Free All They Need by Sarah Mayberry

brick steps. Mel tilted her head and shaded her eyes againstthe morning sun to examine the facade of the house. Built from the same mellow red brick as the steps, the house boasted a deep porch, with twin stained-glass doors for a suitably grand entrance. Matching bay windows lit the rooms on either side of the entrance, and wood fretwork decorated the eaves.
    Flynn started up the steps. She followed him across the chipped and broken terra-cotta tiled porch. He glanced at her as he slid the key into the lock, eyebrows raised with comic trepidation.
    â€œDum, dum, dummmm.” He turned the lock. The door opened with a mechanical snick.
    â€œPhew,” he said, but she knew he’d never been seriously worried.
    Another thing she’d never expected of Flynn Randall—he was playful.
    He stood to one side and gestured for her to precede him into the house.
    She stepped into the front hall, breathing in the smell of damp and dust. She paused to give her eyes a chance to adjust to the dim interior. After a few seconds the world assumed shape and form again and she took in the wood-paneled walls, scuffed and discolored wooden floors and the high ceiling with its ornate, elaborate cornice and moldings and original light fittings.
    â€œThe living room’s through here,” Flynn said, directing her to the right.
    She entered a large, light room. To her right was a large bay window, its curve fitted with a seat, to her left a rather grand marble fireplace. The carpet was a faded Axminster floral. Darker patches near the walls and in the center of the room indicated where furniture had once sat. The far wall was punctuated by a series of French doors that looked out over the garden—notoriginal, Mel suspected, but they offered a great outlook over the house’s best feature.
    â€œSo. Am I nuts or what?” Flynn asked, and she realized he’d been watching her as she inspected the room.
    â€œIt needs a lot of work.”
    She glanced around the room again. The chimney breast was streaked with smoke stains, a sure sign that the chimney was either blocked or poorly constructed. There were two large, dark marks on the ceiling, which almost certainly meant a leak, and even from across the room she could see the rot in the French door frames.
    â€œBut you were right, it has great bones. This could be a very special house—once you’ve poured the equivalent of the GDP into it.”
    He laughed, then glanced around, his expression wryly self-aware. “Don’t I know it.”
    He crossed the room to inspect the fireplace, crouching to peer under the mantel. His jeans stretched tightly across his thighs, revealing powerful muscles. Mel caught herself looking and glanced away, frowning.
    â€œI might go check out the garden,” she said.
    â€œSure. Take your time. I want to take some notes, start to get my head around the size of the renovation.”
    She crossed to the French doors and tried the handle. It gave beneath her fingers and she stepped out onto a paved patio area. Her shoulders dropped a notch the moment she felt fresh air on her face and she headed for the garden proper, feeling like a dog that had been let off its leash.
    Her memories of the garden had blurred over the years, like slightly out-of-focus family snapshots, and she discovered it again as she walked. The herb garden, with its box-hedge border grown wild and woolly, and its pavers obscured by weeds; the lily pond, completewith bridge, and the water beneath a tangle of weeds. The rose garden, with its arbors and unkempt rows of roses.
    She found the orchard where she’d remembered it, in the far southeast corner of the property. The trees had all grown enormously, and Mel guessed they hadn’t been pruned in years. Long grass grew between them, and there was evidence of some sort of fungus on the peach trees. Sadness swept over her as she remembered how beautiful this place had once been, how much pride