by Aurora Rey
Table of Contents
Synopsis
By the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
>Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
About the Author
Books Available From Bold Strokes Books
Synopsis
Olivia Bennett is on the tenure track at Cornell University, the resident expert on Southern women writers. After moving to upstate New York from Atlanta, she falls in love with and purchases an old, run-down farmhouse. The only catch: she knows nothing about renovating a house, taking care of land, or snow. Joss Bauer is a New York native who grew up in her family’s construction business. She has a soft spot for old houses, but no patience for overpaid debutantes who want to play at country living. When Olivia hires Joss to do the renovations on her new home, the sparks fly, in more ways than one. It turns out both women have a lot to learn about life, love, and the meaning of home. But when a scandal threatens Olivia’s professional reputation, it puts her priorities and her newfound love on the line.
Built to Last
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Built to Last
© 2016 By Aurora Rey. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-553-4
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: April 2016
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Ashley Tillman
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Cover Design By Melody Pond
By the Author
Winter’s Harbor
Built to Last
Acknowledgments
I remain so grateful to everyone at Bold Strokes Books. It’s a remarkable community of smart and talented people who have made me a better writer and a better person. Special thanks to my editor, Ashley Bartlett, who has taught me more than I’d like to admit.
When I started this book, it grew from a fantasy of having an old farmhouse in the country. By the time the first draft was complete, the farmhouse had become a reality. While the house didn’t need a complete overhaul, it’s proven to be plenty adventurous. I’m so grateful for my partner, Andie. I can’t imagine playing gentlewoman farmer with anyone else, even though we’ve yet to get those goats.
For AMH. Home is wherever you are.
Chapter One
The house was too big, older, and farther out of town than Olivia wanted. The photos in the listing were terrible. There were only a couple of them to begin with and they didn’t do much to show the character of the house, or its condition. But still. Something about it spoke to her. It had a porch and a fireplace; it had promise. Olivia asked her Realtor to schedule a showing.
The whole house hunting process had proven beyond frustrating. Everyone had warned her about the Ithaca market and, unfortunately, everyone was right. She’d been at it for four months and every house she’d seen was either completely generic or full of once-trendy add-ons—no personality or the kind of personality you’d try to avoid at parties. The rest were either dilapidated college student rental properties or completely out of her price range.
Except for this one. Definitely worn, but it seemed sturdy, reliable. It reminded her of a favorite sweater, frayed but comfortable, or the copy of The Optimist’s Daughter that she’d toted around since high school. When they pulled into the driveway, Olivia felt a flutter in her chest.
Set back from the road, it was a farmhouse that didn’t have any farm left to it. It had what appeared to be an overgrown vegetable garden and a small barn that had been halfheartedly converted into a garage. The white paint was peeling and one of the dark green shutters hung at a precarious angle. A wide porch spanned the front and wrapped all the way around the side of the house. Sure it was roped off with yellow caution tape, but that didn’t stop her from imagining a big swing and a pair of rocking chairs, or what it would be like to sip a glass of wine and watch the sun set into the rolling hills.
It was the kind of house she’d dreamed about as a little girl.
Scott, her Realtor, led her around to the back door because, according to the note in the listing, the porch was in danger of collapsing. He retrieved the key from the lockbox and unlocked the deadbolt. Olivia couldn’t tell if he needed to lean his full weight against the door to get it to open or if he was being dramatic. She didn’t ask.
They stepped into the kitchen. While Scott made a show of pushing the door closed behind them, Olivia took in wide-plank wood floors that were original but badly scarred, an old farmhouse sink, peeling wallpaper. She looked past the dated appliances and dingy cabinets and envisioned a wrought iron pot rack hanging over a huge island and toile curtains on the windows. She loved it.
“This,” he made a circle with his finger to indicate their surroundings, “is not what we discussed.”
Had it been anyone but Scott, with his hipster glasses and silver hair, she might have taken offense. Because it was Scott, Olivia hung her head and sighed. “I know.”
Scott dug around in his messenger bag and pulled out a spiral notepad. “Let’s see. I have my notes right here: not too big, low maintenance, twenty minutes or less to campus. Honey, you’re not even one for three.”
“But the others are all so boring.” Olivia drew out the last word to a solid four syllables, allowing herself to sound extra whiny.
Scott tsked. “When it comes to houses, boring is shorthand for reliable, undemanding, and easy. But, yes, I agree. Clearly, you’ve seen my house.”
