insulation, install drywall. I learned from my father.”
“Londyn has her own furniture design company,” Wes states. “She up-cycles. There’s no doubt in my mind she can handle a utility knife and a staple gun. Anyway, she’ll be helping me up in the bedroom, so you won’t have another body to keep an eye on.” He shifts his gaze to me. “Let’s go inside.”
The authority in his voice causes a tremor to trickle through me. I don’t know why I like it so much, but it makes me momentarily lightheaded.
“I bet she’ll be helping you in the bedroom,” Nash jokes under his breath as I follow Wes up the front steps and onto the porch.
“I heard that!” Wes shouts without looking back, giving me a sly grin as he steps aside, allowing me to enter the house first.
“Wow,” I exhale upon seeing how much he’s accomplished over the past week. The drywall in every room has been torn down, fresh wiring, pipes, and air ducts now working their way through the bones of the house. The only things that remain are the fireplaces, and I’m thankful for that. They’re too special and unique to destroy.
“I’d hoped they’d be able to extend the gas lines to the fireplaces,” Wes says, as if able to read my mind. “But to do so, we would have had to cut into some of the brick and porcelain surrounding them.”
“It’s not worth it,” I reply without hesitation.
He chuckles, touching my elbow and steering me up the creaky stairs that I plan to replace with something much safer, considering Imogene will be spending some time here.
“I had a feeling that would be your response.”
“The history of this house is too important to destroy for the convenience of a gas fireplace.”
“Agreed.”
“What happened to all the doors? Molding? Cabinets?”
“Out in the detached garage. I figured you’d want to repurpose as much of the original materials as you could.”
“You figured correctly.”
We make our way through the cacophony of hammers and staple guns before coming to a stop in the master suite, natural light streaming in through the windows, aided by a couple of work lights set up in the room.
“Here you go.” He hands me a pair of work gloves.
“No need.” I set my duffle bag on the floor, which has been covered in plastic to preserve the original hardwood. Unzipping it, I find my gloves and slide them on, waving my hands in front of me. “I’ve got my own.”
“Was that a tool belt I saw?”
With a coy smile, I nod, taking my tool belt out of the bag, as well. I wasn’t sure what I’d be doing today, so figured it best to come prepared. Plus, I didn’t want the rest of the crew to think I don’t know what I’m doing when I’ve probably been around tools and construction longer than some of them.
“You aren’t like any other woman I’ve met.”
“Why? Because I’m not some debutante, like you’re accustomed to?” I playfully bat my lashes.
“No.” He pulls his lips together. “Well, yes. But most women I’ve met wouldn’t know the first thing about insulation or putting up drywall. They certainly wouldn’t own a pair of work gloves or a tool belt. Or if they did, it would be because they saw a pink one in the hardware store and thought it would be cute.”
“I’ve always been fascinated with how things are made. Like my father.” I turn from him and walk toward a roll of insulation, carefully unrolling it.
“Does he work in construction?” He takes the top of the insulation from me and starts up the ladder, sliding it between the wooden frame on the top half of the wall while I work it into the stud bays of the lower half.
“It was more of a hobby.”
“Then what does he do?”
“You’re going to laugh.” Spying the blade on the floor by the ladder, I grab it and slice along the insulation, inserting the last bit into the wall.
“Try me.”
I raise myself to my full height. “He’s a pastor.”
“Of a church?”
I snort a laugh. “Unless you know of a different kind of pastor…”
“Huh.” He shifts his gaze from me, studying the wall.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs it off. “Just another piece of the Londyn puzzle snapping into place.”
He extends his hand toward me, wordlessly telling me to hand him the insulation so we can start on the next section. I do, returning my attention to my reason for being here, fitting the insulation into the next stud bay. When I