5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Jake

I wandered around the exterior of the Collins house, my boots making shushing sounds as I pushed my way through the weeds and overgrowth, idly making mental notes of what I wanted to have the crew work on first, wondering about the changes the designers would make, and generally stewing over the meeting with the producer. If he was anything like I imagined, he was going to be uptight, snobby, and hard to work with—the way all Hollywood-types were. He was from New York and not LA, but it didn't matter. Those guys were all the same.

The grass was nearly to my knees and as I made my way through the vegetation, I tried to imagine this house in its glory days. It was a beautiful two-story Victorian with peeling, ancient white paint and rickety steps leading to a battered porch. The decorative trim was in rough shape, missing in some places, and the roof was missing shingles. I imagined children playing in the yard, the gleeful screams of a kid's joy, a parent cooking in the kitchen, curls of smoke rising from the chimney. I knew we could restore it and leave it in great condition, giving a family a place to make memories that lasted a lifetime. That was my favorite part about working construction—knowing I was impacting peoples' lives and leaving them a place to put down roots and grow. I could hardly wait to get my hands dirty.

I continued around to the other side of the house. The windows were all intact, and even though the trim was in rough shape there wasn't a single broken pane, which gave me a renewed surge of confidence. If the windows were in decent shape, that meant the weather damage might be limited to the outside, except in places where the roof might have leaked. I'd told Jared the house had good bones, and I'd meant it. This place was going to be a beauty when we were done with it.

The crunch of tires on gravel tore me out of my thoughts and I snapped my gaze to the driveway. A shiny sedan, deep red, had pulled in and the driver's door swung open. As the driver climbed out, we made eye contact and a jolt shot through me, curling tight in my stomach. I couldn't identify the feeling, and I shook my head and shoulders to get rid of it. I probably needed to drink more water or something.

"You must be Jake." He extended a hand to shake, revealing a shiny silver watch on his wrist. It looked unnecessarily expensive.

I gave him a tight smile and nodded. After a second, I took his hand and shook. His shake was firm, oozing confidence, the way everything about Max seemed to do. He looked exactly the way I'd expected him to look—button-down shirt and sport jacket, slacks, and nice shoes. He was about the same height as me, but much leaner, without the build that years of construction had given me. He looked very out of place standing there in front of the run-down house in the tall grass. The touch of our palms and fingers heated me, and we held like that for what felt like an eternity, sweat beading along my forehead, my gut twisting strangely, my heart racing. The realization was intense and instant—I wanted this guy. I yanked away as if I'd been burned and shoved both hands into my pockets.

I definitely needed to drink more water.

"I'm Max." The guy ran a hand through his perfectly tousled dirty blond hair and scratched the back of his neck, his smile faltering. Shifting uncomfortably, he glanced at the house. "This is the Collins house, right?"

"Right." I realized I was being rude but it was like I couldn't get my brain and mouth to engage. What was wrong with me? I blinked a few times and forced my mind to focus. "Right, yeah. I'm Jake. I'll be leading the restoration."

"It's great to meet you, Jake. I'm the producer for Heartland Overhaul that will be running the show. Have you checked out the inside?"

"Not since my last walk-through. How about you?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. I've driven by a couple of times this week but I wanted to wait for you to check things out officially. I figured you'd make sure everything was safe for me. Wouldn't want to accidentally step through the floor or something, right?"

I grunted in agreement. "You want to see the outside first?"

He shrugged and smiled a Hollywood smile at me, probably fake and appeasing, but it still did things to make my gut twist. Stop it , I thought. It had been a long time—a very long time—since I'd let myself find someone attractive, but something about Mister Hollywood was doing it for me. "Whatever you think is best." We walked around the house slowly, and I pointed out things I'd noticed before we made our way back around to the porch. "And you're sure it's safe to go inside?"

I restrained myself from rolling my eyes. "I wouldn't put your life at risk."

"Aw, Jake, that means a lot." He laughed playfully, such a genuine sound, and lightly punched my arm. My cheeks heated from the unexpected contact and I moved away, clearing my throat.

"You're welcome," I muttered, not sure how to respond to his joking around. We headed in, the rickety porch bowing a little under our weight, but nothing extreme. "Besides, I've been in there a half-dozen times already. Trust me, I'd know if it wasn't safe."

His gaze met mine and my body heated all over, including my face. I glanced away.

