Susan Mallery - Secrets Of The Tulip Sisters

Not willing to lose without a fight, he decided he needed a distraction and how convenient they were standing right next to one.

“You’ve never been to my office before,” he went on. “Why is that?”

“I don’t know. You’ve been back about a year. I guess I should have been by.” She turned toward the tiny homes. “You build these?”

“I do. Have you seen one before?”

“Only on TV.”

He grinned. “Gotta love the free advertising.” He gestured to the model next to the cross section. “Micro housing is defined as being less than five hundred square feet. They serve different purposes for different people. In sub-Saharan Africa, micro housing provides sturdy, relatively inexpensive shelter that can be tailored to the needs of the community.” He pointed to the roof. “For example, we can install solar panels, giving the owners access to electricity. In urban settings, modified homes can be an alternative to expensive apartments. They can also offer shelter to the homeless. For everyone else, they fill a need. You can get a single-story house for an in-law or a guest cottage with a loft. You can take it on the road, even live off the grid, if you want.”

She studied him intently as he spoke, as if absorbing every word. “I like living on the grid, but that’s just me.”

“I’m with you on that. Creature comforts are good. Come on. I’ll show you where we build them.”

He led her around the divider and into the back of the warehouse where the actual construction was done. Nearly half a dozen guys swarmed over the homes. Griffith saw that Ryan was leaning against a workbench, talking rather than working. No surprise there. He ignored the surge of frustration and turned his attention to Kelly.

“Clients can pick from plans we have on hand or create their own. If it’s the latter, I work with them to make sure the structure will be sound. A house that’s going to stay in one place has different requirements from one that will be towed.”

She nodded slowly. “You’d have to make sure it was balanced on the trailer. Plus it can’t be too high. Bridges and overpasses would be a problem. Maybe weight, as well.”

“Exactly. A lot of people think they want a tiny home but when they actually see what it looks like, they’re surprised at the size.”

“Or lack of size?” She smiled. “I can’t imagine living in five hundred square feet.”

“Or less. It takes compromise and creative thinking.”

“Plus not a lot of stuff.”

They walked back to the show area. She went through a completed tiny house waiting to be picked up.

“I can’t believe you fit in a washer-dryer unit,” she called from inside.

“Clothes get dirty.”

“But still. It’s a washer-dryer.” She stepped back into the showroom. “It’s nice that you have this setup for your clients. They get to see rather than just imagine.”

He nodded as he looked around. There were photos of completed projects on the wall, along with the cross section. He had a small selection of samples for roofing, siding and hard surfaces. All the basics.

“What?” she asked.

“It’s okay,” he admitted. “I want to make it better, but I don’t know how to do the finishing touches.” He could design the hell out of three hundred square feet, but when it came to things like paint and throw pillows, he was as lost as the average guy in a housewares department.

“I wish I could help, but I can’t.” She flashed him a smile. “I’m totally hopeless at that kind of thing, too. Now if you want to know the Pantone color of the year, that I can do.”

“The what?”

“The color of the year. Every year the design world picks colors that are expected to be popular. You know, for clothes and decorating.”

“Why would you know that?”

“Um, Griffith, I grow tulips for a living. If I don’t get the colors right, nobody wants them at their wedding or on their coffee tables.”

“Oh, right. I didn’t think of that.” He frowned. “Don’t you have to order bulbs before you plant them? What if you get the colors wrong?”

“Then I’m screwed and we lose the farm. Which is why I pay attention to things like the Pantone colors of the year. It’s not so much that people won’t buy yellow tulips regardless of what’s popular, it’s that I’ll lose sales by not having the right colors available when my customers want them. I like being their go-to vendor when they need something.”

He’d known she cared about her business, but he hadn’t thought of her as competitive. Better and better.

“Do you focus on having the right colors in the field flowers as well as those you grow indoors?”

She studied him for a second, as if surprised by the question.

“They’re different,” she admitted. “What we have for the annual tulip festival are more focused on popular colors as well as types of tulips. I use the greenhouses for wedding seasons as well as for the more exotics. It’s easier to control the process when you don’t have to deal with Mother Nature.”

“I hear she can be a real bitch.”

Kelly laughed. “If there’s a spring hailstorm, I won’t disagree. Ten minutes of hail can ruin an entire crop.”

He winced. “That sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

They smiled at each other. He had a feeling she’d forgotten about why she’d come to see him, which was how he wanted things.

He’d known who Kelly was since high school. She’d been a couple of years behind him, but he’d seen her around. She’d been relatively quiet. Pretty, but not in a flashy way. Her freshman year, they’d worked on the yearbook together and he’d gotten to know her. Still, he’d been that guy and she’d been younger. He hadn’t known if he wanted to make his move or not. Then things had blown up with her mother and he’d hurt Kelly’s feelings and, before he could figure out what to say or do, he’d graduated and gone off to college.

To be honest, he hadn’t thought about her all that much until he’d moved back to Tulpen Crossing, but now that he was here, he found her on his mind a lot. Her five-year relationship had conveniently ended six months ago. He figured there’d been enough time for her to have moved on. Now all he needed was to get her to buy into the plan. And if the lady said no, well then he would back off.

“Come on,” he said, motioning to the door leading to the walkway between the warehouses. “I want to show you something.”

Her expression immediately turned wary. “Etchings?” she muttered, then flushed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply...” She cleared her throat and stared at the floor, then back at him. She sucked in a deep breath, then asked brightly, “What did you want to show me?”

“Just the other warehouse.”

“Okay.”

Her voice was doubtful, but she followed him along the covered walkway, then into the second building.

It was smaller and currently unoccupied. There were piles of material around the perimeter, plans tacked to the walls and empty pallets next to a small forklift.

“Is this for overflow when you get really busy?” she asked as she walked over to a stack of boxed solar panels.

“No. This is why I do the other work.” He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy designing homes for people. They’re so excited and enthusiastic. It’s just there are other places, other people, who are desperate for shelter. That’s the work I do here.”

Her brown eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“I work with several nonprofits. They collect materials and ship them to me. When I have enough, I ask for volunteers and we put together micro housing in kit form. It’s then sent to wherever it’s needed most.” He pointed to the solar panels. “Those are for sub-Saharan Africa. They’ll be self-sufficient as far as electricity. I’m working with a guy I know in Oklahoma who’s experimenting with different ways to purify water. Right now the units are too big and too expensive, but eventually we’ll be able to send them with the houses. These are more basic than what I sell here, but they’re still shelter.”