A Struggling Dad Got A Call To Fix A Door, Not Knowing The Homeowner Was A Billionaire In Love

The Door at Westwood Heights

Garrett Jennings was elbowed deep in a busted water heater when his phone rang. The screen cracked and smudged with grease flashed a number he didn’t recognize.

“Yeah,” he answered balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear while tightening a rusty valve. “Hi is this Jennings Repairs?” a woman’s voice asked smooth clear and way too elegant for the usual clientele.

She called him about leaking faucets and jammed doors. “That’s me,” he said grunting as he gave the wrench a final twist.

“What’s the issue?” “My front door is off the hinge i need someone today it won’t close properly.”

Garrett sighed glancing at the clock. It was already past 4 and his 7-year-old son Brandon would be waiting for him at his sister’s place.

But rent was due and the fridge at home might as well have been a museum exhibit. It was cold empty and depressing.

“I can be there in 40 minutes,” he said. The woman gave him the address and he nearly dropped the phone.

“Wait you said Westwood Heights?” “Yes is that a problem?”

Garrett blinked. Westwood Heights wasn’t just rich it was billionaire rich.

It was the kind of place with gates taller than his entire apartment building. “No problem at all,” he said quickly “i’ll be there.”

He picked up Brandon from his sister’s. He dropped him off at a neighbor’s who owed him a favor then drove his battered pickup toward the hills.

The dashboard was rattling with every bump. When he pulled up to the gate it opened automatically.

The driveway was longer than some roads he’d worked on. The house at the end was more like a glass palace sleek modern and glowing under the early evening sun.

He parked beside a black Rolls-Royce that probably cost more than his entire life and grabbed his toolbox. The door opened before he could knock.

She was barefoot dressed in a soft cream sweater and jeans that looked casual but probably cost 500 bucks. Her hair was long and dark falling over her shoulders in waves.

Her eyes those wide hazel eyes locked on him like she didn’t expect him to look like well him. “Hi,” she said.

“Door,” Garrett said lifting his box. She blinked then smiled.

“Right sorry yes come in it’s this way.” He stepped inside instantly aware of how out of place he was.

His boots squeaked against the polished floors. The house smelled like vanilla and something expensive he couldn’t name.

“I’m Rowan,” she said walking ahead of him “sorry for the short notice.” “No problem,” he said “i’m Garrett.”

She led him to the front door where one of the top hinges was split clean off. “I tried to fix it myself,” she said pointing to a bent screwdriver lying on the floor.

“That didn’t go well.” Garrett crouched to inspect the damage.

“You tried,” he said with a chuckle “that’s more than most.” She smiled and he noticed it lingered a little too long.

He got to work asking her questions about when it started what she noticed and all the usual stuff. But she kept hovering nearby watching him closely.

“You’re good at this,” she said. “It’s a door,” he said glancing up with a grin.

“No I mean you’re fast focused.” Garrett shrugged “been doing this a while.”