Olivia smiled. In the two years she’d lived in Ithaca, she’d spent quite a lot of time at the house Scott shared with his partner Dan, a linguistics professor whose office was down the hall from hers. The gorgeous old Craftsman sat on the prettiest street in the Fall Creek neighborhood. The couple had spent six years on the renovations and joked that they still weren’t done.
“I want you to be happy.” Scott put his hands on his hips. “But with great character comes great responsibility.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “I’ve always been the practical one, but
maybe I want original woodwork more than I want a new, high-efficiency water heater.”
“Mmm-hmm. You tell yourself that when you’re taking an ice-cold shower in February.”
Olivia tried to hide the shiver that rippled through her at the thought. “Come on, voice of reason, let’s see the rest of it.”
As they walked through the downstairs, she fell more in love. Each room offered more of the same—charming details and craftsmanship showing signs of wear and very bad decor. The living room boasted a large brick fireplace and garishly mauve walls, while the powder room felt like a bad beach vacation. Upstairs, the only full bathroom was home to an antique claw-foot tub and sea-foam green tile. With four bedrooms, Olivia wondered how expensive it would be to take out a wall to make it feel more like a master bath, maybe build a walk-in closet. She didn’t mention her idea to Scott.
“I want it.”
Scott shook his head. “I knew you were going to say that. Since it’s been on the market nearly three months already, I think we can go in below asking price and, you know, bold, italicize, and underline the home inspection clause.”
Although his tone remained stern, Olivia could see the playfulness in his eyes. She felt like she’d won over a skeptical parent. “Thank you, Scott!”
“Don’t thank me yet, honey. Save it for when we verify she isn’t going to collapse on closing day.”
While Scott locked up, Olivia stood in the driveway and tried to figure out how far back the property line was. She was going to have a lot to mow. She imagined toodling around on a lawn tractor in a floppy straw hat. There were always goats. Maybe she’d look into goats.
She didn’t mention goats as they got into Scott’s car and drove to Gimme! Coffee to fill out the paperwork. She went to the counter to order lattes while Scott claimed a table. By the time she joined him, an oversize mug in each hand, he had the offer of sale form filled out and ready to go.
“I’m going to be up half the night,” he said after taking a long sip. “It’s so worth it, though.”
Olivia sipped her own coffee and sighed. “So worth it.”
“So, I may have already pulled some comps.”
Olivia was pretty sure that part of the process came after she’d found a house she wanted. “What do you mean?”
“I had a gut feeling about this place, so I went ahead and pulled comps in case you decided to put in an offer.”
Olivia narrowed her eyes. “But you gave me such a hard time about it.”
Scott shrugged. “I had to tease you a little. Besides, I couldn’t risk influencing you.”
She loved having a real estate agent who was also a friend. “Well played.”
“Thank you. I’ve been doing this a while.”
They spent half an hour poring over homes that were at least somewhat similar in square footage and state of disrepair. After settling on an offer price fifteen percent below asking, Scott walked her through the various clauses and contingencies, including the ever-important home inspection.
“Are you sure it isn’t too low?” She was afraid of offending the sellers and ending negotiations even before they started. She knew she wasn’t supposed to get too attached at this point in the process, but that didn’t seem to stop her.
“Given how long it’s been on the market and the fact that it’s empty, I’m confident this is a good starting point.”
Olivia took a deep breath, suddenly aware of what a big deal this was. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Now what?”
“Now I submit it to the seller. Then we wait. They can accept, reject, or counter. The latter is the most likely and then, hopefully, we meet somewhere in the middle.”
“Right. Okay. Good.”
“I’ve already got you on speed dial.” He offered a reassuring smile. “I will call you the second I hear something.”
*
It turned out that the sellers, siblings who’d inherited the house from an aunt, were keen on getting rid of it. With no other offers on the table, they halfheartedly counteroffered two thousand above Olivia’s initial offer. When she got the news from Scott, she indulged in a brief happy dance and didn’t bother continuing negotiations.
The minute she stopped dancing, she started the process of fretting about the inspection.
There was so much that could go wrong. The house could have termites. Or a crumbling foundation. Or asbestos. It could need all new plumbing. It could have all of that. As willing as she was to take on projects, there were things that were—that had to be—deal breakers. If that happened, and she had to walk away, she would be heartbroken.