As the wooden door swung open, Max let out a low whistle. "This is something else."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, instantly defensive on behalf of the house I'd already started to fall in love with.

He looked at me with narrowed eyes. "Nothing bad. It just needs a lot more work than I expected."

"I can handle it. Don't worry about that part. Each of my leads has a crew, and we work fast." Is he second-guessing my ability to get the job done? I hated the idea that he might be questioning my abilities.

"Sounds like you know what you're doing, then."

"I do. Levi wouldn't have put me on the project if I didn't." My tone was gruff and defensive, even though I didn't particularly mean it to be.

"Well, lead the way." Max nodded at the dark interior of the house, the only light for us streaming in through the ancient windows.

I showed him through the house, living room, dining room, parlor, ancient bathroom, and he investigated, attentive to every detail, making notes on his phone. The plaster was falling off the walls in places, exposing the lath underneath, and the wallpaper was peeling, faded, and stained. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, and there were water stains in places where the roof had leaked.

We explored the whole first level, avoiding sagging, broken floorboards and skirting around debris and furniture that had been left behind by past owners. The house smelled of neglect and dust, a particular scent that I'd gotten used to in old houses. At one point, Max stopped and looked around before stepping close to me. Once again, I heated, my body thrumming with possibilities at the near contact. I stepped away and cleared my throat.

"What are you thinking?"

When we'd toured the whole downstairs, Max furrowed his brow. "Bedrooms?"

I swallowed hard, thinking of Max and bedrooms. "They're upstairs."

"Let's check those out, then."

We made our way up the curved staircase, which spilled out into a long hall at the top that led to three bedrooms and two more bathrooms. Max checked every room, peering under the abandoned furniture, peeking in closets, and looking behind tattered curtains.

When we'd made it to the biggest bedroom, Max stepped into the large closet to inspect it like he had everything else. There was probably nothing important, if the past hour had been any indication. He pushed past old, forgotten clothes and disappeared into the darkness. I couldn't help but wonder how deep the closet was, if he was able to duck away like that. After a moment, he let out a noise of surprise.

"Oh!"

I frowned. "What's wrong? Mouse?" I started toward him, the instinct to protect warring with my annoyance at him. I would've figured he'd be a little braver than to panic at an unexpected mouse, considering the way he'd pushed into that closet without hesitation.

He stepped out of the closet holding a smallish wooden box approximately the size of several laptops stacked on top of each other. It was made of a beautiful dark wood, but like everything else, it was covered in dust and grime. The hinges, latch, and a very old lock were rusted together and I doubted it would even open without force. Nevertheless, his eyes were sparkling with curiosity and excitement, and I couldn't help but feel a little interest in the box myself.

"What do you think's in there?" I narrowed my eyes skeptically. It was unlikely to be worth anything. The last family in the house would've taken the box if it had held any value.

Max shook his head, grinning. "I don't know, but it's interesting, right?"

"I guess. It's probably full of mice. Or spiders. A wasp's nest maybe."

"Afraid?"

I snorted. "Hardly. I was more thinking about whether you could handle whatever's lurking in there."

"Don't worry, I'll protect you from whatever's inside." He winked and placed the box on the ancient mattress, riddled with holes, that rested on the rusting bed frame. "I'm going to open it anyway. If you're afraid, stand back."

I didn't appreciate his words, even if he was trying to be friendly. "Afraid?" I snorted. "No chance."

He fiddled with the latch to open the box, but it wouldn't give. "Do you have, like, a tool or something on you?"

"A tool," I muttered, rolling my own eyes. "Of course I have a tool or something." I pulled out my pocketknife.

"What's that going to do?" His voice was thick with skepticism.

I gripped the folded-up knife firmly and tapped the latch a few times with one end. I had faith that it would give if I did it just right. Without warning Max, I lifted the knife a few inches and smashed it down on the latch. Wood splintered and gave. A few more strikes, and the wood gave entirely, the latch and lock tumbling onto the mattress.

"Ready?" His grin was infectious, his giddiness contagious.

When our eyes met, heat flooded my cheeks. To deflect, I rolled my eyes again at the theatrics, but I was more amused than annoyed. "Just open the damn thing so we can move on." I had things to do and I was ready to get back to work. This is your work now , a voice reminded me.

He sighed, shoulders dipping a little, and a pang of guilt hit me square in the chest. "Fine. Spoilsport."