Page 41 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

It’s noon on the dot when Felicity emerges from the arrivals hallway at Asheville Regional Airport. She looks fresh and beautiful, as always, but—no, it’s not possible. Is she wearing cargo pants? With a T-shirt? Shoes with laces?

I wave and smile. Once she’s within arm’s length, we pull each other in for a hug. When we let go, I take a small step back and playfully twirl her around to fully admire how decidedly not –New York she looks.

“Don’t be dramatic, Gracie,” she says, clicking her tongue in mock annoyance. “You forget that I grew up in Vermont. Just because I’m not actively outdoorsy now doesn’t mean I don’t know how to live the outdoor life. I like to fit in when I go to new places.”

“It’s just a shock, but of course you make it look cute,” I say, admiring how her cropped tee and jewelry make this Canopy-friendly outfit extremely stylish. I take some mental notes.

The airport is small and she’s traveling with only a carry-on for her quick overnight trip, so we are back at the car in no time.

I explained to her over the phone that she could drive my car while she’s in town because I had other reliable transportation.

She read between the lines right away and immediately asked me for details about my “love interest.” I told her she had to wait until we saw each other in person.

It’s no surprise that the second we’re buckled in and exit the airport, she’s prodding me for the scoop.

“I need to know everything. Don’t skip a single detail.”

“Let’s start with this: his name is Josh.

His brother, James, is the real estate agent who sold Ben and me the house.

Before summer started, I reached out to James because the house needed a lot of work, and I was hoping he could recommend people to take on certain repairs. Instead, he told me about Josh.”

Felicity raises an eyebrow the same way I did the first time I heard about the magical brother available to renovate a house on short notice. I take a few minutes to explain his situation and why he had the free time.

“So to be clear, an attractive, handy, and successful man landed in your lap?”

I want to laugh and tell her that she’s the one being dramatic now, but the truth is, that’s pretty much what happened.

“It was a little unsettling at first having someone around the house all the time, but by the end of the first week, we were thick as thieves. He overheard a disaster of an interview and offered to help me with interview practice over lunch on the days that I didn’t have real ones.”

“Wow, that’s a top-tier flirtation strategy. Well done, Josh.”

“It worked on a lot of levels,” I say with a sly smile. “We learned a lot about each other, and obviously, that only increased the attraction, but it also made me better at the interviews.”

“When did you finally hook up?”

“A few weeks ago, and I’ll have you know that I was the one who took the initiative.”

“And since then?”

“It’s hot. It’s fun. It’s cozy. Like, this is what I was secretly waiting for and hoping for on every terrible date.”

After we turn off the main highway and onto the country roads that lead to town, she starts asking me the questions that I expected her to lead with—height, muscle tone, penis size.

I’m actually impressed by the self-control she’s displayed to make it this far into the drive before asking.

I overshare, and we giggle uncontrollably in the car.

For the last ten minutes of the drive, I make Felicity catch me up on how her summer is going. Publishing slows down around now and she tells me it feels like she can finally breathe for the first time this year.

When we pull into the driveway, I admire how adorable the house looks.

The ferns I hung from the old hooks on the porch roof last week make the exterior look picture perfect.

Josh won’t be back until the late afternoon, when he’s joining Felicity and me for dinner, so we’ve got the house to ourselves for now.

As we’re walking up the front steps, I tell Felicity to pause. I take out my phone and force about twenty “before” photos on her. She gasps in genuine horror at the photo with the green rug and stained walls.

When I open the front door and she glances inside, she lets out a loud squeal.

She walks in and puts her hand to her mouth.

This makes me burst with pride—first, for myself, for sticking with the house and making it my own; second, for Josh, who is solely responsible for the physical labor required for the transformation.

“Gracie, this is so amazing. I’m so happy for you,” she says, spinning around trying to take in everything within her line of sight. “The fact that a hot man did all of this…Girl, you are winning at life right now.”

I guide Felicity upstairs to the primary bedroom. Ever since Josh and I got together, it’s been all about the first-floor guest room for us. I make a point to show her the kids’ rooms and the newly renovated hall bath. That’s also Josh’s handiwork, of course.

