“Maybe not, but you have the power to transform Fireside… And possibly a moral imperative to do so.” He strides to the side of the porch with a sniff. “This old place has such stunning curb appeal. The interior should be equally stunning.”
“Aunt Regina doesn’t want stunning. She wants cozy. She specifically said it should be a place where anyone might feel instantly at home, surrounded by warmth.”
“Red checks equal warmth?”
“It’s one tablecloth.” I drag the sculpture up the final step. “And aren’t we supposed to give the client what he or she wants?”
“Yes, but we also steer them away from design faux pas.”
“Mixing old and new is very on-trend, haven’t you heard?”
“Says who? Elle Décor? Didn’t they also say arches were out? Idiots.”
“I’m making it fun.”
As I lift it, the bird turns in my arms and the metal beak scrapes across my bicep. “Ow! Shit…”
Spencer leans in for a closer look. “The skin isn’t broken. Luckily.” He tugs the denim strap of my overalls. “You should wear long sleeves if you’re going to be digging around in a junkyard. You’ll get tetanus.”
“I won’t get tetanus. Hold the door.”
“You’re bringing it in the house? Isn’t this more of a yard ornament?”
“It’s going in the kitchen.”
“Seriously, I thought you were trying to showcase your style with this job.” His snobby tone makes me even more defiant.
“You’ll like it when I’m done.
“Doubtful. I couldn’t possibly add my name to this renovation.”
“I don’t want your name on this renovation. It’s mine.”
We cross the oak-paneled foyer, and I carry the statue down the narrow hall into the oversized kitchen. It has the same paneling, but the windows make it brighter during the day.
“You should cut this down to wainscoting.” He drags a finger across the wood.
“Maybe.” Pushing around the table, I position the rooster in the back corner. “I found the most amazing gold velvet armchair for the master suite at my dad’s store.”
“Your father has impeccable taste.”
Stepping back, I cross my arms to survey the finished room. Distressed-white cabinets cover most of the walls, and minimalist red and white floral wallpaper takes up the small spots where they don’t. It matches the upholstery on the kitchen chairs and the curtains in the windows.
I decide not to cover the yellow pine table with the offensive red-checked tablecloth, but my prized addition, a blue and white Gzhel Porcelain teapot, sits in the center. It’s not really an antique, but it feels vintage.
“I love it.”
Spencer’s eyes narrow, and he’s clearly struggling to find something to say.
“It’s okay.” I wrinkle my nose at him. “I know you have difficulty admitting defeat.”
“Hardly. I was trying to find the right word. It’s unexpected.”
“Unexpectedly awesome.”
He shakes his head. “I’m heading out. I’ll pick you up for dinner at six.”
“I’ll meet you there. I don’t mind driving, and I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
“Don’t make me wait.”
I met Spencer in my dad’s antiques store in Greenville. He was searching for Fenton art glass, and I was in town helping dad unpack a shipment.
When I saw the name Spencer Carrollton, I knew immediately who he was—one of the top antiques buyers in the country, often featured in Antiques Today.
He was amazed by my dad’s extensive inventory, which was great for the store, so I gave him a tour, doing my best to show off my knowledge of the trade.
Then he invited me to dinner, and the rest is sort of a platonic history. Don’t get me wrong, Spencer is very handsome in that classic, stuck-up billionaire sort-of way, but our relationship is based more on competition than physical connection.
He’s seven years older than me, and with his background and connections, he could really help me achieve my dream of becoming an antiques buyer and traveling the world searching for rare finds.
So, I do my best to keep things friendly between us.
I follow behind him down the steps and out to his gleaming Tesla.
He pauses before he gets in, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I will say this. You have your father’s eye.”
My eyebrows rise. “That’s quite a compliment, considering all your bitching today.”
His hazel eyes drift along the lines of my face. “Don’t make me wait too long tonight.”
“I won’t.”
His lingering gaze just now makes me want to have my own car, even if it is the ancient Ford Bronco Dad gave me that only has a stretched canvas tarp for a roof.
“I can’t believe we’re dining at a place called Tuna Tiki.”
“It’s the best sushi around.”
My hands are in the sides of my giant overalls, and he gives me another lingering look. It makes me clear my throat and start for the Bronco and the remainder of my treasures waiting in the back.
“See you in a few hours.” I keep my tone light.
“Right.”
I dig around until he’s gone. I don’t mind having dinner with Spencer if it’ll lead to my dream job. I’m not really interested in dating right now, and he knows it. I want to get my career off the ground.
I lift out a hand-painted metal sign I originally gave to my dad. It says, “Please wash your hands before returning to work.” I’ll put it in the downstairs bathroom. Today, I found another, marine blue one that says, “Beach, 2 miles.” It’s weathered and fun, and considering Oceanside Beach is only about ten miles from here, it’s perfect.
Aunt Regina gave me a generous budget, but I’m doing my best to stay well below it. I have more than half left, and I only have the master suite left to finish.
Leaving the beach sign at the front door, I carry the smaller one to the half bath midway down the hall. A staircase lines the wall to the second floor, where all the bedrooms are located, and I see Cosmo, my aunt’s enormous calico cat, has come down to sleep in his usual spot on the fourth step from the bottom.
“Hey, big boy!” I drop to a knee, scrubbing his neck.
He lifts his chin, closing his eyes as he breathes a loud purr. I’m about to get started when a banging at the back door makes me jump.
I’ve been the only person living here since Valentine’s Day, when my aunt remarried, and I’m not expecting any visitors.
“Sly?” A deep, male voice rolls through the kitchen, and I’m on my feet at once, smoothing my hands down the front of my dirty overalls and pushing my hair back. “Anybody home?”
The voice grows louder as it gets closer. Whoever just walked right in is headed in this direction fast.
Clearing my throat, I stand on the bottom stair behind the massive mahogany banister post. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Scout. Ms. Regina said you might need some… help.”
He rounds the corner, and his voice trails off when our eyes meet. Scout Dunne.
I haven’t seen him since high school, and he hasn’t changed a bit—which means I’m momentarily struck dumb.