Chapter 3

THREE

Shelby's bachelorette party was a success, even if I'd arrived looking like a drowned rat. After my third margarita, I'd actually managed to enjoy myself. And I'd mostly stopped noticing people staring at me.

Okay, maybe I'd ended up wobbling my way home thanks to a bit too much tequila, but I was entitled after the day I had. Perhaps the last round of shots had been ill-advised. We'd poured Shelby into Dex's hot red convertible at the end of the night, and I was reasonably sure she'd had a much happier ending to her evening than me.

However, I was paying for my sins today.

I pressed my cheek to my desk and prayed for a short day. We didn't exactly have a nine-to-five kind of job.I didn't have any appointments today, but we were very open to walk-ins. In fact, we made sure someone was around at all times.

"You really etched ‘LITTLE DICK' into some strange dude's truck?" Avery Thomas asked from my doorway.

"I never should have told you," I mumbled into my blotter.

Avery, our landscaper and plant mama extraordinaire, dropped into the horseshoe chair across from my desk and crossed her insanely long legs. She had dirt on her knees, and I didn't even want to think about what was on her boots. "Not exactly like you, Dahl."

"I know, I know."

She pulled her ever-present pair of cutting shears out of her pocket and flipped them around her finger. "I would have come out and helped if you'd texted one of us." She released the catch and gave the air a little snip.

"And what would you do with those?"

"It can snip through a surprisingly thick…branch."

I snorted.

"Even if he was, what? Six-feet-three?"

"At least. He was massive, Ave. Okay, maybe the darkness made him seem a little bigger, but not by much." I straightened up and held my arms out. "His shoulders were...like whoa. And he was wearing all black. Like some crazy demon. And so mad. I mean, yeah, I scratched Little Dick into his truck—I get it. Not cool."

Avery arched her very expressive eyebrow. She was startlingly beautiful without a lick of makeup. I was only mildly jealous. Especially of her all too real eyelashes, where I had to add enhancements to make my eyes pop.

"I know, okay?"

She locked her shears together once more. "Girl, what were you thinking? You could have been arrested. That had to be thousands of dollars of damage on a monster truck."

I hunched my shoulders. "I wasn't thinking, okay? I was worried about Gizmo. And about my getting evicted due to my stupid cat's obsession with running water."

She rolled her eyes. "I keep telling you to get him one of those fountains."

"I've tried every fountain. I've even put rubber bands around my faucet handle so he can't turn it on. The little shit bites his way through them, or he just plain rolls them off. How he knows how to do that, I do not know. He's a little demon, I swear it."

Avery folded her arms over her chest and slouched in the chair. "Maybe you should have named him Spike instead."

I laughed and mirrored her relaxed pose. "I probably should have. Damn gremlin. But after he flooded the downstairs apartment, then I saw Derek—I was pretty sure it was Derek, anyway—kissing that woman and I just went nuts."

"Derek is not worth vandalism, Dahl."

I sighed. "No, he isn't. I was at the end of my rope."

"Rope? You passed rope and went to completely unhinged."

I stuck my tongue out at her. "All right, I get it. I'm just waiting for the call from Dare for the bill. What's one more thing to add to my crushing debt?"

"Did you talk to your landlord?"

I winced. "No, I have a meeting with Deb, our property manager, after work."

She gave me a painful smile. "Maybe it won't be so bad."

"Maybe I'm screwed. Do you think they'll evict me?"

"Probably not, but they may make you rehome Gizmo."

"No! I can't do that." I snatched the framed photo of my cat and clutched it to my chest. "Would you be willing?—"

"Nope!" Avery stood up. "I love you, but there's no amount of Zyrtec that will stave off my allergies to your cat."

I sighed and put my frame back where it belonged. "Okay. Maybe I can get Shelby to take him for a little while."

"With the two dogs?"

I tipped my head back. Bad idea . "No, Gizmo is a menace with dogs."

