Lime green isn’t a color I’d ever choose for an exterior, but right now, I’m not in a position to be picky. I just need someone who can get the job done.
“Thank you for the meal,” I say when I get the bill.
“Anytime, honey,” Gina says. “We’ll see you the next time you come in. Good luck with those apartments.”
I walk out of the diner and debate on whether I should walk or take the car to find this Talia. Maybe I’m not used to driving as much because of the ease of transportation in New York, but I’d rather not have another gasoline problem. And I need todecide how long I’m staying so I don’t have to keep extending the rental.
Across the street is a cluster of e-bikes, which I hadn’t noticed before. I cave and use a card for one since there’s no way to pay with cash.
There are a few large buildings and hotels along the ocean as I head out of town, and I keep an eye out for anything remotely green. Leave it to a small town to give directions based on landmarks. Then again…it works for me.
The road inclines, and I’m only part way up and breathing harder than I should be. The hill is extra steep, working the motor on the bike so much but getting me nowhere. I have to start pedaling when my momentum is on a backward drift, and I’m out of breath once I make it to the top.
I really need to get out of the office more when I get back to New York.
A little farther down, I spot the lime-green house.
It’s…a choice.
But right now, if she can fix what’s been done or not done, and do it right, that’s all that matters.
I park the bike on the grass and walk up the cement steps, noting the crumbling edges. Not exactly a glowing recommendation for a builder.
Then again, maybe the last thing she wants to do after work is fix her own place.
I knock.
Nothing.
I knock again.
The door finally swings open, and a balding man peers at me through narrowed eyes, as if he hasn’t adjusted to the daylight yet.
“We don’t accept solicitors,” he slurs.
“I’m looking for help with a building project. I was told to ask for Talia Bernsen?”
His nose scrunches, and he turns to yell into the house. “Talia! You got a date out here?”
I blink. “Not a date—someone from the diner?—”
“Talia, better hurry before I run this one off too.”
I take a step back, nearly slipping on loose gravel.
“Go back to your chair, Pa,” a female voice calls.
The man disappears, and a petite blonde woman steps into the doorway, shutting the door so I can’t see behind her. There’s a streak of light-blue paint under one eye, and her overalls are covered in multicolored splatters. I wonder if she’s the one who painted the murals around town.
“You asked for me?” she says, one hand settling on her hip.
She reminds me a little of my sister, Georgina, when she doesn’t get what she wants and she’s ready to debate—or cry—for it.
“Yes. I need—” I stop myself before saying too much. “I was told you might be available to take on a project. Some unfinished apartments near the marina.”
She raises an eyebrow nearly to her hairline. “Someone in Penrose Beach recommended me?” she asks, tapping a finger against her chest.
“Yeah. I was at the diner. One server said you might be available since most contractors are booked. Rainy, I think it was?”
