So Wright (The Wrights 1)

Her smile was bright, but Jack still sensed nerves. “Well, since you’re all here at the same time, I suppose we could do one big tour.” She glanced at Roman. “If that’s all right with you, Mr. Steele.”

“Call me Roman,” he said. “And that would be fine.”

She nodded, then glanced at Jack. “Can I have a minute, Jack?”

Marty jumped in. “Roman, Jon, come on over here. I want to show you a scale model of the whole project.”

Marty led the men toward a tent, where a model filled a foldout table and professional perspective illustrations hung from PVC pipe. Jack followed Miranda around to the back of the office trailer. She paused in the shade and looked around to make sure no one was close before she met his gaze.

“Are we good?” she asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “No leftover bad feelings?”

“As far as I’m concerned, we’re great. I would have liked to convey that

in person last night.”

“I’ll be honest. I’m struggling with this, Jack. Trust isn’t exactly one of my strengths, and I have to admit, I’m not sure how I feel about everything that’s happened or what should happen in the future.” She shifted on her feet and threaded her fingers, wringing them. “I need you to know that Roman is a potential investor, and I really want to put my best foot forward here.”

Guilt punched him in the stomach. “I won’t embarrass you like I did at Pinnacle.”

“You didn’t embarrass me, you pissed me off.”

“Is that why you’ve been less that chatty with me over text?”

She waved away his question, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. “I just need to know it won’t happen again. Not in front of other people. If you feel the need to confront me, please do it when my peers aren’t around.”

He nodded. “Understood.”

She exhaled, but her gaze remained narrowed, and the distance between them kept her out of reach—physically and emotionally. Jack had no idea how to turn back the clock, so, he did what had worked for him in the past—he reached for her.

He gently gripped her biceps and pulled her close, surprised she didn’t pull back. He wrapped one arm low on her waist, cupped her face with the other hand. “I’m going to make it up to you.”

“I want that.” She rested her hands against his chest and held his gaze, but the absence of her smile made Jack feel chilled. “This is a big deal to me, Jack.”

“And you’re a big deal to me. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“All aboard!” Marty’s call coincided with the crank of an engine.

Miranda stepped away from Jack, and he experienced a sense of loss that was difficult to explain. He followed her around the front of the building and found Marty standing beside the driver’s seat of an all-terrain utility vehicle with four seats beneath a canopy and two more hanging off the rear of the vehicle facing backward. Roman already sat in the passenger’s seat, and Jack’s dad sat in the second row.

Miranda moved to the driver’s seat, and Marty rounded the back. “Sit with me, Jack.”

“I’ll take you around to each subdivision,” Miranda said to no one in particular, “so you can see the various stages of completion. Once I start talking about this, you usually can’t shut me up, so just interrupt me with questions. We’ll end up back here, and I’ll explain what we have planned for the community center.”

Marty gestured to the jump seat. “Climb on, son.” Then settled next to him with surprising agility.

With everyone aboard, Miranda started toward the main road. Marty reached into the seat beside Jack’s father and stealthily snuck a soft-covered binder into his own lap.

“I’m at a disadvantage here,” Roman said. “Everyone has some kind of construction background but me. Can you start from the beginning? Why shipping containers?”

Marty slid the binder onto Jack’s lap. “Sit on it, boy. Don’t let her see you have it.” Jack had an almost irresistible urge to open the binder, but Marty pointed at the seat. “Literally, sit on it, kid. That girl’s got Spidey senses. She’ll snatch it back like an eagle plucks salmon right out of a stream.”

He slid the binder under his ass. Marty nodded in approval.

“There are over five hundred thousand abandoned shipping containers around the world,” Miranda was saying. “They’re cheap, and they’re strong as hell. We have a waiting list filled with companies that want to donate their containers to us. Here, we’re using forty- or forty-five-foot, high-cube Corten steel containers. High-cubes are taller, leaving a full nine feet between floor and ceiling. They’re harder to find, but there are more than we can use at this point, and in my opinion, the extra height is important for small structures like the homes we’re building here.”

“Tell me about the costs in comparison to traditionally built homes,” Roman said.

“These homes are running about three percent of the cost of comparable brick-and-mortar homes. Of course, this project has extra savings built in from supply donations and volunteer hours. Cost for straight retail construction with shipping containers—comparing apples to apples—run about thirty percent of a traditional build. You can put as much money into them as you want, and if you’re not careful or if you want something high-end and splashy, you’re going to pay for it. There are people who have put over a million dollars into elaborate container homes.”