"Sorry, babe." She flipped her long, thick mane of a ponytail over her shoulder and holstered her shears. "I'm off to the Jefferson's house to finish excavating. I'm sure you'll figure something out. You always do." She slapped the doorjamb then waved before she sailed out the door.

Yes, I did. I was one of the best problem solvers in our firm. As for my own life? Not so much. That was absolute chaos compared to my business acumen.

Unfortunately, Gizmo had stolen my heart within the first twenty seconds after finding him behind a property we'd been renovating.

He'd been scrawny with matted fur, plus half-starved—and yet he was still so dang sweet. I couldn't resist taking him home. He'd been the perfect cat, until I found out about his penchant for turning on faucets.

There were a lot of untils in my world.

I picked up my phone and idly checked the HEA dating app. "Oh, that's great." Derek had blocked me.

Maybe it had been him in the street last night and he'd witnessed me losing my damn mind and attacking that dude's truck.

In fact, clearly, I couldn't be trusted at this point when it came to the opposite sex. Period.

I logged out of the app and uninstalled it from my phone. Someone else would have to write the strongly worded email about some of the men double-dipping on the app. I'd be too busy working to pay for my idiocy.

Both for the truck and possibly my apartment. Maybe they'd take my security deposit for the damages.

I leaned forward and thunked my forehead on my desk again. I was so screwed and the stupid headache from all that tequila wasn't helping.

I dragged my phone over and glanced at the readout for the time. At least it was lunchtime. Perhaps a trip out to the lake to see my dream house would help perk me up. It had been a minute since I'd been out there and right about now, daydreams were far more welcome than the reality of my life.

I picked up my cherry-red bucket bag with the cute black and white polka dot scarf I'd tied to it. It matched the black pencil skirt I was wearing and red halter top in deference to the May heat. Summer was starting earlier and earlier these days, but I didn't mind it. A welcome sunny day was better for my mood, anyway.

If I'd been thinking ahead, I would have brought a pair of tennis shoes to wear on the craggy beach rather than these heels, but I didn't need to get out of the car.

I just needed to see my house.

Well, not mine. That would be a feat. The old Victorian mansion was well out of my price range unless I suddenly won the lottery.

I shouldered my bag and sailed out into the main part of Designing Women's office. It was my favorite part of our building. The old storefront had been a plain box when we'd bought it. The smarter move would have been renting, but the four of us had gone all in on the business.

And owning the building meant we could make it ours. From the vaulted ceiling to the huge picture window with detailed casings that allowed the sun in to highlight every square inch, all of it was the definition of our brand. Half of it was made into a gallery with gray walls on discreet wheels that could be moved around to highlight whichever project we were most proud of at the time.

Instead of artwork, we had professional photos of the properties and rooms we'd designed mounted on raised glass plaques. On the backside of the movable walls, we had our look books tacked up with fabrics, paint chips, and samples of wood. For many people, seeing the hows and the whys of how we built a space often stimulated their own creativity.

Not to mention how much it helped to spotlight that some people needed a little help with bringing their own vision to life. And because I was all about online galleries, as well, there were tiny QR codes that went to our website with before and after videos of the final spaces.

I was pretty sure a third of my debt was because of that aspect to our business. While the visuals were important to me while I was creating a vision board, I also knew that design programs on television had helped create the need for the bells and whistles. We needed people to believe we were capable of renovating, remodeling, or simply decorating a space. That came with proof of purchase, so to speak.

And those were the things I needed to remember when I was mired in the minutiae of my own problems. I'd worked my ass off to create this space with my best friends. And that legacy was my focus, not these stupid setbacks.

I glanced across to Shelby's office, but she was still out with a prospective client. TJ was on the phone, her eyes closed, and her buff-colored Timberland-clad feet propped on the conference table as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "I know, George. But I don't have a three-week opening in my schedule. What are my other options?"

The joys of working in a design studio also meant we had to juggle ordering and installing furniture, kitchens, or in TJ's case, ordering lumber for her one of a kind built-ins. She was our in-house carpenter and was generally in high demand.

