Chapter 12 - Sweat Equity
Julian returned the lumber to the hardware store the next day, citing a "miscalculation." He tore up the check to the community center.
Instead, he walked into the community center's office, where an elderly woman named Martha was staring at a severely leaking roof in the gymnasium.
"I heard you need this patched before the winter storm hits," Julian said.
"We do, but we don't have the budget to hire a crew," Martha sighed.
"I don't want your money," Julian said. He rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. "Just point me to the ladder and the tar."
For the next three days, Julian Vance—a man whose hands had not touched manual labor since he assembled servers in his twenties—worked on the roof. He bruised his knuckles. He covered his clothes in black, sticky tar. He ached in muscles he didn't know he had.
On the third afternoon, Clara was walking past the center to grab a coffee. She stopped. Up on the roof, sweating under the pale autumn sun, was Julian. He was swinging a hammer, laughing at something one of the other local volunteers had said.
May you like
She watched him from the sidewalk, hidden behind a large oak tree. He wiped sweat from his forehead, leaving a streak of black dirt across his face. For a fleeting, agonizing moment, Clara saw the boy she had fallen in love with. The boy who was willing to get his hands dirty to build something from nothing.
Her heart gave a painful, traitorous flutter. She turned and hurried back to the gallery before he could spot her.
