Lib Novel Page 14
A slight smile touches my lips as I direct a sharp nod to Charles, showing my agreement. This seems to satisfy Charles’ curiosity and he moves on. I throw Jude a grateful look.
“Would you like to see the property?” Charles smiles.
* * *
Charles looks to be in his element as our tour guide, gesturing broadly and often to punctuate his ideas for the place. I scribble notes furiously and snap photos with my phone to document the layout and problem areas he points out along the way. A pang of dread hits me as I realize how extensive the work will be for this project. But I continue smiling.
Charles had said the previous owners, his brother and sister-in-law, had lived here for over forty years before they got sick and couldn’t keep up with caring for the property. I can see now he understated that point. The place is in really rough shape. The house itself needs a ton of major work done: moss creeps over the roof shingles, the mortar between the stonework is crumbling, and the painted wood trim is peeling. Nature is also slowly reclaiming the cobblestone path, which is overgrown at the sides and riddled with dandelions.
The rest of the grounds are even worse. There are forgotten vegetable beds with dead and crushed plants, weeds pushing between their skeletal stems and bent stalks. The trees are all sprawling and weighed down, their branches brushing near the ground in several areas, a few of the evergreens sporting dying sections of brown or gray where they should be green. The perimeter of the main yard is surrounded by various ornamental plants and shrubs that have grown wild and unruly over the years and the grass brushes against my knees.
None of this dampens Charles’ enthusiasm when articulating his vision for the property. He and Carol have always dreamed of running a bed-and-breakfast. They want to turn this mess into a beautiful garden oasis: a romantic retreat on the cliff-side. I admit this place has potential, but the work is going to take a while. And it’s not going to be easy. Or cheap.
I fill pages in my notebook with wild and often disconnected details—some, Charles’ ideas or instructions, others, my own inspiration—to remember for later. Tiered planters for succulents, sapling trees to order, raised flower beds, ornamental grasses, bistro seating area, an arbor covered in white wisteria… My head spins trying to keep track of all the information.
The three of us agree the first step is a lot of clearing out: cutting down the sick trees, pruning any overgrown plants worth saving, cutting the grass, digging out particularly nasty sections entirely to start fresh…
Jude and his crew can start this part the following week while I work on the design planning. Charles is delighted.
Jude is quietly attentive as Charles articulates his plans, sketching and jotting his own notes diligently on a pad of graph paper. His brow furrows slightly in concentration as he writes, a lock of dark hair tumbling in front of his face. My eyes drift to his arm muscles, working as he moves the pencil, then to his strong chest. I imagine what it would feel like to run my hands over his—
My cheeks flush as I catch myself staring. Thankfully, I look away before he catches me in the act. What is wrong with me?
I grip the edges of my portfolio tighter. Scanning my surroundings, I force myself again to focus on the project at hand, banishing any unprofessional thoughts from my mind. Get it together, Olena.
I make note of a large oak tree touching the roofline that will need trimming, then snap a quick photo of two maples that are showing signs of disease and will need to get cut down.
Yes. Good. Just focus on the work.
Having made a rough circle of the property, we return to the driveway, the tour complete. Charles grins with satisfaction and clasps his hands together, looking at each of us expectantly. He explains he wants my vision for the design and for Jude and his team to do the execution. He’s seen our work and trusts us to do the job right. Throwing around some quick numbers, it sounds like we can make it work within Charles’ admittedly generous budget.
“You two will be working very closely together over the next few weeks,” Charles says. “There will obviously be a lot of logistics to work out between you… the division of labor, so to speak.” He smiles at us.
Jude and I share an uncomfortable glance.
I assume he must have a usual designer he prefers to deal with but is now stuck working with me instead. Back in Seattle, I had worked closely with several landscaping companies, but the truth is, I’m out of my comfort zone here in Lennox. Rebuilding my professional contacts from scratch isn’t going to be easy, so having this piece of the puzzle already decided is kind of a relief.
“I’m up for it,” Jude offers with a professional smile to Charles, then directs his attention to me, waiting for my response cautiously.
I silently remind myself I need this job and will just have to deal with the awkward mess I’ve made between me and Jude. “Absolutely,” I nod with a brave face, looking quickly away from Jude. I turn to Charles. “Let’s do it.”
“Wonderful!” Charles shakes hands with each of us then mentions he needs to go tell Carol the good news. “Well, I’ll leave you to it; you probably have a lot to discuss. Thanks again for coming. I have a good feeling about you both,” he says with a smile. “I look forward to seeing your design plans, Olena.”
I smile gratefully and promise he’ll have them before the end of next week.
He excuses himself and ambles back to the house where a tall brick chimney works a lazy stream of smoke up to mingle with the clouds. I take a moment to look at the old home once more. Taking it in properly, I can see it must have been beautiful in its prime.
Jude and I drift over to our vehicles in awkward silence. He quickly busies himself writing a few more notes and I follow his lead, both of us conspicuously avoiding eye contact. Charles’ magnanimous presence now gone, we are left to face each other alone for the first time since my explosive roadside performance. I grimace at the memory again and try to think of words that might smooth the situation over.
I close my notebook. “Listen, I’m so sorry about earlier—” I start.
Jude raises his head from whatever he was writing, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He places his pencil behind his ear and folds his arms across his broad chest, fixing his green eyes on me patiently. He was waiting for this.
“You were right. I totally misread the situation and I overreacted,” I continue, hating my past self for being such a dramatic, interrupting jackass. What a great first impression that was, I snark inwardly. I forge ahead, trying to repair it. “I was running late already and feeling the stress of this new project,” I explain, gesturing vaguely around us, “and then I saw you following me, and the lights flashing threw me off. I think I was just surprised. And they were extremely bright. Did you know they are, like, exceptionally bright headlights? Practically blinding… Anyway, I couldn’t figure out what you wanted, and I thought you wanted to pass me, and I was thinking why doesn’t this guy just pass me already…”
Good Lord, Olena, are you still talking? Why isn’t he saying anything? Oh, God, please say something to shut me up.
He says nothing.