However, things had been in a bit of a lull as we dug out of a lagging spring. A three-week wait also meant a three-week wait on money coming in.

Normally, we could juggle a few different projects when we had unruly wait times.

Right now? We needed all the jobs we could get.

I pulled out my phone and sent TJ a text that I was stepping out for lunch and asked if she wanted me to bring her anything back. I slipped out without waiting for her to get off the phone. She'd be annoyed to have to hold down the fort, but I needed a few minutes.

I stopped in at the deli across from our storefront and treated myself to a ham and Swiss on fresh rye bread with a shitload of spicy mustard. And because Jamie, the owner, loved me, he gave me an extra three pickle spears. With my sandwich in hand, I hopped in my car for the fifteen-minute drive out to Crescent Lake. I rolled down the windows and turned up my music to blow the rest of my headache away.

The lake air always cleared my head better than anything else. I loved living near my job, but I often found myself drawn to the water. Especially this part of Crescent Lake.

The sun sparkled off the lapping waves and thanks to the endless rain we'd had in April, the water levels were higher than normal. I leaned into the gentle curve of Lakeview Road toward the less traveled side of the water. Signs for Maitland Enterprises were tacked up on more and more swaths of land on the lake. Thanks to working so closely with the realtors, I was aware Maitland was buying up every available plot of land to take the lakefront views and make condos and spas. However, he'd been getting pushback from a lot of the landowners and townspeople, which had stalled his plans.

And still, there were definitely more postings stating that new builds were coming soon.

As much as I loved progress, the thought of cutting off these views for condos made me sick to my stomach. All that cleared as my favorite house filled my windshield and I lost my breath. No matter how many times I'd driven out here, it never failed to astound me.

The sharp angles of the old Victorian with its deep green and black accents made my blood hum. She was a grand mansion and while technically a Victorian, she had many Gothic details that made the house breathtaking. Instead of the quaint gingerbread accents on the roofline, spiky ebony details leaned heavily into the decorative masonry of cathedrals, including elaborate chimneys and dormers.

There was even a widow's walk that would give a perfect view out on the water—if it was ever rehabilitated. The towers and turrets reminded me of an old castle. The sun was blazing today, which showcased all the places that needed work—the peeling paint, crumbling masonry, and arched windows with broken panes of glass. Even so, I could still see the promise of its grandeur.

Slowly, I eased my way over the dips in the gravel drive that wound its way up to the front of the house.

I frowned at the realtor sign. The usual For Sale had been replaced with a splashy red sold across the Hamilton Realty logo.

My heart sunk.

"No." I swung the door open. My stilettos sunk into the gravel as I picked my way over to the crumbling stone walkway. "Who bought my house?" I turned around and gasped at the Dumpster tucked in beside the house. The clunk of something heavy hitting metal had me stumbling up the side lawn to the coastal side of the house.

A silver truck was parked near the huge green monstrosity of a Dumpster full of stone and water-damaged wood from the porch.

Stupefied, I nearly twisted my ankle as I stumbled my way around the busted wood that littered the lawn. A tall man was swinging a sledgehammer at the posts of the porch, half his face hidden under the construction respirator he was wearing against the dust. The ancient, weathered wood splintered and shattered under the force of each blow. "What are you doing to my house?" I shrieked.

He didn't even pause. Just took another whack at the other column with complete dedication to its destruction. He had long dark hair that was scraped back into a stubby tail on top of his head. Huge, high-grade stereo headphones were clamped over his stupid ears. With each methodical thunk of the hammer into the porch, my heart lurched.

I waved my arms. "You can't do that!" Not only was this house my dream home, but it was also a historical building. There were permits and plans that had to be followed for any and all renovations.

Especially with a house of this age. It was dangerous and stupid, on top of ill-advised.

He came to a stop and turned my way, propping the sledgehammer on his massive shoulder.

"You!" His voice was little more than a mumble under the respirator. He flicked his headphones off his ears to hang around his neck and jerked down the mask. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Shock rocked me back a step. "What are you doing here?" Recovering quickly, I put my hands on my hips.

