a great trip. Can I ask a favor?
Ginger
Threesharpknocksstartleme awake, and I jolt upright on the couch in my living room. With a wince, I rub at the crick in my neck.
A groggy glance around lets me know it’s morning. I fumble with the blankets in search of my phone when three more knocks sound.
“Holy shit, keep your pants on,” I mumble, wrestling my legs free from the blanket I’m tangled up in.
Pushing to my feet, nausea rolls through me, and my eyes take in the…one, two, three, four… Nope, five—one rolled under the table—empty beer bottles that contributed to me falling asleep on the couch, tilted at an awkward angle, where I slept all night.
I stumble to the entryway and flip the deadbolt before yanking the door open, squinting against the bright sunlight. It takes me a couple of seconds to register the dimple-faced, six-foot-six-inch, man-bun-wielding hunk of meat staring back at me.
What. The.Fuck?
“Morning, sunshine,” Hutch drawls with a grin, before dropping his gaze down my body. “To youandyour nipples.”
I’m suddenly aware I’m in nothing but a bralette, panties, and an open silk robe that hits me mid-thigh. I yank my robe closed with a little squeak. I’m sure my hair is a nightmare, too.
“What are you… Why are you…?” I stutter out as another wave of nausea threatens to empty my stomach.
Hutch looks amused and smug as ever when he speaks. “I texted you I’d be here at noon.”
Noon? It’s fuckingnoon?
Wait. I narrow my eyes at him.
“Texted?” I choke out.
“Mmhmm,” he hums, lifting one of the paper coffee cups in his hand to his mouth.
How does he even have my number? Unless… I am going tokillWrenley.
I run a hand down my face, then sigh, dropping my hand. “Why are you on my porch?” I ask in what sounds to my ears like a petulant whine. But I can’t seem to care because, my God, is my headpounding.
Hutch cocks an eyebrow at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You really don’t know?”
I raise a brow at him, truly losing patience. “Knowwhat?”
“Wren texted me,” he says. “She said you needed a ride to Timber Forge.”
