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“Oh dear,” she said. “Has he been harassing your father again?”
I nodded.
“The man needs to focus on our potholes. I have half a mind to write a strongly worded letter to the council.”
“I’ll co-sign,” I offered.
“I need a drink,” Dad said. “Portia, honey, if you write another letter to the council this year, they might…Well, I have no idea what they’ll do, but Councilor Jeffries will lose his mind.”
Mom wiggled her finger at him, the bright red of her nail a quick flash of color through the air. “You can’t lose a mind if you don’t possess one in the first place. I’ve half a mind to run for council next year.”
“Excellent,” Dad drawled. “You have half a mind to run for council, and the other half is focused on writing them a letter. Do you think you could spare a little to focus on not burning dinner?”
I bit the inside of my cheek so I didn’t laugh.
“Keith Hancock, I’ll wash your mouth out with soap if you keep sassing me.”
“You’d have to catch me.”
“That wouldn’t be hard, dear. You haven’t moved from the sofa for three hours.”
I burst out laughing, quickly covering my mouth with my hand. Dad shot me a look that was a cross between “shut up” and “don’t validate her.” Of course, I didn’t stop laughing—I’d stopped being afraid of that look ten years ago—and got a wink from Mom for my troubles.
“Can I help you in the kitchen, honey?” Dad asked, now all sweetness and light.
“You can lock the workshop. Don’t think I didn’t notice the door open, and you’re not sitting there until two in the morning building that coffee table again.”
“Ooh,” escaped my mouth. “Are you almost done?”
Dad’s expression brightened. “I am. Do you want to see?”
I nodded, getting up as he heaved himself out of the chair. “I haven’t seen it since you started carving the first leg.”
“The first three are done now. They just need a bit of sanding and varnishing. Come see.”
I followed him out of the room to an eyeroll from Mom, but it was a fond one. After all, she’d come into our lives when I was thirteen. She knew my father’s true passion was carpentry, and she knew that all the aspects of building and handiwork were engrained into my very soul.
And my dad? Well. He was the best damn carpenter in the whole state, and this coffee table had been his pet project for months.
My phone beeped with a notification right before I could enter the barn. I held up a finger so Dad knew I’d be inside in a minute. The notification bar showed a new email to my work address, so I clickedit to open it.
To: Hancock Handyman Co ([email protected])
From: Brantley Cooper ([email protected])
Subject: re: Website Contact Form
Dear Sir/Madam,
I’m contacting you to discuss the possibility of a consultation. I recently moved to town and I would like to have someone come in and fix up my children’s bedrooms. They’re not in great condition at present.
I was recommended your company by someone earlier today. Because of the condition of the rooms, I would need someone to come by sooner rather than later. Is this something someone from your company would be able to accommodate?
If not, I completely understand, and would appreciate any recommendations for other local companies.
Regards,
Brantley Cooper
I clicked my tongue and responded.
To: Brantley Cooper ([email protected])
From: Hancock Handyman Co ([email protected])
Subject: re: Website Contact Form
Dear Mr. Cooper,
Many thanks for your email. Could you provide some more information as to the condition of the bedrooms? Perhaps pictures if possible?
Best wishes.
K. Hancock
I tapped ‘send’ and headed inside to view Dad’s coffee table project. The legs were all laid out on the worktable, and one was noticeably less-carved than the others. Still, that didn’t take away from the intricacy of his carpentry, and I ran a finger over the rough surface of one of the completed legs.
“They still need sanding and treating, but I should be able to start that next week.” Dad picked up the unfinished leg and stared at it. “I hope so, at least.”
“They’re beautiful, Dad,” I said honestly. “This is going to be incredible when it’s finished.”
He set down the leg and smiled at me before he pulled me close and kissed me on the cheek. The salt-and-pepper whiskers that dotted his jaw and chin tickled my skin with the sweeping peck, but I smiled all the same.
My phone beeped again.
“That’s a lot of beeps,” he remarked. “Anyone important?”
“Potential new client. Just moved to town and wants his kids’ bedrooms looking at. Apparently, they’re run down.”
“How run down?”
I waved the phone. “That’s what I’m, hopefully, about to find out.” I dropped my attention to my phone and opened the newest email.
To: Hancock Handyman Co ([email protected])
From: Brantley Cooper ([email protected])
Subject: re: Website Contact Form
Dear K. Hancock,
Please see the attached.
