Draw Me Close

 

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To my sister Lauren, who has become a beautiful and inspiring heroine in her own story.

 

One

It was bad enough being single on Valentine's Day, but Lindsey Morales was single, alone, and
working
. By her own choice, of course. Work was always her escape from the pressures of the world. Besides being incredibly broke, she had the additional pressures today of lacking heart-shaped candy, cards full of meaningless drivel, and overpriced flowers. Things she'd never received from a man on Valentine's Day before. But it was fine. Candy went straight to your thighs, meaningless drivel was, well … meaningless, and flowers wilted and died. No reason to feel sorry for oneself. None at all.

Lindsey let out a sigh and stared through her windshield at the turn-of-the-century, light yellow farmhouse that she'd been hired to help renovate. The headlights of her SUV cut through the night, illuminating the wraparound porch. It was in the process of being rebuilt and everything was coming along nicely. She'd been very specific that it needed to look just like the original and thankfully her instructions had been followed. But it still … needed something. Maybe a swing. Or a pair of rocking chairs. She would suggest that to her friend Anne, since this was going to be her house when the work was finished.

And what a gorgeous house it would be. The property was incredibly serene and beautiful. Although it was now dark, Lindsey had been here enough times to perfectly imagine the picturesque landscape. The big barn in the back that nestled up to a wide-open field and the mature line of trees that ran the perimeter of the extensive yard. It certainly would be lovely to wake up to that kind of beauty and peacefulness every morning.

Lindsey turned off her engine, collected her bag of home magazines and cutouts, laptop, the little cooler she'd packed for herself, and got out of the car.

The February wind was brutal, biting at her cheeks as she walked up the front porch steps. This morning's weather forecast had mentioned a cold front was moving in and that could mean snow—not her favorite. It wasn't even six in the evening, yet it was already pitch-black outside. Thankfully whoever had worked here last had left the porch light on. Lindsey laid down her cooler in order to pull the key from her jeans pocket and unlock the front door.

She stepped in and took a deep breath of paint fumes and pine, then went back for her things before shoving the door shut against the bitter cold. It had been nearly a week since her last visit and she was excited to see what had been done.

Flipping on the entryway light, she turned and took in the space with pleasure. It was spectacular. The stairs had been rebuilt with the bannister and spindles she and Anne had chosen, and the large entryway chandelier—full of vintage Swarovski crystals she'd repurposed—sparkled. Despite Lindsey's disdain for the contractor on the project, she had to admit that he knew what he was doing. Or at the very least he knew how to hire good tradesmen. It was difficult to give the man too much credit, even if it was due.

It wasn't that Lindsey had a problem with contractors on principle, just
this
one. She and Derek Walsh had a history, one she'd have preferred never to think of again. That was easier said than done, but not seeing his face helped. Hence the main reason for her nighttime Valentine session.

As she stood here, ready to do manual labor in jeans and an old T-shirt, he was probably wooing some unsuspecting woman with a fancy dinner and flowers. No doubt he was dressed to entice—easy to do for a wealthy man who was too handsome for his own good. She could imagine him in dress pants that perfectly molded his butt and a well-tailored suit jacket that hinted at barely restrained muscles. He probably had no use for sappy cards, chocolate, or overpriced bouquets. It wouldn't take much convincing to lure a woman back to his place.

Lindsey knew his routine all too well, and now that he was divorced it was probably serving him well once again. Men like Derek were exactly the reason Lindsey was better off working and not dating.

And she'd keep telling herself that until she believed it.

With one last glance around the entryway Lindsey headed down the little hallway toward the kitchen. She stopped and peeked into the living room. It was dark, but the hall light cast enough of a glow that she could see the progress. The old shag carpet was gone and the hard floors they'd found beneath had been sanded down and were ready for stain. The large marble mantel stood majestically at the far end of the room. It was one of both Lindsey and Anne's favorite things in the entire house. An original piece that Lindsey had covered in sticky notes that read
DO NOT TOUCH
.

She'd left similar sticky notes on other pieces, too. The bookcases in the upstairs hallway, the original pocket doors that led to the dining room, the upper cabinets in the kitchen, and of course all of the trim work and hardware.

