Page 52 of Written with Love

Chapter Sixteen

Juliette needed time to move her things, so he was in charge of filming the following day while she went back to her parents’ place and packed. He’d asked her if she needed help, but she’d assured him all she was bringing over were some clothes and some necessities.

He spent a while setting up the cameras where the workers would be that day and adjusted the last camera settings, making sure everything was in place before he left the top floor.

The workers were scattered throughout the house, hammering, drilling, and moving materials up and down the stairs as they worked on finishing the second-floor renovations. The sounds of construction filled the space—familiar, almost comforting.

Would the place be too quiet once they were gone? He doubted it. There was still the soothing sound of the waves below them.

Max took a moment to check in with Palmer, who was standing near the base of the stairs, studying a blueprint while one of the workers measured along the railing.

“Hey,” Max called out over the noise of drills and hammers.

Palmer looked up. “What’s up?”

Max motioned towards the plans. “I was thinking about changing the design for the tile in the upstairs bathrooms. The tile I originally picked for the third bath isn’t sitting right with me. It’s a little too modern for the rest of the house.”

Palmer scratched his beard. “Got a replacement in mind?”

“Yeah, I saw some hand-painted tiles from a company out of Portland. They’re a little more classic, a little rustic. I’ll send you the link.”

Palmer nodded. “Sounds good. We haven’t ordered the tile for that bathroom yet, so it’s an easy swap.”

Max gestured towards the staircase. “While we’re at it, can we fix a few of these rungs? I noticed some of them feel a little loose.”

Palmer tapped the wooden banister. “I had that on my list. We’ll get them secured before the end of the day.”

Max gave a satisfied nod, then took a last look around before heading to set up the last of his cameras.

Shortly after lunch, he decided it was time to conquer decluttering the basement. If the men were going to start on his wine cellar the following week, they needed access to the space. They’d already been down there working on electric, plumbing, and even the foundation, but they hadn’t needed full access like would to build walls.

Moving through the kitchen, he made his way to the pantry closet, were the entrance to the basement was. There were a lot of items to move out of the space and into the barn so the next phase of work could be done.

He stepped inside and flicked on the dim basement light.

The air grew cooler as he descended the creaky wooden stairs, which probably needed to be rebuilt. He knew that there was another entrance to the space from the outside that was padlocked shut.

He thought there might be another way down to this level, but so far he hadn’t found it. Then again, there was so much clutter in the space that it was hard to get a full assessment of the area.

The scent of old wood and dust filled his nose, and he sneezed once or twice as he descended the stairs.

This part of the basement was massive, stretching almost the entire length of the house. There was another side of the basement, under the lighthouse, that wasn’t attached to this portion. It was filled with all the mechanicals and replacement parts for the lighthouse.

His plan for this part was to convert a large section into a wine cellar, keeping the rustic charm of the old stone walls while modernizing the storage. For now, though, it was cluttered with forgotten furniture, stacks of dusty boxes, and an eerie stillness that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He switched on the single overhead bulb at the base of the stairs, which barely cast enough light to cut through the shadows. Palmer and his crew would be installing new lighting, plumbing, climate control, and shelving for the section he was going to store his wine in.

He walked towards the far wall, where he planned to install the wine racks, mentally going over measurements.

Then he heard it.

A floorboard from the stairs creaked.

He turned, expecting to see one of the workers. “Hey, do you need something?”

No answer.

His pulse ticked up a notch as he peered through the dim light. The space was too dark, too quiet. Maybe someone had just stepped inside but hadn’t heard him.