Unexpected Inheritance

11

Ben threw on his work boots and grabbed his tool belt, ready for another day of helping his friend around the property. Being a handy man in a small town like this wasn't just about fixing things—it was a way of life. People trusted you with their homes, their projects, and sometimes even their problems. And Ben had learned over the years that the best way to keep his mind occupied was to get his hands dirty.

He spent the better part of the day building a new deck with his friend, who had more projects than he knew what to do with. They cracked open a cold beer every now and then, the hot sun beating down on their backs as they sawed, hammered, and measured. There was something therapeutic about it—about the rhythm of the work, the chatter between friends, and the satisfaction of seeing something come together piece by piece.

By the time they finished for the day, the deck was nearly done. It wasn't perfect, but it would hold, and that was what mattered. As Ben wiped the sweat from his brow, his friend clapped him on the back.

"You're a damn good hand to have around, Ben," his friend said, popping the tab on another beer. "You ever think about starting your own business?"

Ben chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nah, I like helping out, no pressure. It's just what I do."

But word spread quickly in a small town, and soon Ben was getting calls from neighbors, asking if he could lend a hand here and there. He fixed fences, installed windows, patched up leaking roofs. The work was steady, and the people were grateful, but it never felt like work. More like an excuse to get out of his head and focus on something else.

As the calls kept coming, Ben found himself juggling more and more jobs, hopping from one property to the next, always with a tool in hand. It wasn't long before he became the go-to guy for anything that needed fixing. If someone needed a handyman, Ben was the one they called. The town had come to rely on him in a way that felt... good. It gave him purpose, and he needed that.

The constant movement, the manual labor—it kept him busy enough to push everything with Miranda to the back of his mind, for the time being. But no matter how much work he did, he couldn't shake the thought of her.

As much as he tried to bury it, the reality was that Miranda had gotten under his skin in a way he never thought possible. She had become a part of his routine, a part of his life, and no amount of work could change that.

Ben drove out to the outskirts of town, where the old Daley property sat nestled in a small grove of trees. Marina Daley had recently moved back home, or so the town had whispered. The old cabin was a fixer-upper—one that her parents had been generous enough to let her use, even though it had seen better days.

Ben was no stranger to the charm of these old houses, having lived in his own fixer-upper cabin. He couldn't help but chuckle as he pulled up to the property, comparing the two places.

Marina greeted him outside, a small smile tugging at her lips. Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore a faded flannel shirt with well-worn jeans. And she was quite attractive, if Ben said so himself.

"Warren," she said with a slight nod. "Thanks for coming out."

"No problem," he said, glancing at the house behind her. "Heard you needed a hand with some repairs."

She shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Just a few things. Nothing major. But it's an old cabin, so..."

Ben looked up at the crooked roofline, the peeling paint, and the sagging porch. It was a typical project in this part of the world—one he was more than familiar with.

"Nothing I haven't seen before," he said, walking toward the porch. "I live in a fixer-upper myself."

"You do?"