The house was over a hundred years old, which made it special and incredibly unique. Not that there weren't other old houses, but homes of this era were not prefab, mass-produced, or worst of all … modern. They were built with hard work, love, and attention to detail. Full of treasures that were worth preserving.

Lindsey was pretty certain that she and Derek didn't share this philosophy. This project wasn't the norm for the hotshot architect. He was used to building fancy office buildings with lots of metal and glass.
Boring
. Every time she came back to the house she was afraid he'd have approved the removal of one of the home's treasures and her sticky notes were her way to remind him that he was being watched.

The arrangement between the two of them, and of course their friends Anne and Mike, had been very clear. Being the general contractor, Derek would do the foundation work: structural, electric, plumbing, and so on. He was responsible for moving some walls, making everything safe, efficient, and sturdy. The crews he hired did the necessary work, then she'd come in and make it lovely.

Normally their two roles would be symbiotic, requiring lots of discussion and throwing ideas back and forth to come to a mutually agreeable plan of attack for the reno. However, that arrangement wasn't really ideal for Lindsey since she'd have preferred not to hear his voice again for as long as she lived. But so far it seemed the sticky notes and short-but-to-the-point e-mails were doing the trick. She was pleased. Along with getting her way, she was avoiding the man altogether.

Lindsey stepped into the kitchen, flipped on a light, and immediately grinned. The bottom cabinets were new and custom-made just for the space. They were currently unfinished, waiting to be painted and stained. But the uppers were the crowning jewels of the room. They were original to the home, and the white paint had aged and worn in just the right places to create a lovely patina. The same look that people scoured Pinterest to learn how to re-create on their eighties-era garage-sale finds. She appreciated that, heck she did it, too. Even sold pieces like that. But these cabinets were the real deal and she was in love with them. The juxtaposition of these originals with the newer lowers was going to be fabulous, especially when she reinstalled the bubbled glass doors. She could already imagine how Anne would fill them with beautiful dishes and glassware.

Running her hand along the roughened wood, Lindsey wondered about all the wonderful memories these cabinets had witnessed. The preparation of Christmas dinners, first-day-of-school breakfasts. Definitely days of sadness and despair. That was what she loved about old things, their stories. Knowing that these had been used for generations, served their owners well, made it her pleasure to give them a new life. A second chance. A light glaze would protect and polish the wood, hopefully helping it to last another hundred years.

Her eyes caught on a giant Ziploc bag resting on the cabinet shelf. She reached for it and read the sticky note at the top.
DO NOT THROW THESE OUT!!!

It was one of hers, she'd left it on the original cabinet hardware. Written below it in a meticulous boxy handwriting that she knew all too well, she read,
YOUR BOSSY VOICE IS SEXY
.

Lindsey sucked in a shallow breath. This was another one of the reasons she'd avoided Derek. It may have been eight years since she'd been in love with him—give or take. But as much as she hated to admit it, she was not immune to his charms. Derek was potent. Dangerous.

Gently laying the bag on the counter, Lindsey allowed herself a minute to collect her thoughts. He was just messing with her and she couldn't let it be a distraction. It was time to get some things done. She settled her cooler on the island, which was currently two sawhorses covered with a large piece of thin plywood. That was another project she was rather excited about because she had big plans to surprise Anne with a custom island.

Opening the cooler, Lindsey pulled out the small feast she'd prepared for herself. Hummus and carrots, chicken salad on a croissant, peanut butter cookies, and three bottles of raspberry wheat beer. She might not be on a Valentine's date but that didn't mean a girl couldn't treat herself. Munching on a carrot, she arranged the rest of her spread to her liking.

Plugging headphones into her cellphone, she popped the top on her first beer and then loaded up her favorite Aerosmith playlist. Tonight's goal was all about taking precise measurements. Things like backsplash tile, stain, paint, even window treatments needed to be ordered.

One of the most exciting parts of the renovation was that the entire process was being featured on the lifestyle blog Lindsey contributed to with her two best friends. My Perfect Little Life had originally been started by Anne, the future homeowner. The next to join was Callie. She owned an adorable—and incredibly successful—bakery in town. Nearly two years ago they'd invited Lindsey to post about repurposing and crafting. She loved every minute of it, and in the past few years the blog had become extremely popular. Their loyal followers were invested and excited to watch “Anne's Dream House Renovation” continue to unfold.