Mindy Obenhaus - A Father's Second Chance

“Yes.” She unlocked the door and stepped inside. “I’ve tried to air it out, but it still has that musty smell.”

“Let’s hope it’s not from water damage.” The barely-there foyer was dark and drab, the only light coming from the small window on the door. “Might want to see if we can bring some more natural light in here. Maybe a door with a larger window and some sidelights.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Celeste flipped a switch and fluorescent lights hummed down the narrow hallway that spread to the right and left.

He admired the flat-panel wainscoting with bead board insets, certain that beneath the yellowed white paint lay some incredible hardwood. The vintage wallpaper above the wainscoting, though, had definitely seen better days.

“Currently, there are six bedrooms and two baths.” She moved down the hallway to the left, opening doors as she went. “My grandparents used it as a bed-and-breakfast.”

He peered into the first bedroom, which was big enough only for the full-size bed and small dresser it housed. However, the fluted window trim and rosettes were a welcome sight.

“Here’s the first bathroom.” She opened a door on the right. “I love the claw-foot tub.”

“Do you plan on reusing it?”

“Absolutely.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I want to salvage and reuse whatever possible. So—” her eyebrows lifted in a defiant manner “—if your idea would be to gut the whole place and start fresh, we can call this meeting over.”

* * *

Call her cynical, but Celeste had no intention of wasting time on another contractor who didn’t see eye to eye with her about preserving the character of this space. Ouray’s ice festival was only three months away. She’d hoped to have the units ready to lease by then. But by no means was she going to settle for some contractor who didn’t give a hoot about the building’s history. She knew what she wanted, and she had every intention of getting it.

Gage removed his worn Ouray Mountain Rescue Team ball cap and scratched his head before tugging the brim back in place. “You do realize this building is over a hundred years old?”

“Part of the appeal.”

“That the electrical and plumbing will have to be brought up to code? That can get expensive.”

She took a step closer. “I’ve done my research. However, there are some things I refuse to compromise on.” She smoothed a hand over the wide molding around the door. “Like the millwork. Any fixtures that can be reused or repurposed.”

“You mean like those?” He pointed to the horrendous fluorescent strips overhead, a smirk firmly in place.

She brushed past him on her way to the door. “If you don’t have an appreciation for old buildings and what they have to offer, then I’ll find another contractor who does.”

“I never said I didn’t have an appreciation.”

She paused in the foyer and slowly turned to face him. “You didn’t have to. Your cavalier attitude said it for you.”

Hands resting low on his denim-clad hips, he stared at her with an intensity she hadn’t seen before. “Actually, historic buildings are my specialty. I don’t believe in wasting, and I’m adamant about remaining true to the architecture.”

“You—?”

“Which is why I was quizzing you.” He closed the distance between them in only a few steps. “Many people like the idea of a historic building until they find out the cost and time involved. Then they take the easy way out—gut it and start new.” He glared at her, his blue eyes darkening to a deep midnight.

Squaring her shoulders, she fixed her gaze on his. “Lucky for you, I’m not one of those people.”

“Good. Then it sounds like we’re on the same page.” He turned his back to her and wandered down the hall. “If you don’t mind, I’ll have a look at everything, take some notes and then I need to pick up my daughters.”

She followed him. “I believe you’re forgetting something.”

“What’s that?”

“I haven’t told you about my vision.”

He twisted her way. Quirked a brow. “Your... vision ?”

“For the new layout. It took me six months to come up with it, but I think it’ll work.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Even the most challenging executives hadn’t irritated her this much. “Do you plan to fight me every step of the way?”

“No. However, when you’re dealing with plumbing and load-bearing walls, you have to be flexible. But, go ahead.”

“Thank you. As I was saying...” Over the next fifteen minutes, she did her best to verbalize the image she saw in her mind.

Gage asked questions and voiced concerns. Even made a few suggestions she found difficult to argue with.

“I have a drawing I could give you.” She waited by the main door.

“That would be helpful.”

She tilted her head to look at him as he rounded the corner. “Just so you’ll know, I plan to be heavily involved in this project. I don’t want anything to go wrong.”

“Neither do I.” He looked over his notes. “So if you’ll give me your drawing, I will be out of your hair.”

She studied him a moment. Despite Gage’s appreciation for the architecture, not to mention Blakely’s glowing recommendation, Celeste wasn’t convinced he was the right contractor for her. How could she work with someone who didn’t value her opinion?

Then again, if she wanted these units up and running by January...

“It’s in the restaurant.” She pushed open the door and stepped onto the small landing. The sun and fresh air were a welcome respite from the stale, musty smell of the long-closed-up space. She continued down the stairs. “When can I expect your quote?”

He followed behind her. “A day or two. Depends how cooperative my girls are.”

She could hear the smile in his voice when he mentioned his daughters.

“How old are they?” She faced him as they reached the sidewalk.

“Seven and five.”

“Busy ages. I guess they keep you on your toes.”

He chuckled, holding the door as she walked inside. “You have no idea.”

She retrieved a copy of her drawing from the small office beside the stockroom, remembering the sight of Gage dancing with his daughters. Must be difficult, trying to be both parents and run a business. She couldn’t begin to imagine. Though she was curious. What would it be like to have a family? Children? Someone who looked up to you and hung on your every word?

We aren’t cut out to be mothers, Celeste. She always found it odd when her mother said those words. As though she were apologizing or making excuses. Still, Celeste understood what her mother was saying. Her mother wanted to give her the world. At least the world as Hillary Ward-Thompson saw it.

Shaking off the conflicting thoughts, Celeste returned to the dining room and handed Gage the file folder. “Would it be all right if I sent cookies for Emma and Cassidy?”

“Oh, man...they’d love that.”

She bagged the treats for him.

“What’s this?” He pointed to a stack of fliers she had beside the cash register.

“Now that the high season is over and things have slowed down, I thought I’d offer some kids cooking classes.”

The look he gave her made her think she’d sprouted horns. “In my experience, kids and cooking don’t always go together so well.”

Considering Emma’s actions the other night, she could understand his skepticism. Though the thought of Emma’s mischievous grin made her smile.

“Well, they’re not exactly cooking classes.” She picked up one of the orange fliers and gave it to him, along with the cookies. “Our first one is called Cupcake Mania. We’ll provide the cupcakes and icing, and then each child gets to design four custom cupcakes to take home.”