LITMIR.BIZ

       3

      Leo Meierotto, the fortysomething site supervisor, stuck his head in Griffith’s office. “Boss, you’ve got company.” Leo’s normally serious expression changed to one of amusement. “Kelly Murphy is here.”

      Because Leo was local and in a town the size of Tulpen Crossing, everyone knew everyone.

      “Thanks.”

      “Think she wants to buy a tiny home?”

      Considering she lived in a house her family had owned for five generations, “Doubtful.”

      Maybe she’d shown up to serve him with a restraining order. Or did that have to be delivered by someone official? He wasn’t sure. Avoiding interactions that required him to get on the wrong side of law enforcement had always been a goal.

      He told himself whatever happened, he would deal, then walked out into the showroom of the larger warehouse. Kelly stood by a cross section of a display tiny home, studying the layout.

      He took a second to enjoy looking at her. She was about five-five, fit, with narrow hips and straight shoulders. A farmer by birth and profession, Kelly dressed for her job. Jeans, work boots and a long sleeved T-shirt. It might be early June, but in the Pacific Northwest, that frequently meant showers. Today was gray with an expected high of sixty-five. Not exactly beach weather.

      Kelly’s wavy hair fell just past her shoulders. She wore it pulled back in a simple ponytail. She didn’t wear makeup or bother with a manicure. She was completely no-frills. He supposed that was one of the things he liked about her. There wasn’t any artifice. No pretense. With Kelly you wouldn’t find out that she was one thing on the surface and something completely different underneath. At least that was what he hoped.

      “Hey, Kelly.”

      She turned. He saw something flash through her eyes. Discomfort? Nerves? Determination? Was she here to tell him to back off? He couldn’t blame her. He’d been too enthused about his plan when he should have been more subtle. She was going to tell him to leave her alone.

      Not willing to lose without a fight, he decided he needed a distraction and how convenient they were standing right next to one.

      “You’ve never been to my office before,” he went on. “Why is that?”

      “I don’t know. You’ve been back about a year. I guess I should have been by.” She turned toward the tiny homes. “You build these?”

      “I do. Have you seen one before?”

      “Only on TV.”

      He grinned. “Gotta love the free advertising.” He gestured to the model next to the cross section. “Micro housing is defined as being less than five hundred square feet. They serve different purposes for different people. In sub-Saharan Africa, micro housing provides sturdy, relatively inexpensive shelter that can be tailored to the needs of the community.” He pointed to the roof. “For example, we can install solar panels, giving the owners access to electricity. In urban settings, modified homes can be an alternative to expensive apartments. They can also offer shelter to the homeless. For everyone else, they fill a need. You can get a single-story house for an in-law or a guest cottage with a loft. You can take it on the road, even live off the grid, if you want.”

      She studied him intently as he spoke, as if absorbing every word. “I like living on the grid, but that’s just me.”

      “I’m with you on that. Creature comforts are good. Come on. I’ll show you where we build them.”

      He led her around the divider and into the back of the warehouse where the actual construction was done. Nearly half a dozen guys swarmed over the homes. Griffith saw that Ryan was leaning against a workbench, talking rather than working. No surprise there. He ignored the surge of frustration and turned his attention to Kelly.

      “Clients can pick from plans we have on hand or create their own. If it’s the latter, I work with them to make sure the structure will be sound. A house that’s going to stay in one place has different requirements from one that will be towed.”

      She nodded slowly. “You’d have to make sure it was balanced on the trailer. Plus it can’t be too high. Bridges and overpasses would be a problem. Maybe weight, as well.”

      “Exactly. A lot of people think they want a tiny home but when they actually see what it looks like, they’re surprised at the size.”

      “Or lack of size?” She smiled. “I can’t imagine living in five hundred square feet.”

      “Or less. It takes compromise and creative thinking.”

      “Plus not a lot of stuff.”

      They walked back to the show area. She went through a completed tiny house waiting to be picked up.

      “I can’t believe you fit in a washer-dryer unit,” she called from inside.

      “Clothes get dirty.”

      “But still. It’s a washer-dryer.” She stepped back into the showroom. “It’s nice that you have this setup for your clients. They get to see rather than just imagine.”

      He nodded as he looked around. There were photos of completed projects on the wall, along with the cross section. He had a small selection of samples for roofing, siding and hard surfaces. All the basics.

      “What?” she asked.

      “It’s okay,” he admitted. “I want to make it better, but I don’t know how to do the finishing touches.” He could design the hell out of three hundred square feet, but when it came to things like paint and throw pillows, he was as lost as the average guy in a housewares department.

      “I wish I could help, but I can’t.” She flashed him a smile. “I’m totally hopeless at that kind of thing, too. Now if you want to know the Pantone color of the year, that I can do.”

      “The what?”

      “The color of the year. Every year the design world picks colors that are expected to be popular. You know, for clothes and decorating.”

      “Why would you know that?”

      “Um, Griffith, I grow tulips for a living. If I don’t get the colors right, nobody wants them at their wedding or on their coffee tables.”

      “Oh,

Скачать книгу