Page 2 of Passion and Privilege

“I’ll think about it,” he said. “I think I’m going to grab some lunch and rest my eyes for a minute.”

It was exactly what I wanted him to do, but I wanted him to tell me he was going to at least schedule an appointment to look at the house. But I would give him a day. “Good,” I said, smiling. “You should do that. I put fresh groceries in your fridge. I got some of that goat cheese you like and fresh juice.”

“Thanks, hon,” he said and patted my shoulder.

He left to take a nap, leaving me devastated. My dream was slipping away because my dad, the boss, had reservations. I wandered aimlessly around the shop, grappling with the disappointment and tidying up a little. I looked up at the sign that had been carved by my grandfather. Jacobson and Sons was a family legacy. My grandfather passed the business down to my dad with the intention of my dad having sons that would join the business.

Surprise. It was me. A daughter. And that was it. That was the end of the Jacobson sons. But I was determined to keep the family business going. I heard a car pull into the parking lot and checked out the window.

I smiled when I saw my long-time boyfriend. I walked to the door and smiled, watching him climb out of his car. “Hi,” I said, expecting a kiss.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asked without touching me. He walked right past me into the shop.

Scott and I had grown distant. Our paths had diverged when he left Sleepy Hollow to pursue an architecture degree in another state. Now, he worked for a local firm, but our connection seemed strained.

“I need to borrow a tool,” he murmured. “I talked to your dad earlier.”

“Did you hear about Gloriana Manor?” I asked.

“No. What about it?”

“The owner is looking to revamp it,” I said. “I want the job. I really want it. This is the dream job. Do you think you can help me get a chance to put a bid in?”

He had his back to me. I wasn’t even sure he heard me. “I’m busy. I’ll look into it over the weekend and get back to you on Monday.”

My excitement flickered, but there was a lingering doubt. Was he still as invested in “us” as I was?

“But we’ll be seeing each other before then, right?” I pressed, reminding him of our plans for the night. He was supposed to take me out to a restaurant—a reservation confirmation I had glimpsed on his phone weeks ago, thinking it was for our five-year anniversary.

He hedged, claiming to be busy. Suspicion crept in, but so did excitement. Maybe he was planning a surprise. He grabbed the tool and headed for the door. I stepped in front of him. “Hey, do I get a kiss?”

“Catherine, I’m busy,” he muttered and gave me a quick peck. “I have to go.”

“I’ll see you later. Love you.”

I smiled, knowing he liked to surprise me. He wanted me to believe he forgot our anniversary. Then I would be sad and he would send me a text telling me to meet him at the restaurant. It was one of our favorites. It was the restaurant we went to whenever we wanted to have a special dinner.

I already had a dress picked out and I couldn’t wait to knock his socks off when he saw me. Things had been difficult. I was hoping the dinner would be a reset. We could start fresh and maybe talk about the next steps in our relationship, since he was back in town.

I finished cleaning up and left Dad’s shop, heading back to my apartment in town. I decided to take a detour along a road that offered a panoramic view of Gloriana Manor. I pulled my truck over and stared up at the house.

It sat atop a hill, looking over Sleepy Hollow. The majestic house rose above the trees, a beautiful but dilapidated relic. It was ugly, but I could see the beauty under the overgrowth and faded paint. No one had lived there for decades, yet it was still owned by the original family. I wondered about the owner’s motivation to revive it, to breathe life back into its timeworn walls. Why now? Were they going to sell it? Turn it into a museum?

Determined, I decided to do whatever it took to win the bid. Tonight, I planned on discussing it in length with Scott. Gloriana Manor wasn’t just a project. It was my passion, a chance to restore history, and I couldn’t let it slip away without a fight. This was my dream, and I was ready to make it a reality—with or without Dad’s approval. I pulled back onto the road and continued on my way, taking looks in the rearview mirror as I drove. I let myself dream about getting to restore it. I had seen pictures of the inside but had never actually been in the building.

I had to get in there, just to see it with my own two eyes before someone destroyed it.

Chapter Two

Catherine

THE SOFT CREAKS AND groans of my rundown apartment were both welcoming and depressing. It wasn’t much, but it had been home for a while now. The worn wooden floors and crappy beige paint weren’t pretty but it was all I could afford for now. If I let myself start listing all the things I hated about the place, I would spiral.

It was what it was. I could dwell on the negative or suck it up and keep putting one foot in front of the other. I had moved into the apartment ten years ago. Ten very long years. I constantly told myself it was going to be the last year I was in the place. I was going to save enough money to put a down payment on a house.

Then another year came and went, and I was still scraping by. But I hoped this would be the year. As a journeyman, I could start charging more for my work. Now, I just had to get the work that paid well. It felt like I was on a hamster wheel. I just kept spinning my wheels, trying to get somewhere and going nowhere.

I missed my childhood home. I missed the cute little two-bedroom craftsman that I grew up in. But life was cruel. My father had to sell our home in order to avoid bankruptcy. I knew how hard that was for him. It crushed his soul to give up the house he restored with his own two hands. I remembered the many late nights we spent refinishing the floors or rebuilding the staircase. I loved those moments with him. That was the spark that lit my love for carpentry.