After All (Cape Harbor #1)(17)

“I believe I forgot my manners, ma’am,” he said. “And how to conduct business. If you still want my services, I’d be honored to complete the job for you.”

“There isn’t another contractor I would ever consider hiring, Bowie. You were Austin’s best friend. He would want this.” Her words cut him, and they cut deep. He wasn’t going to argue with her about her son; there was no point. If Austin were here, he would likely disagree with his mother.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to take some measurements.” Bowie pointed to the double doors that would lead to the lobby of the inn.

“Of course, come this way.” Carly pushed the door wider, inviting him back into her home. She led him through the dining room, kitchen, and down the dark back hallway that still lacked electricity, where she unlocked a door. He stepped inside first, letting the cold, drab, dark inn settle upon him. Cobwebs were now a staple of the decor, and white sheets covered most of the furniture in the lobby. The space belonged in a horror film. Lights flickered overhead, one popping and fizzing out almost instantly. Behind him, Carly chuckled. “I’m not sure what I’m thinking with this project.”

Me neither, but Bowie kept that thought to himself.

“The cleaners will start tomorrow. Simone will supervise. Once the walls and woodwork are cleaned, it shouldn’t be a problem to paint, right?”

Bowie shook his head. “Do you only want to paint in here, or do you want a new counter?” he asked as he pulled on the top of the lobby desk, testing to see how sturdy it was. His father had built it, thirty or forty years before, but it still seemed to have held up over time.

“Yes, I believe so. Although I do reserve the right to change my mind.”

Of course, he thought while he surveyed the room, mentally counting how many gallons of paint he would need. His hand ran along the woodwork as he tried to determine whether it would be easier to sand or use a deglosser. Both would be time consuming, considering the amount of wood they would need to cover. The woodwork was pine, a thinner wood known to show its knots. Most people loved this look. Others, like Bowie, found it hard to work with. The decision on how to handle the wood could be something he and the renovator decided. “What did you say the renovator’s name was?”

“I didn’t.” Carly moved into the foyer, turning on more lights, most of which seemed to be dead. She found this comical for some reason, and Bowie made a note to have the electrical wiring checked out. He would also need to check out building codes on commercial property. It had been some time since he had done any work on the commercial side, and he wanted to make sure inspectors weren’t going to find any issues. He watched her for a minute, wondering why there was secrecy regarding the renovator. He had worked with his fair share from the Seattle area.

Bowie followed Carly as she moved through the main floor. When they came to the ballroom, he saw a lone rocking chair with an afghan sitting by the massive window. He knew instantly this was where she sat. He would, too, but for other reasons. He left her standing by the double doors as he went to the window. The view was indescribable. People along the harbor had tried to emulate what they’d seen from this ballroom, but no one had come close. He would know because he’d either built or renovated many homes along the cliff, and none of them compared to what he was seeing now.

“The windows stay,” she said, as if she thought he was going to suggest they change. He wouldn’t do anything different here and didn’t bother to respond. In due time, he would see the sunset from this window, reminding him of a different time in life. A time when all he cared about was drinking with his buddies, sneaking stolen glances with the girl he was in love with, and thinking he was invincible.

Carly shut off the lights, an indication that she was ready to move on. She paused in front of the grand staircase, her hand resting on the end of the banister. It was almost as if she was deciding whether to go upstairs.

“Mrs. Woods?” Bowie tentatively asked. “Is there more on the first floor that you want to look at?”

It was a long minute until she acknowledged him. “I need to talk to . . . I don’t know yet.”

“Talk to Simone? Do you want me to get her?”

Carly shook her head. “Shall we?” she asked with a smile. She climbed the wide planked steps one at a time. Bowie stayed a step or two behind her, fearful that she might fall. He realized he’d been mistaken earlier when he’d assumed the color of her hair was all that had changed. The death of her son had aged her, more so than what he deemed normal. His mother was still full of life, running half marathons and working. She had pep in her step, whereas Carly could barely move around. He’d had no idea death could affect people like this, and the thought that he could’ve possibly prevented any of this by coming around and being present in her life weighed heavily on him.

At the top of the stairs, the second-floor hallway was laid out in front of them. He knew there would be another staircase halfway down, as well as an elevator. Whether the elevator worked was a whole other question. He wasn’t going to test it out now; he’d wait until he had a crew member here.

She set off toward the first room. The inside was much like the downstairs, covered in cobwebs. He made a note to have the place fumigated, as well as to have the building checked for rodents and termites. This was turning out to be a much bigger job than he had thought. An idea came to him, one that would allow him to stay on as staff once the remodel finished. He could be the handyman, or his company could, making sure the inn was always functioning the way it should be. He’d talk to her about a permanent solution once the job he was there to do was completed.