Poor Dad Helped A Woman Carry Her Injured Child, Not Knowing She Was A Millionaire In Love

Propositions and Personal Connections

Two days later, Mason was replacing a garbage disposal for Mrs. chen, a regular client, when his phone rang with an unknown number. “Hello,” he answered, wedging the phone between his shoulder and ear.

“Mason, it’s Grace Porter from the park.” As if he could forget. “Grace, hi. How’s Noah doing?”

“Much better, thank you. He’s already trying to ditch the crutches, which is causing my sister no end of stress.” She paused. “Actually, I’m calling because I have a proposition for you.”

“Professional,” she clarified quickly, as Mason raised an eyebrow. “You mentioned you do handman work. I have some projects around my place that need attention. Would you be interested?”

Mason considered the request. He needed the work, certainly, but something felt off. “What kind of projects?”

“The deck needs refinishing, there’s a leak in the guest bathroom, and I’d like to convert a spare room into a home office.” Those sounded like legitimate jobs, not pretexts.

“Still, don’t people in High Point Heights have contractors on speed dial?” Mason asked. Grace laughed. “Yes, but they charge triple because of the zip code and then send junior staff.”

“I’d rather hire someone I know is skilled and trustworthy.” “You hardly know me,” Mason pointed out. “I’m a good judge of character,” she replied simply.

“Are you interested or not? I’ll pay your regular rates plus 20%.” Mason couldn’t afford to turn down work, especially at those rates. “When would you want me to start?”

“Is tomorrow too soon?” The next morning, Mason arrived at Grace’s house at 9 as arranged. To his surprise, she answered the door herself rather than having a housekeeper do it.

“Good morning,” she greeted him with a smile that did strange things to his chest. “Come in. I made coffee.” Mason followed her to the kitchen.

“I hope you take it black,” she said, pouring him a cup. “I forgot to ask.” “Black is perfect,” he replied, accepting the mug gratefully.

“So, where do you want me to start?” Grace showed him the leak in the guest bathroom, which turned out to be a relatively simple fix. It was a loose connection that had been gradually worsening.

As he worked, she hovered nearby, asking questions about what he was doing. She seemed genuinely interested in understanding the process.

“You know,” Mason said as he tightened the last fitting, “most clients don’t stick around to watch repairs.” “I’m not most clients,” Grace replied with that enigmatic smile. “I like learning new things.”

Over the next week, Mason came to the house daily, working on Grace’s projects. The deck refinishing was a big job that would take several days.

He found himself looking forward to the hours spent there. This was especially true when Grace would bring him lunch or sit nearby with her laptop.

She was ostensibly working, but often engaged him in conversation. He learned that she had traveled extensively, spoke three languages, and had a degree in international business.

What she actually did with that education remained vague. She deflected his questions with practiced ease, always turning the conversation back to him or to general topics.

On Friday afternoon, as Mason was finishing up for the day, Grace approached him with two glasses of lemonade. “I was thinking,” she said, handing him a glass.

“Tomorrow is Saturday. Do you have Lily this weekend?” Mason nodded. “Yeah, I pick her up in the morning. The weather’s supposed to be beautiful.”

“Noah’s coming over again. His ankle is much better.” “Maybe you and Lily would like to join us for a picnic? There’s a lovely spot by the lake.”

Mason hesitated, as this felt like crossing a line from professional to personal. Reading his expression, Grace added, “Noah has been talking about you all week.”

“He’d love to show Lily his rock collection. And I—I’d enjoy the company.” The vulnerability in that last admission decided him. “That sounds nice. What time?”

Grace’s smile was radiant. “Is noon too early?” “Noon is perfect.”

The next day, Mason found himself strangely nervous as he and Lily approached the meeting spot. He told his daughter they were meeting a new friend and her nephew for a picnic.

He was careful not to make it sound like anything more. Lily skipped along beside him, excited at the prospect of making a new friend.

At eight, she was all gangly limbs and endless curiosity. She had her father’s dark hair but her mother’s blue eyes. “Daddy, is Noah nice?” she asked for the third time.

“Very nice,” Mason assured her. “And he’s got an awesome rock collection he wants to show you.” “I hope he has obsidian. Mrs. Garcia says it comes from volcanoes.”

They spotted Grace and Noah setting up a blanket under a large oak tree. Noah was testing his ankle, walking in small circles, while Grace arranged an elaborate picnic spread.

“Mason, Lily!” Grace called, waving them over. She looked different today, more relaxed in shorts and a simple blouse. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

The casual look suited her. Introductions were made, and within minutes, Lily and Noah were deep in conversation about rocks, the earlier injury forgotten.

Noah proudly displayed his collection from a special case he’d brought. “They hit it off,” Grace observed, sitting beside Mason on the blanket. “Kids are good that way,” he replied. “No pretenses.”

Grace gave him a curious look. “Do you think I have pretenses?” The directness of the question caught him off guard.

“I think everyone does to some extent. Some more than others.” “And me?” she pressed. Mason considered his words carefully.

“I think you keep parts of yourself private, which is your right.” Grace nodded slowly. “Fair assessment. For what it’s worth, I find it easier to be myself around you.”

The admission hung between them, creating an intimacy that Mason wasn’t sure how to navigate. He was saved from responding by Noah’s excited voice.

“Aunt Grace, Lily’s never been on a boat! Can we take out the paddleboat, please?” Grace laughed. “That’s up to Mason. It’s his daughter.”

All eyes turned to him, and Mason found himself agreeing. Soon they were out on the small lake in a rented paddleboat.

The children were seated between the adults. All four worked the pedals in an uncoordinated but hilarious effort.

The day passed in a blur of laughter, good food, and comfortable conversation. By late afternoon, when it was time to leave, Mason felt a reluctance that surprised him.

“We should do this again,” Grace said as they packed up the picnic. “I’d like that,” Mason replied, meaning it.

Over the next few weeks, a pattern emerged. Mason continued working on projects at Grace’s house during weekdays.

Weekends often included activities with the children, such as a trip to the science museum. They went to the community pool and on a hiking expedition.

They were becoming a foursome of sorts, though Mason was careful to maintain boundaries. He never presumed these outings were anything more than friendship.

One evening, after finishing the home office conversion, Mason found himself lingering. Neither of them seemed eager for him to leave.

“I guess that’s it,” he said finally, packing away his tools. “Unless you’ve been hiding more projects from me.” Grace leaned against the door frame.

“Actually, I have a confession to make,” she said. Mason looked up, intrigued. “Oh?”

“Some of these projects—they weren’t entirely necessary.” She met his eyes. “I could have lived with that guest bathroom leak a little longer.”

“And the home office could have waited,” she continued. “So why the rush?” Mason asked. He suspected he knew the answer, or hoped he did.

Grace took a deep breath. “Because I wanted an excuse to see you. To get to know you.” The directness of her admission left Mason momentarily speechless.

When he found his voice, it came out rougher than intended. “You could have just asked me out for coffee.” “Would you have said yes?” she challenged.

She pictured the struggling handman getting coffee with the woman from High Point Heights. She had a point. He probably would have made an excuse, convinced the divide was too great.

“I’m not just the woman from High Point Heights,” Grace continued softly. “And you’re not just a handman.” Mason sat down his toolbox and crossed the room.

“Then who are we, Grace? Because I still feel like I don’t fully know you.” Grace hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision.

“Have dinner with me tomorrow night,” she said. “Not here. At my office downtown. I’ll answer any questions you have.” Mason studied her face, noting her determination and vulnerability.

“All right,” he agreed. “Tomorrow night.”