I didn’t stop to consider what I was offering. “I’ll do it.”
Both women stared at me. Tilly’s smile grew wider by the second.
“Excuse me?” Mrs. Blumenthal turned her head like she was positioning her hearing aid just right.
“I’m a builder. I can do the roof. This weekend, in fact. The weather’s supposed to be great.” The more I thought about it, the better the idea was. It would be hot, but sunny. The place was small. If I worked today and tomorrow, I could knock it out. “No charge.”
Mrs. B’s mouth worked. She glanced at Tilly, back at me. “You’re a builder?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I leaned forward. “It would give Miss Johnson a reason not to kick me out.”
Mrs. B harrumphed. “I wouldn’t kick you out for eating crackers in bed.”
Tilly traced a finger down my abdomen. “Look at these. He doesn’t eat crackers.”
The ladies cackled and I couldn’t stop my smile. “My tools are in my truck. I’ll run and grab supplies.” I glanced up. “Black shingles?”
“Whatever the hell is up there.” She pinned me with a hard look again. “Seriously, though. Don’t touch a nail until you tell me how much.”
“It’s nothing. I don’t get my hands dirty nearly enough.” Life had been simpler when I could shut the lid on my toolbox and the day was done.
“I’ll vouch for him,” Tilly said.
Pride bubbled up. She hadn’t seen any of my handiwork, had never seen me hang so much as a picture. But she’d vouched for me. I was going to throw up the best damn roof of my career.
Tilly
I crawled into Flynn’s pickup. I was more graceful than the first time I’d scaled the distance from the ground to the seat.
“Where are we going first?”
He fired up the engine and backed out of my driveway, which barely fit his massive truck. “We’ll hit the home improvement store first. Then I have to run home for my ladder.”
I gasped and clapped my hands. “I get to see the Halstengard residence? In person?”
Flynn in his suit, even as casual as he’d been the night before, hadn’t matched with the vehicle. But today’s shorts and T-shirt fit the image better. The image fit him better, too. What would his house fit with, the suit or the truck?
I still had no clue why he needed such a large vehicle.
His gaze strayed to my legs like they had at the lake. My outfit wasn’t crazy on purpose. The clearance-rack workout leggings were covered with large blocks of bold color, but I’d muted it with a black shirt. Not intentionally—it was just an expendable shirt in case it got stained or ripped helping Flynn.
He was helping Mrs. B. He must be terribly generous with his business, too. With all he had, he must shovel tons over for charity.
He smiled and draped an arm over the steering wheel. “I’m warning you, my house is incredibly nice. Quality-built perfection you’ll have a hard time finding anywhere in the great state of Minnesota.”
Genuine pride rang in his voice.
“You built it.”
He shot me a grin that warmed me more than the late June sun. What would his perfect house look like? I’d never thought of mine. Space would be my first pick. Just space. And a kitchen like the cabin.
“Did you build the cabin, too?”
“No, I haven’t dabbled in those. They’re not much different, but I moved on to corporate as soon as Abe died.”
“When did he pass away?”
“About five years ago, but I was managing his business even during college. His wife wasn’t interested, and they had no kids.”
“He was lucky to have you.”
Flynn’s lips flattened. “It was the other way around. I tried to earn my keep. It caused an uproar when I changed the name, but the contractors who’d been with the company for years kept telling me what Abe would do. It was a clear way to tell them who was in charge.”
It was hard to see Flynn being a hard-ass. Maybe that was why he’d gone the route of changing the name. I could see him putting in long days. At the cabin, he’d never quit working unless I’d intervened. During our fishing trips and hikes, he’d fidgeted and acted nervously. I’d worried it was him being with Crazy J, but no, it was him having work withdrawals.
We pulled up to the home improvement store. It was no massive box store. The building he’d parked in front of was a quarter of the size of Home Depot.
I got out and followed him inside. A woman my mom’s age greeted Flynn with a hearty hug. His answering grin was genuine.
“Tilly, this is Dorothy, an old friend of Abe’s.”
Dorothy shook her hand. “There were some years if I didn’t have Abe’s business, I had nothing. Whatcha need, Flynn?”
He ran through a list of supplies and we cruised around the store, gathering nails, tubes of stuff, and other things while Flynn and Dorothy chattered in what seemed like a different language.
Dorothy rushed to the back of the store. “Pull around back and we’ll load the shingles.”
I followed Flynn out. “Aren’t we going to pay?”
“Dorothy’ll bill me.” He walked with easy confidence, looking like a guy out for a basketball game, more relaxed than I’d seen him. He was in his element. Dorothy was one of his people. How many others like her did he have in his life?
Once the shingles were loaded, he took off for his place. He crossed through town and hit the 494.
“You don’t live in Minneapolis?”
“Chanhassen.”
He’d told me he’d built his house, but I still pictured him in a top-floor condo with glass walls and a view of the city. “Wow, that’s a nice area. You really are like Bruce Wayne, then? Massive manor, bat caves hidden on the property. Do you have a butler?”
“I have a cleaning service and a personal chef. I don’t get company, so no Alfred.”
“I have a
