Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
I get the sense he’s about to ask me for a favor. I can practically picture my friend shaking his head and sighing at the idea of his little sister taking such a big leap. He always was protective over her, and I can’t help the smirk pulling at my lips at the knowledge that his kid sister has got him too stressed out. Serves him right for all the pranks he pulled on her growing up.
“She needs a contractor, mate.”
And there it is. Fucking hell, I should’ve guessed that’s what he wanted. “Harry—”
“Please, Dylan? Look, she wants to do this and she’s excited about it. But fuck, the girl knows nothing about renovating houses,” Harry presses, voice pleading. “And it’s not like I can drop everything and move over there to help her.”
“But I’m already here,” I summarize, following his logic. I sigh heavily, running my hand over my beard. “I’m not a babysitter.”
“She’ll pay you obviously.”
“I’m busy,” I tell him, leaning against the side of the garage. “With clients that booked properly in advance.”
“Please? Do it for me, man?”
Shit. As much as I would never tell him because he’d lord it over my head until the end of time, Dylan is important to me. We grew up together, and even when I left LA, he supported me. He’s even been to visit a few times, purely to give me a hard time about being a “caveman.”
“Fucking hell. Fine,” I say, exasperated. “I’ll go see the house, but I’m not making any promises, okay?”
“Thank you,” Harry says, clearly relieved. “It makes me feel better knowing you’ll be keeping an eye on her, making sure she’s safe—”
“Not. A. Babysitter,” I repeat to the sound of Harry’s laughter, and then I hang up.
He’s lucky I consider him a friend because god, does he know how to push my fucking buttons. Seconds later, my phone pings with an incoming text from Harry, containing an address and the time she’s due to arrive.
An address that’s right near my own home. What are the fucking chances of my best friend’s little sister moving to not just the same country or area but the same damn village as me?
I have a couple of hours before I have to deal with this inconvenience, so I do what I do best until then—throw myself into my work and shut the rest of the world out.
Time passes quickly, and when I glance up at the clock, I curse. Harry’s sister will be here by now, and I’d rather get this over and done with.
Sighing, I set my tools down and grimace at my clothes. They’re work clothes so I don’t bother keeping them nice, but they’re full of holes and covered in sawdust from the work I’ve been doing. Quickly, I close and lock the garage before heading into the house, chucking my clothes in the laundry basket and tugging on a pair of jeans and a red flannel before shoving my feet into my boots. There’s no point taking the car, not when the address Harry sent is just on the outskirts of town.
I just need to go there, tell Dahlia I’m busy and that I’m not making any promises, report back to Harry that his sister has indeed arrived in one piece, and then get back to my normal life. I meant what I said to Harry. I’m not wasting my time watching out for some kid who decided to take on a project she has no experience with.
In reality, I bet Dahlia will get a few days into renovating, realize that it’s actually hard work and not just some holiday, and then fly home to her family again. Not my fucking problem.
I pass a few others on the way toward the dirt track that leads to the old cottage, one I’ve walked past a few times on my hikes, and they offer me polite smiles that I mostly ignore. It’s not that I’m a total asshole to everyone else in town, but I like my space and have no interest in small talk.
Rocks crunch under my soles as I walk up the dirt path, taking in the huge trees that stretch over the track and the overgrown grass and weeds that line each side. That wild, overgrown greenery continues right up to the front of the cottage, making the place feel even more derelict than it is.
The cottage itself has quite clearly spent a long time unloved and left to rot. The white exterior is peeling away and will need to be redone. The roof is missing tiles, and the gutters are filled with moss and dirt. The windows are covered in cobwebs and a thick layer of dust. Despite its neglect, it holds a certain…charm. A potential that got cogs turning in my brain.
It needs a fuck load of work, though. And there is no way in hell that this little girl is going to get it done.