The Hideaway

He nodded and scratched out a few notes on a piece of paper he’d pulled out of his shirt pocket. When he finished, he sat back in his desk chair, his heft leaning the chair back almost horizontal. He was two-fifty easy, maybe more. Older than me, but not by much. Did the plural on Contractors mean Popcorn and him?

“I can tell you now, we’re the right people for the job. We do everything from new construction of massive bay houses to little old ladies who want their bathrooms to look like the one they saw in last month’s Southern Living. How did you find us, anyway?”

“Yellow Pages. I started with A.”

He laughed. “So you called A1 first, got Earl on the phone, and quickly went on to the Bs, then found us. That’s how it works sometimes. However clients come in, we’ll take ’em.”

“So you’re a sort of one-man, one-dog operation?”

He laughed again. “No, it’s my buddy Crawford Hayes and me. Popcorn’s just around for laughs. She’s the company dog. Crawford’s outside, banging around on something, as he usually is when he’s not on a job site.”

“Banging around? Should I be concerned?” I peered around Charlie to look out the back window of the office.

“Crawford builds things, or attempts to. He’s got a work space out back. He calls it his shop, though it’s not much more than a messy hardware store. Right now, he’s building me a boathouse. I just bought a twenty-five-foot Regulator,” he said proudly. He stood and gestured for me to follow him to the back of the house. “Crawford’s the best contractor in Baldwin County, so don’t think you’re getting a country carpenter.”

We walked out onto a deck overlooking a tidy lawn. The scrubby grass mingled with sand at the edge, and calm water lapped the shoreline. He pointed to a shed off to the side.

“I’m lucky he let me join in this operation. It was one-man and one-dog, like you said, before I came on. Now we can take on more work together, although Crawford’s probably the one for what you need. Point him to some old, falling-down house and he’s a happy guy. I don’t have the heart the historic places require, but he’s a different story.”

Popcorn nosed her way out of the shop just before the door opened wider and Crawford walked out. It was the second time Coastal Contractors had surprised me. I’d expected another big guy like Charlie—well past college years, but still retaining the good-natured frat boy look of too much beer and not enough exercise.

Instead, Crawford was slim, but not skinny, with thick brown hair sticking up in front like he’d pushed it off his forehead with the back of a sweaty wrist. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his checked button-down against the late-spring warmth. His khakis had a scuff of dirt at the bottom hem and a small hole near one pocket. A pencil stuck out of his hair, tucked behind one ear. He was a far cry from Mitch’s sleek suits and power ties. He looked more like a mad scientist—albeit a cute one—than a contractor.

“Crawford, this is . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t even get your name,” Charlie said.

“I’m Sara Jenkins.” I held out my hand and Crawford shook it firmly. Small calluses at the base of his fingers pressed into my hand. “I tried calling a few times before I drove over, but I kept getting the machine.”

“Sorry about that,” Crawford said. “I’ve been out here all day trying to finish up the framing on this boathouse, and Charlie—well, it looks like he’s been out fishing.”

Charlie grinned, unapologetic. If this was how they spent their days, how did these guys make enough money to afford the nice office and shiny trucks parked out front? As if reading my mind, Crawford answered my question.

“This isn’t a typical week for us. I just finished up two big jobs over in Point Clear on the boardwalk, and Charlie is wrapping up a house in Spanish Fort and starting another one next week. We decided to take a few days before jumping back in.”

We went back into the tidy office and sat at the table in the middle. I explained again, this time in more detail, what I envisioned for the house.

“I thought we were dealing with just a big house,” Crawford said when I finished. “I didn’t realize it’s a bed-and-breakfast. What’d you say the name is?”

“I didn’t. It’s The Hideaway. In Sweet Bay.”

I waited, but Charlie just kept scratching Popcorn’s ear and Crawford wrote the name down on his notepad and sat back in his chair. I couldn’t believe I’d found the only two people in Baldwin County who’d never heard of the place.

Then Crawford smiled. “I’ve always wanted to see inside that house.”

Here it comes.

“I saw it a year or so ago by accident. Turned down the wrong driveway looking for another job site. The house was obviously in disrepair, but I could tell it had been beautiful once. I’d seen the sign before but didn’t know anything else about it. Then again, I’m not a local. How’d you get the job? Didn’t you say you’re from New Orleans?”

“I live in New Orleans now, but I’m actually from Sweet Bay. Born and raised.”

“No way,” Charlie said. “Don’t see too many girls around here who look so classy. No offense,” he said quickly. “But you kind of stick out like legs on a fish.”

I smoothed my still-damp dress over my knees and ran my hand down my ponytail, making sure nothing was out of place.

Crawford’s gaze on Charlie was a laser beam, then he shook his head and smiled. “Please excuse my partner. Sometimes he doesn’t know when to stop. And he’s used to the taste of foot in his mouth.”

I smiled, grateful for his easy removal of awkwardness.

“The owner hired you to redo the place?” he asked.

He really doesn’t know anything.

I took a deep breath. “It was my grandmother’s house, and she just passed away. In her will, she gave me the house and asked me to renovate it. It used to be very different from what it is now. It was written up in magazines and everything. But over the years, I guess the clientele changed. People who checked in usually ended up living there. I know it sounds strange,” I said, seeing his eyebrows rise. “I have no idea how she ever had the money to keep the place going.”

“Sounds like a beast of a project.” Charlie grinned.

“I don’t know about that, but I do need professionals to come in and tell me just how bad it is. The place has always been a little wild. Four of my grandmother’s friends still live there, and I’m staying there for the time being, so the house will be occupied during renovations. We’ll need to work on it in stages, I suppose, rather than ripping it all up at once.”

“You’re staying in town during the work?” Crawford asked. “I would have expected you to set the plans in motion, then hightail it back home.”

I uncrossed then recrossed my legs, uncomfortable with his laser beam directed at me. I smoothed my hair down again.

“I considered it, but there’s so much work to do. Rather than spend the next several weeks on the phone checking on things here, I’m treating it like a normal job. I’ll see it through to the end, then hightail it back.”

Crawford held my gaze for a moment, then looked at Charlie, who nodded.

“We’d love to take on the job,” Crawford said. “I’m biased, but I think we’re the best ones by far to do the work. As Charlie probably told you, old houses are my thing. I’d love to get in there and peel back the layers on this one. If you’ll have us, of course.”