Page 8 of Screwed

“Yeah, okay. We’ll get that door fixed,” I answered.

I heard Deacon’s wry “I told you so” snort behind me.

5

Ava

“I think you should use this opportunity to redesign the door completely,” Ethan said, his eyes sparkling with a genuine passion for his craft. He was so animated when I’d asked him the simple question of whether he’d be willing to make a replacement for me, and he immediately launched into suggestions.

“If you’d like, we could reclaim the original Douglas fir beams to do a massive, live-edge pivot door,” he said, turning around and staring at the doorless frame as though he could already picture the end product. “I’ve been itching to use traditional mortise-and-tenon joints instead of regular screws. It’s a very Pacific Northwestern thing.”

He paused, turning around to face me and scratching the side of his neck. “If that’s what you want, of course. I don’t know what kind of design choices you’re looking at.”

I smiled at him and his cheeks turned red.

“This all sounds pretty good, but I’m leaning toward a more modern renovation,” I said. “I don’t mind maybe doing something a bit more traditional with the door, though.”

“Hey, Moore. You guys can chitchat about the fluffy stuff later.” Deacon grunted from beneath the weight of the detached, solid-wood door he was manhandling. “Let’s get this one back on its hinges first.”

I couldn’t help staring at him in appreciation. He struck me as a bit of a general prick, if I was being honest, but that didn’t detract from the fact that he was a hot prick. And that he was single-handedly lifting that heavy, splintered slab of wood without too much effort. Nate had named him as the muscle of the group. And given what they were working with, that was certainly an achievement.

“Coming,” Ethan said, giving me a polite nod before grabbing his toolkit and heading over to help Deacon. I watched for a few seconds as they worked together to reattach the door until Nate touched my elbow.

“Ava, think you can give me a minute?” he asked, tilting his head toward my living room.

“Sure,” I replied, tearing my eyes away from the other two handymen.

We made our way to the next room over, which would eventually be a magnificent space with a giant floor-to-ceiling fireplace built with rounded river stones and set as the focal point of the back wall. There’d be a heavy wooden mantle and a dark hearth that would instantly warm up the space.

That was the vision. For now, though, I had an empty room with a water-stained vaulted ceiling featuring faded, sagging boards and a cracked stone hearth that wouldn’t be warming anything any time soon.

But we’d get there.

“What’s up?” I asked, placing both hands on my hips.

“We have some obvious repair work to do before we can get started, as I mentioned before,” Nate began. “But I would like to just get a rough idea of what exactly you’re going for. We don’t want to box ourselves into a corner and accidentally build something that is incompatible with your overall goal here.”

I nodded . “Of course. I actually already have the first draft of concept sketches drawn up.”

Nate raised his eyebrows. “You do?”

“Yeah. I’m still refining some of the smaller details, but I already know the aesthetic I’m gunning for.” I could hear the excitement in my own voice, a mirror to Ethan’s. “Sleek glass. Exposed steel wire. Industrial minimalist. I want to open this place up, modernise it, and bring it into the current century.”

He scoffed.

I narrowed my eyes. “Is there a problem?”

“Not a problem as much as a… critique,” he said.

“Which is?” I pressed.

Nate raised his hands, gesturing around the room as though the answers were plastered all over the rotted wooden paneling. “These are hand-hewn logs. This place is a relic of a bygone era, Ava. Don’t you think that calls for a little bit of respect instead of turning it into a sterile tech-bro office?”

“I am not turning it into a tech-bro office and I resent that you even made the comparison,” I huffed.

His expression didn’t so much as falter. “What was the design description again?”

“It’s my cabin, Nate. I need it to feel like me,” I told him.