Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“What’s a dig?” Owen asked, standing still while his sister dropped down and tugged on her sneakers, then tied two perfect bows, making sure the ends of the shoelaces were even.
“It’s where you forage in the dirt to find artifacts from the past,” Mabel said dramatically. “It’s like treasure hunting for a job!”
“Wait—that’s a job? You can get paid to dig in the dirt?” Owen sounded interested in this kind of career path.
“Yes. But not much.” Mabel laughed. “Archaeologists aren’t really in it for the money.”
“Who’s going to be the new nanny?” Owen wondered.
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “We’ll have to find one.”
“Like Mary Poppins?” Adelaide’s voice rose hopefully.
“We can’t afford her.”
“Is she going to live over the garage like Aunt Mabel?” Owen had his shoes on now, but still untied.
“I guess,” I said, although I wasn’t looking forward to having a stranger up in my business. I liked order. I liked routine. I liked things done a certain way—my way—and I didn’t need someone coming in who’d ignore my instructions or, worse, try to take charge and make changes.
“Can you pick us up from camp today, Daddy?” Adelaide asked.
“Sorry, June bug.” Guilt nicked at me. “I have to work. I’m putting in a new deck out on Lighthouse Point.”
“Can’t Grandpa put in the new deck?”
“He can help, but if I wasn’t there, he’d try to do things he shouldn’t, because he forgets he’s old now.”
“You’re old too,” Owen pointed out.
“Thanks.” I bent down to tie his shoes, giving the bill of his cap a thump.
“Thirty-two isn’t that old,” Adelaide argued, and just when I was about to thank her, she added, “I mean, it’s old, but not like grandpa old.”
Mabel laughed, grabbing her bag from a chair near the front door and slinging it over her shoulder. “Okay, so I’m dropping them at camp, then I’m going to run some errands and do some packing, then I’ll get them back here to clean up. Next, I’ll take them for their haircuts, and afterward we’ll come home and I’ll make dinner.”
“Don’t forget to add find replacement nanny to that list, unless you think she’s just going to magically blow in on the breeze.”
Mabel laughed and punched my shoulder. “Maybe she will.”
I followed my sister and the kids out the door, pulling it shut behind me. While they piled into her hatchback that was parked at the curb, I walked around to the driveway and jumped into a battered white pickup that said TWO BUCKLEYS HOME IMPROVEMENT on the side.
We did a little of everything—carpentry, painting, flooring, tile work, plaster repair, light remodels—and we did it well. Despite the fact that we could have made more money if my dad would just take on more employees, he’d always insisted that Two Buckleys would remain exactly that—a small family business.
Which was why it fell to me to hire on as the second Buckley after our uncle’s death. Not only was I the oldest brother, but at that time, I was really the only one suited for the job. Xander had one year of school left and then planned on joining the Navy. Devlin had still been in driver’s training and had zero interest in working with his hands. Dashiel was barely fourteen.
My dad had needed me, and I wanted to do right by him, like he’d done by us.
Waving to Arthur, our mail carrier, I made my way from our neighborhood down toward the harbor, usually only a five-minute drive. But even though it wasn’t quite eight a.m., the traffic on Main Street was already slow, and the sidewalks were crowded with people looking for the perfect cup of coffee or handmade pastry. Many were already dressed for the beach or a day on the boat. With the truck windows down, I could smell the scent of fudge wafting through the air—I’d once read that Cherry Tree Harbor sold five tons of fudge every summer.
It was a small town with barely over a thousand year-round residents, but the population swelled each May to the point where it felt like every restaurant, inn, and shop was bursting at the seams, and stayed that way until September. It would pick up again for ski season, then quiet down in spring once more. Many of the seasonal visitors weren’t just tourists, but families who’d owned homes here for generations.
The biggest ones were century-old Victorian “cottages” on Bayview Road, which curved along the shoreline, overlooking the crescent-shaped harbor that was nestled at the base of the bluff. I loved working on those old homes—restoring the exterior porches, gables, and trim, or the interior floors, moldings, and staircases. A few times, owners had asked me to restore original furnishings too, but what I enjoyed best was taking old materials like resawn beams, plank flooring, barn wood, or even whiskey barrels, and making them into something new.