Santo relaxed, his face muscles going slack, the constant ache in his neck loosing up the vise grip it had held on him for so long now. Glancing at her cupcake, he said the same thing he’d said about the Peaches-and-Cream cupcake they’d shared a few days ago. “I know where you bought that and I sure hope you’re willing to share it.”
“Let’s go over my plans for the lake house and then we can fight over the cupcake. But I seem to remember I won last time.”
“Can we negotiate?” he asked, realizing he just might be flirting with his house contractor. He’d forgotten how, but this felt dangerously close. Too close. It also felt refreshing and good. Too good. He’d made a vow to never open up his heart to a woman again. Santo had loved his wife but his love couldn’t save their marriage or her. He’d been blinded by ambition and a need to please her, no matter the cost. Why would he want to risk that again? No, he’d go into this with his eyes wide open and his children as his first priority. Why would he put his children through any more trauma?
“Of course we can negotiate,” Davina said, bringing him out of his anxious reevaluation. She opened her battered canvas tool bag and pulled out a notebook. “Everything is negotiable, right?”
“Right.” But Santo decided this woman would be a tough adversary. And she probably always came out a winner. At least she’d keep him on his toes.
“Are you ready?” she asked, a bright glee in her eyes. “Let me show you what I have in mind to make your next home look like the showpiece it’s supposed to be. Once I’m finished, you should be able to move your children into it knowing it’s the best house it can be. I’ll keep the historical integrity while updating the kitchens and baths, and adding charm to the living areas and bedrooms.”
“You sound like those guys on that home network show that my mother used to watch all the time.”
“I’m trying to sell you on the idea, so I practiced that speech.”
“You’re very convincing, so I’m ready,” Santo replied, a new kind of excitement coursing through him. But he wasn’t ready, really. He didn’t have a clue about his old house or his new house or her or why he was so intent on moving. Maybe he wasn’t trying to start a new life for his children. Maybe he was just running from the memories and the guilt associated with the showy, ostentatious house that had only brought him misery.
Davina pulled out the sketches she’d made and then placed the original house plans she’d gotten from the former owner onto the counter. “Can you see?” she asked Santo, well aware of the hint of spice in his aftershave.
“I’ll come around,” he replied.
Both afraid of that and doing a happy dance in her head in spite of her fears, Davina reminded herself that she had to maintain a professional persona or she could very well mess up this project. So she took a calming breath and ran a hand over the plans and the photos she’d taken and printed out.
“This is an interesting house,” she said, her excitement building with each word. “I can’t wait to get started on it.”
“And when will that be?” he asked over her shoulder, the warmth radiating off of him like a welcome wind.
“In a week or so,” she replied. “We’ve done a lot at the bay house since Mrs. Brownlee manages to get the kids out of the house while the construction crew is there.”
“Yes, they’ve been going over to my parents’ place a lot,” he said. “My parents are on a cruise right now, but the kids love it there anyway. And our housekeeper still lives here, so she’s a help with them, too.”
Rikki had told Davina that their parents lived in a big house on the bay not far from Santo’s house. The Alvanetti compound was off the road and secluded and had a large horse stable and pasture attached. A perfect place for kids to play. A place that used to have armed guards, according to the gossip she picked up on here and there.
“Well, I’m glad they have somewhere to hang out after school,” she said. “Anyway, we’re almost done with the floors and the walls have been painted and freshened and the furniture edited down a bit. Rikki and I picked out some lovely rugs and vases from your store earlier this week.”
“You were in the store?” he asked, surprise in his dark eyes. “You should have come back to the warehouse and office. I would have given you a tour.”
“We were in a hurry,” she said. “And I didn’t want to bother you.”
No need to visit the man at work unless she had something really important to discuss with him. Which could happen one day since she’d have a million decisions to make during renovations.
“That can only mean my sister went over budget on whatever she bought, even with the family discount.”
“Because of the family discount,” Davina replied with a grin. “But the bay house is coming along. What do you think about it so far?”
He studied the plans in front of them and then looked up at her with admiration. “You’ve done an amazing job. I couldn’t see it before but you’ve brought out the integrity of the place. Now I know what a mid-century modern is supposed to look like, at least.”
Davina wanted to hug him for complimenting her work. But even more wonderful, he understood what she’d try to accomplish with his swank waterfront property. The big house still had its industrial planes and angles but she’d added color and fire and brightness that brought the outside in and merged the house with the bluffs and the bay beyond.
“I’m glad you’re pleased,” she said. “It should be ready for you to list soon.” She poured him a glass of water and then refilled her glass. Then she named the estimated selling price.
“Wow, that much?”
She laughed at the shock on his face. “Yes, that much. I did a good job.”
“I think you did.” He tapped a finger on the plans. “On to the new house. What do you want to do there?”
She laughed and tugged at her haphazard bun. “So much. A complete overhaul.” When she looked up, he was staring at her with a look akin to awe and longing.
“Santo? Are you okay?”
He nodded. “Uh...yes.” His gaze moved over her face and then settled on her hair. “I’ve just never known a contractor with such beautiful hair.”
A hot blush moved down Davina’s neck. Great. Now she’d get the blotchies, as her sister Tilly always called them. A flush that only showed off her freckles. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.
He kept staring at her.
“Santo, the house?”
“Oh, yes, the house,” he said with a wry smile. “I need to focus on the house.”
Frantic now, she searched her notes. What was happening to her, anyway? She never acted like a ninny with clients. But then she’d never had a client who’d commented on her hair in such an intimate way. The room grew warm, the air stifling.
“It’s a lovely house,” she said, regaining her footing while she didn’t make eye contact. “Only one owner for the last fifty years or so and with a big family that’s scattered now. He’s in an assisted living home up in Milton.”
She took a breath and stared at the house plan. “I went and visited with Mr. Floyd so I could get a feel for the place. He told me all about his wife, Katie, and their four boys. Kind of reminded me of my family back in Louisiana. They lovingly took