Page 219 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

JULIAN

S omething miraculous happens on Thursday. A contractor actually calls me back.

“Hi, this is Simon Johnson,” the man says. “You left a message for me a while ago looking for somebody to renovate your house?”

“Yes,” I blurt out. To be perfectly honest, I don't remember leaving a message for Johnson, but that first weekend, I called over twenty contractors. “Thank you for returning my call.”

“Sorry it's taken me a few days,” he replies, sounding sheepish. “Are you still looking for somebody?”

“Yes.”

“I can come by this afternoon to look at the house, and you can tell me what you want done. A little after lunch? Between one-thirty and two, if that works.”

True to his word, Simon Johnson shows up exactly at one-thirty. He’s younger than I expected, in his late twenties. Tall and broad-shouldered, with dark wavy hair and warm brown skin, he doesn’t look like a contractor. He looks like a male model.

He sticks his hand out. “Hey, I'm Simon.”

I shake it. “Julian. Come on in. Let me show you the greenhouse.”

He looks around with interest as I lead the way to the back. “I’ve seen this place dozens of times from the road,” he says. “I’ve always wondered what it looks like on the inside.”

“As you can see, it's something of a disaster.”

I expect him to tell me to level it and start over, but he doesn’t.

“Good bones, though,” he says. “It would take some work to get it up to date, but it would be worth it. The world is filled with cookie-cutter suburban houses. Homes like this are special.” We walk through the kitchen, and he shudders in horror when he takes in the circa mid-seventies sea foam green cabinetry. “This is dated.”

“Hey, the stove works, and so does the refrigerator. It might not be the prettiest room in the house, but it's the most functional.”

Simon chuckles. “There is that,” he agrees. He flicks on the ceiling light. “Better lighting will go a long way.”

Huh. He’s right.

We arrive at the greenhouse. “This is it,” I announce, bracing myself for his reaction.

I’d vetted the contractors I called for obvious red flags, but right now, even if half of Simon’s reviews are one-star, I’d hire him.

I’m desperate. I sent Francisco Flores ten pages of my first draft, and he returned it to me with a terse note saying it wasn’t working.

No details on what wasn’t right or how to fix it.

Just a pointed suggestion to start over.

I’m trying to stay optimistic about the collaboration, but just less than a week into the process, and it’s shaping up to be hell.

The greenhouse renovations have taken a back seat to the Revenant screenplay all week. I’m woefully behind schedule. Damien has been helping where he can, but he’s got troubles of his own at work.

Hiring a contractor would be such a relief.

Simon doesn't look horrified. He looks like he sees a challenge. “Sophia said it would take some work,” he says. “She's not wrong.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You know Sophia?”

He must hear the note of jealousy in my voice. He looks up, amused. “Yeah, she's my sister.”

And now I feel very stupid. “She is?”

“Is it the skin color that's throwing you? We’re both adopted.”

“That’s partly why, but you also have different last names.”

He grins. “Ah, that. Yeah, people always get confused about why that’s the case.

My fathers didn’t care if we kept our last names from birth, but we all wanted to change them.

Since Sophia and Ben were already Thorsens, Andre and I decided we wanted Hank’s last name.

My sister Aurora picked both. She’s Aurora Thorsen-Johnson Vallejo. Quite a mouthful.”

Simon’s far chattier than his sister. I’m not above pumping him for information about Sophia. “She’s biologically related to your father, though, she said.”

“Yeah. Dad is technically Ben and Sophia’s uncle.”

“It didn’t make a difference?” Neither Hannah nor I were adopted, but my parents still treated us differently.

“To Dad?” He shakes his head. “Nah, man. It never seemed to matter. There was always enough love to go around.”

“Your parents sound amazing.” And so different from mine. After my childhood, children were never on my radar, but maybe I just needed different role models. Like Sophia’s parents, who adopted five children and knit them into a family.

For a split second, I have an image of Sophia holding a baby in her arms, Damien and I looking on proudly.

I shake my head and dispel that fantasy.

It’s too soon—we haven’t even gone out on a proper date yet.

Sex after a day of hard labor doesn’t count, and neither does the hasty dinner we had before Club M.

Plus, I don’t even know how Sophia feels about the threesome.

She’s said she wants both of us, and I believe her, but does that translate into a relationship?

Simon kneels on the floor and places his hand on the concrete slab. “You have under-floor heating?”

I drag my attention back to the hothouse. “It's not working. The electrician says the boilers won’t be here until January.”

He looks up. “Who did you talk to?”

“Chris Quinn.”

His expression clears. “Ah, that makes sense. Chris only uses one supplier, and they’re often backed up. I'll talk to him and suggest some alternatives. When do you want the job started?”

Does this mean he has capacity? Does this mean he's going to do the work? Hope flickers in my chest. “As soon as possible. My sister wants to get married here on Christmas.”

“On Christmas Day? That’s romantic.”

“It’s also four months away.”

Simon looks unfazed. “So you're looking to be done about the start of December, more or less? That shouldn’t be a problem. We need to special order the glass panes for the roof and the walls, but I have a contact at a manufacturer in upstate New York. Do you need a bathroom renovated as well for the guests? And will they enter through the house or come in through the yard?”

Holy fuck, this is a miracle. If I wake up, if this turns out to be a dream, I'm going to be gutted.

I show him the bathroom closest to the greenhouse. He looks around. “New tiles, new toilet, new fixtures. Not a problem.”

A massive weight lifts from my shoulders. “When can you get started?”

“I just finished up a job. I’ve got nothing going on right now. Kevin and I can be here tomorrow morning if you'd like.”

“Fuck, yes.”

He bites back his smile. “Okay. I’ll go back to the office and work out a more detailed quote, but what you want done will cost anywhere from seventy to a hundred grand. Sorry about the cost. I know that's high, but the glass panes are custom orders, and they can get expensive.”

All things considered, his quote is extremely reasonable.

I'm desperate and running out of time. Simon could have charged me double, and I wouldn’t have cared.

I tell him that, and he laughs. “Sophia will kill me if I overcharge her friends. I need a check for ten percent to move forward. Seven thousand sound good to you?”

“It sounds great.”

We head back inside, and I write him a check. “I can't thank you enough,” I say. “I’ve been trying to hire a contractor for weeks, but I can’t even get someone to come out and look at the place.”

“It’s a busy time, that’s for sure,” he agrees.

“But it’s not me you should be thanking.

It’s Soph. I had thirty-seven messages on my phone, and the temptation to delete them all without listening to them was really strong.

” He shakes my hand. “I love old houses. I’m going to enjoy working on this place.

See you tomorrow. We’ll be here at seven. ”

Sophia. The renovations have been such a source of stress, and just like that, it’s gone. And it's all because of Sophia. She had no reason to help me out, and she did anyway. Because that’s who she is. She’s kind and warm and truly lovely, and I’m crazy about her.

She said she likes roses. There are not enough flowers in the world to express my gratitude.