“Will I be protected from the sounds of your copious fornication up here?”

“Only time will tell.”

While I give her a few minutes to settle in, I walk across the hall to the writing room to grab the first fifty pages that I’ve printed off for her.

Over the past few days, I’ve proofread and edited these pages to perfection for my first official reader.

This is the first substantial read-through Felicity will have of any piece of the book.

I have butterflies—I’m nervous, excited, scared. All the feelings.

When I pop my head back in, she’s admiring the wallpaper in the closet. It’s a cream color with shiny gold flowers. When I saw a single roll on clearance at an interior store nearby, I knew that I had to have it. The print isn’t made anymore, so the closet was the only surface I could fully cover.

“It’s the one home-improvement project in this entire house that I did for myself,” I brag.

“It’s so elegant, Gracie. Everything about this house is so you .”

Her comment makes me think. Yes, most of the projects Josh has worked on this summer are the ones that Ben and I came up with together.

But everything else—the paint choices, the furniture, the fabrics, the wallpaper—is all me.

It’s the first time I realize just how much this is my house .

I’ve not had to compromise or debate on a single thing.

I just chose . I have conflicting feelings of pride and loss.

We head back downstairs and out the door for the short walk to The Drip.

She requires an afternoon cup of coffee to survive, and I think there is no better place for her to dive into the pages.

She assured me on the drive to the house that she ate brunch in the airline lounge and isn’t hungry for lunch. I suspect she has butterflies, too.

When we arrive at The Drip, I tell her that I’ve successfully made it to this point in the writing process primarily because of the caffeine provided here.

“You’re entering hallowed ground,” I joke. We walk to the counter to order and I settle her into one of my favorite spots. While she reads inside, I’m going to head outside to a broad wire lounge chair in the shade. It’s too much pressure to be in the shop while she judges my work.

“Here it is,” I say, handing over the stack of pages like it’s my firstborn. “Remember: no prologue yet. This is the first five chapters.”

Felicity nods, grabs her pen, and gets down to business. I walk out the door with an old copy of Pride and Prejudice that I grab off the communal bookshelf.

—

Ninety minutes go by without a peep from Felicity. No head popping out the door, no text messages from inside. Total silence.

I do get a text from Josh that he’s back at the house earlier than expected. Come by The Drip , I tell him. You can keep me company until Felicity is ready to discuss the first part of my manuscript .

Jane Austen pulls me right back in the second I put my phone down, and when Josh walks up, I don’t notice until he’s right in front of me.

I pop up and immediately wrap my arms around him.

His embrace makes me feel instantly safe and happy.

There is such a newness to all of this that we still get bashful about hanging on to those hugs for an extra second.

What catches my eye next, however, is that he’s wearing a very clean pair of jeans and a light-blue button-up.

This is formal attire in Josh Anderson’s world, and he looks very good.

He shaved this morning, and now the five o’clock shadow is starting to emerge in the way that drives me insane on men.

I am not being discreet at all with regard to my admiration of his look.

“I wanted to make a good first impression on your agent,” he says. “Plus, I thought it was good for you to know that I own more than one nice outfit.”

We sit down and hold hands while he catches me up on his day. I am still amazed that I have someone to hold hands with again.

Felicity emerges from the inside of the shop twenty minutes after Josh arrives. She is carrying her purse and the manuscript, and her eyes are red. I’ve never seen Felicity look quite this way. She locks eyes with me and walks directly to me, not even pausing to acknowledge Josh.

“Gracie, this is phenomenal and I’m a mess. I honestly just want to beg you for more chapters right now because these ones were simply so moving and beautiful and literary, and I want more.”

It takes a moment, but she glances over and notices Josh. A grin emerges and she looks at me and then back at him.

“You must be Josh. I’ve heard a lot about you. Sorry to meet you in this condition. Blame Gracie.”

He stands and reaches out to shake her hand with a warm hello, and I can tell from her expression that I have set her expectations perfectly right. The two of them sit back down, and she immediately returns to praising the book.

“Gracie, be honest with me. Is the rest of the memoir as good as those chapters that I just read?”