When Hunter and I get to the duplexes the next morning, Oliver is already parked in front of Hunter's old duplex and standing by his work van with his cell to his ear. A dumpster is on the other side of the driveway, so Hunter parks in Oliver's old driveway instead.
Hunter is carrying a big bulky bag and has a tool belt slung around his waist, and his muscles are straining the tight tee shirt he has on. I walk alongside him as Oliver waves us over; he is standing near a van on his phone.
Oliver is wearing a crisp white button-down shirt tucked into a pair of light-colored jeans, he is hanging up from a call as we reach him.
"They're going into DGI as we speak," he informs me and then looks at Hunter. "Julian's company."
"Damn, that was fast," Hunter replies.
"Are they arresting him today?" I ask with wide eyes.
"All I know is they have a warrant maybe multiple warrants and are going in. I doubt the feds are going to tell me much from here."
"It's going to be okay, Darlin," Hunter assures me. "Oliver did the right thing for all those people Julian ripped off."
"I know," I agree and then look at Oliver. "I know you did, and I am glad."
I let out a small sigh. That's not entirely true, and I feel a little guilty about that. Julian was my husband, and I know he did something awful, but I care what happens to him. "Let's just get to tearing stuff up that'll take my mind off Julian."
"Let's go break shit!" Hunter agrees with a wolfish grin.
"I can't get started with you yet. I need to get back to the bookstore. I trust my dad, but that project... "Oliver pauses for effect, "It has to be perfect. I need to oversee the beginning. But I'll be back in a few hours."
I can't help but think back to Hunter saying the bookstore is like Oliver's ode to me. He was being sarcastic, I know, but maybe there is some truth to that. I mean, he's bringing our mutual childhood daydream to light. Yet, despite that, I still don't know where Oliver stands when it comes to me. He left, he reinvented himself without me.
When I was a teen, I was a dreamer when it came to love, I had this vision in my head of what happily ever after looked like, and it was like a storybook, all happy, no drama, all you need is love and all that crap. But then life came, tossed me around, and showed me what the word reality means in the hardest ways possible, and now...
Well, now I'm cynical and scared, and things like figuring out what's in my heart aren't as simple as my mama makes them seem.
"Where's your crew?" Oliver asks Hunter.
"My client wasn't happy about the delay, so I can't pull them from the farmhouse we're remodeling," Hunter explains. "I figure the three of us can handle the demo for now, and by the end of the week, they can come to help us wrap it up."
"I'm sure we can manage. We got a ton done yesterday," Oliver is nodding. "You talking about the Brown farm? I don't think that's ever been remodeled."
"It's somehow a bigger shitshow than the Johnson farm, and that was..." Hunter shudders.
"You did that remodel?" Olliver looks surprised but impressed. "It looks really good. I noticed that right away, driving into town."
"Yeah," Hunter says with pride in his eyes.
"Do you have something lined up after the farmhouse?" Oliver asks, stunning me and Hunter too, from the looks of the way his eyes widen slightly.
"Not yet..." Hunter says slowly. "You'd hire us for this?"
"It'd be much easier than flying another crew in," Oliver says. "But... you're going to have to understand that you work for me."
"We can set our crap aside for the workday," Hunter offers.
"Not just that, I'm not the tactful, shy guy I was. When it comes to those projects, I'm picky as fuck. I do my best to leave you alone and let you work, but I will be on-site often. If I don't like something, I will tell you... bluntly."
"I get it," Hunter says with a slight shrug. "A lot of money goes into something like this. Of course, you're picky. I don't get butt hurt if we get yelled at. We just fix it the way our client wants it."
The worry leaves Oliver's face, and his body seems to relax.
"But..." Hunter adds. "I know what I'm doing, too, and if I have an honest opinion on a better way, I expect you'll at least hear me out. It's common respect."
"That's fair," Oliver agrees. "You sure you'd even want to take this on? It's a big project, going to tie you up for a while."
"I can't turn down something like this," Hunter agrees. "Work can be scarce these days."
"Then let's talk later. We'll draw something up," Oliver says.
It's a good thing it's too early for flies, or I'd have caught a dozen of them by now.
Oliver and Hunter working together to tear down and then rebuild the place where we all became best friends? It's so fitting.
"You coming, Darlin?" Hunter calls, and I realize I'm still standing dumbly in the driveway. And he's at the door, and Oliver is already in and shutting the door to his van.
"Yeah, coming," I hustle over and follow him as he opens the door. We walk into the neighboring side to start in this one.
It's identical to what Oliver's looked like; these are all exactly the same, and none have been remodeled like ever. There's a musty smell, and I crinkle my nose at it.
"Don't take another step until you put these on," Hunter hands me an ugly yellow hard hat with a pair of work gloves inside.
"I don't need a hard hat," I roll my eyes and hand it back to him, but I put the gloves on. That cut yesterday hurt like a bitch.
"Fine, but please be careful today. Oliver made me feel like a tool when I let you get hurt yesterday."
"Let me?" I comment. "Pretty sure I managed that all on my own."
"Just be careful," he says with a sigh. "Hop up here. I'm going to have you help me with the cabinets first."
"Me? How?"
He chuckles. "You can handle this. You'll unscrew the bolts from the wall while I hold them in place. It was a pain in the ass for me to get under them to get at the hinges. Your hands are a lot smaller you'll have an easier go at it."
"Right," I say as my eyes fall on those large and rough hands of his...and with that, my mind starts to wander, but the sound of his toolbox hitting the counter as he sets it down jolts me back to reality.
He starts rummaging through the toolbox until he finds the right screwdriver... He then pats his hand on the counter, and I climb up. He stands behind me and leans in slightly, his chest brushing against my back, causing the tiny hairs on my neck to stand up as goosebumps form.
"See the hinges there," he points to them as he hands me the screwdriver. "You just take the screws out. Once you get the last one, it's going to feel like it'll fall on you. Just grab a hold of it. I'll need you to help balance it until I have it."