Hey Jude (Lennox Valley Chronicles #1)

I remember with a whimper that I’d agreed to go rock climbing with Nat this morning. Exercise is the last thing I want to do right now, but I can’t let my best friend down. I text back.

Yes please very much thank you. See you in 15? Date tragic. Will fill you in on the mountain.

I open the fridge with a sigh and ponder eating a bit more than just a half-serving of abandoned eggs. My eyes pass vacantly over the options before I give up and head to the cupboard. Opening a box of cookies, I cram one, whole, into my mouth. Maybe the sugar will help fuel some clear thinking for once. I return to the fridge for a glass of milk, then head to my room to change and locate my climbing bag.

Midway through rummaging through my closet, my phone rings from my pocket. Worry prickles when I don’t recognize the number but I force myself to ignore the alarm bells going off in my head; Wyatt said his uncle would be calling.

“Hello?” I answer tentatively.

“Hi there, I’m looking to speak with Olena MacMillan, please,” an older voice replies.

I exhale quietly. “That’s me, hi.”

“Hi, this is Charles Faulkner, Wyatt’s uncle. He gave me your number when we saw each other at a family dinner recently.”

“Oh, yes, he mentioned; that was nice of him,” I say.

“Yes, well, I’m calling because I may have a project for you.”

Panic threatens. Why am I so nervous about a new project? What’s with me?

“Oh, wow, great!” I force a casual and pleasant tone. “Tell me more.” I remind myself I do want to know more.

“Well, my wife, Carol, and I inherited this rather large property fairly recently and it needs some work—both the house itself and the outdoor area. It’s gotten a bit… overgrown, shall we say.”

“Right, Wyatt mentioned that.” I find my purse and sift through its contents, searching for a pen to jot down some basic details. Not having any initial luck, I peer inside, catching a glimpse of the keychain Nat bought for me that says “Boss Bitch”. I smile to myself, knowing she’d remind me to own my awesomeness. I locate a small notebook and, finally, the elusive pen.

“Yes,” he continues. “Anyway, when Wyatt mentioned that his roommate is a brilliant landscape designer, I thought to myself, well, this is just perfect timing!” He chuckles softly.

I fight the urge to refute the compliment. “Yeah, it sounds like the stars aligned,” I say, trying my best to echo his warmth.

“They did, indeed!” A pause. “I should say, the situation is somewhat unusual.”

As I fidget with my pen, he tells me the property was originally his oldest brother’s, left to him by their grandparents. The brother and his wife had kept the old Tudor-style house and grounds in decent shape for a few decades, treating it like a family home despite its size. They’d never had children of their own.

“Realistically, that’s probably how they afforded to heat that drafty old house,” Charles adds. He goes on to explain his brother had passed away quite suddenly from cancer a few years ago and his wife’s health had taken a serious turn after that. She died last year and left the house to Charles and Carol.

I listen with a furrowed brow. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Faulkner.”

“Thank you. It was a very hard time, obviously,” he says sadly. “But, in any case,” he clears his throat, audibly shaking off the weight of emotion in his voice, “I didn’t call you to tell you a tragic tale!” He forces a small laugh, as if trying to lighten the mood for my sake.

“No, no, it’s okay. Thank you for telling me; I’m very sorry, again.”

He pauses for a moment. “You have a kind heart, I can tell,” he says softly. “And your work really caught my attention, you know. Wyatt showed me some photos from your website. I think you have a great creative eye. Really beautiful work.”

I smile. “Oh, thank you,” I say with a self-conscious chuckle. I’m never sure how to accept praise graciously.

Charles lets out a sigh. “Anyway, I was hoping you could come by to have a look. I could show you around and you could get a sense of the scope of it all. And I can point to things and wave my arms about while I explain what we’re looking for,” he adds with a good-natured laugh.

“Oh,” I say, smiling, “yes, that would be great.”

I’m a bit caught off guard to have a new client wanting to move forward so quickly, but I need this job and I can’t think of a reason to say no.

But… It sounds like this will be more than just a garden makeover. Most of my projects in Seattle were smaller scale updates to personal residences; retirees who wanted to grow their own flowers or produce in their backyards were frequently among my clients. Mr. Faulkner described this property as rather large. I’ve done larger contracts before, but taking on something big right now feels… well… big. Especially after I’d just moved and when my life is a mess.

“Wonderful. Are you free Thursday morning?”

“Yes! That’s perfect,” I say.