The whole thing felt like a high-stakes version of the old game show, Press Your Luck. As Olivia dialed the number Scott gave her for the home inspector, she repeated the phrase “no whammy, no whammy” to herself over and over. When a cheerful voice answered the phone, Olivia’s heart jumped in her chest. She’d worked herself into quite a trance.
“Good morning. Bauer and Sons Construction, this is Daphne. How may I help you?”
“Good morning.” Olivia took a deep breath. “I would like to schedule an inspection.”
Olivia offered a description of the house, including the fact that it hadn’t been lived in for almost two years. She held her breath, afraid the woman might turn her down on the spot.
“That sounds great. I’m going to schedule you with Ben. He’s a big fan of old houses.”
Of course they wouldn’t turn her down. It was what they did for a living. “Wonderful.”
“You don’t need to be there, but some people prefer to. The report will be thorough, but seeing things on the walk-through can make the report easier to digest, especially if you’re a visual person.”
“I’ll be there,” Olivia said without hesitation. She gave the address and set a time for the following Wednesday morning.
“Sounds good. You’re all set, then.”
“Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. Thank you for choosing Bauer and Sons. Have a great day.”
“You, too.”
Olivia hung up the phone and looked around her office. Now all she had to do was spend the next five days not obsessing about everything that could go wrong.
Chapter Two
Joss stood at the kitchen sink, looking out the window at her backyard. She’d built the deck the previous summer, along with the wooden fence that was more about having a place for the dog to run than privacy. It had been the final project on the little Craftsman she’d bought to renovate in her downtime. The view never failed to make her smile.
She noticed that a couple of the plants she had in large pots along the rail were sporting perfectly ripe tomatoes. She’d need to pick those when she got home from work that afternoon. She imagined thick slices of red and yellow tomato with fresh mozzarella and basil, a little balsamic vinegar, and decided that was what she’d be having for dinner.
She was just finishing her second cup of coffee when the phone rang. The theme song from The Golden Girls began to play and Ben’s face appeared on the screen. He’d downloaded and programmed it when she wasn’t looking, then cranked the volume and called while they were picking up supplies for a project. Joss was in the middle of the lumber aisle when “Thank You for Being a Friend” began blaring out of her pocket. Ben was so amused by his prank that Joss had kept the song as his personal ring tone.
Joss swiped a finger across the screen. “It’s never good when I hear from you at this hour.”
“Good morning to you, too, sunshine.” The voice on the other end sounded more like a two-pack-a-day smoker than her brother.
“Oh, man, you sound terrible. Are you okay?”
“Just a cold, I think, but I can’t seem to take a deep breath without coughing. What do you have going on this morning?”
Joss conjured the image of her desk calendar. “Nothing scheduled. I was about to head to the office to work on the plans for the Sanderson kitchen reno. I can cover whate
ver you need.”
“You’re the best. It’s an inspection, old house out on Davis Road.”
“Not a problem. I want to tell you that you owe me one, but I don’t even have the heart.” There was also the fact that she really liked doing inspections. She got to poke around and play detective while helping people make informed decisions.
“One of the many reasons I love you. It’s at nine. The address is fourteen-forty.”
“I’m on it. Get some rest.”
“Thanks, homes. Smell you later.”
Joss rolled her eyes. “One, don’t say that. It’s not 1994 and you are not the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Two, I don’t think you’re going to be smelling anything for a while.”
Ben started to laugh, but it quickly morphed into a fit of coughing. It took him a full thirty seconds to stop. When he finally did, he said, “You’re horrible. You did that on purpose.”
“Nope. You already said I’m the best. Now, go back to bed and I’ll text you this afternoon.”
After hanging up the phone, Joss put her mug into the dishwasher and headed upstairs. Not that she was happy to see her brother under the weather, but the prospect of exploring an old house instead of sitting at her desk put a spring in her step. In the shower, she whistled The Golden Girls song.
After getting dressed, she headed out to her truck, checking to make sure she had all the tools she needed for an inspection. Happy she wouldn’t have to stop by the office, she double-checked the address and headed out.
Half an hour later, Joss pulled up to the house and smiled. She loved old houses. In part, she simply preferred the look and feel of them. Really, though, she appreciated the craftsmanship. More often than not, old houses were well-built. Even ones that appeared to be crumbling usually boasted more structural integrity and attention to detail than those built in the last thirty years.