The day was cold, about as cold as it had been in November for as long as Tom Reed could remember. Iron grey clouds capped the sky for as far as the eye could see, they darkled in places portending snow and the likelihood of a harsh winter ahead.
“You’re sure you can turn this place around?” he questioned, his voice coming out in clouds of water vapour as he surveyed the boarded-up, old stone building, his deep-set brow wrinkled with obvious concern.
“No,” laughed his wife, Sue excitedly as she put her arm encouragingly around him and pulled him in close. “But I’m sure you can. You’re the builder.” She bobbed up onto her tiptoes and gave her husband a peck on the cheek, her thrill at finally seeing the place was obvious, however, it was a passion that he didn’t totally share.
“Retired,”