"Are you here to vandalize my house now too?" He dropped the sledgehammer onto the floor then hopped down to the lawn. The heaviness of his boots thudding on the ground like a mini earthquake. "You have a helluva lot of nerve, Hellcat."

"This is my house."

His eyebrows shot up. In the stark sunlight, his scar stood out, a shiny angry pink that was puckered in spaces as if it hadn't quite healed. It traveled down his eye, cheek and neck in a jagged lightning bolt pattern that disappeared into his dusty black tank top. He lifted his chin at my obvious perusal of his body—and more specifically, his scar—then he crossed his arms. "Again, you are mistaken. This is my fucking house."

"No." The breath whooshed out of my chest as I bent at the waist. "No way."

"If you faint, I'm leaving you on the lawn." He turned around and climbed back up on the destroyed porch to lift his sledgehammer again.

"Even if this is your house, you can't just whack away at the porch. This is a historic landmark!"

"The hell it is. There's no paperwork on file with the state to say this place is under the purview of the historical society."

My mouth snapped shut. "Okay, not exactly, but hello, it's part of the lore of the town! Harriette Barrow was one of the original townspeople in Crescent Cove. You can't just rip out the soul of this house. It's my house."

He whirled around. "Do you have an actual screw loose, lady? Not my truck and now not my house? You're freaking crazy." He started swinging again.

"Okay, not mine. I'm not crazy, but I've been babysitting this house since I moved here. I love this place. The grandeur and the history and the lore. Her ghost is here, for God's sake. Harriette's going to haunt your ass for ripping her house apart." I rushed forward.

"I don't believe in such things," he announced, driving the hammer into the post. The gabled arch over the porch started to crumble.

"Watch out!"

He looked up, swore, and leaped off the porch, then he dove for me, tucking me against his body as we rolled away from the worst of the crumbling stone.

I was pretty sure I screamed as he tucked my face into his chest.

The rocks tore up my arms and knees, but he took the brunt of the fall until we finally landed on a patch of tall grass. He covered me as stone and wood debris exploded down upon us.

His huge hand cupped the back of my head, holding me close to his body. He smelled of cinnamon and earth and the unmistakable demolition cocktail of male sweat and wood.

Finally, the last of the dust settled and he looked down at me. Fear and anger lit his storm-blue eyes. "Are you okay?"

"I think so."

The cinnamon scent of his gum made my mouth water— sure, it was the gum.

He glanced down at me, then to my cleavage, which was currently crammed against his very broad, very muscled chest. This close, I could see every bit of his scar and the tantalizing edge that disappeared into his now torn tank top.

He released the back of my head and braced himself on his elbows on either side of me, but his hips still pinned me to the grass.

Very strong hips with a very strong…appendage.

Another chunk of stone fascia broke off and he rolled me out of the way, this time, on top of him. His hand cradled my ass as our legs tangled, thanks to my stupid pencil skirt.

I tried to lever myself off him and my knee landed between his legs.

"Fuck!"

"Sorry!"

"Get the hell off me!"

"You're the one who tackled me like you were trying out for a rugby team." I tried to get up, but this time, my elbow landed in his side.

"Are you trying to kill me?"

Deliberately, I leaned into him, making sure my knee just grazed his appendage. "You'd know it if I was."

He rolled away and onto his knees as he sucked in air.

Getting myself up off the ground was a little trickier with my tight skirt. Then I heard my skirt rip. Just great.

He stood up and walked it off, leaving me on the grass.

"Where the hell is my shoe?"

His hands were braced on his waist as he walked toward the water. "I don't care."

"Dammit," I muttered as I realized another of my heels was in two pieces. That made two pairs in two days. It had to be a new record.

Gingerly, I rolled onto my hip and awkwardly got to my feet. I glanced down to the water's edge where he was pacing, then returned my gaze to the mansion. The entire back half of the porch was now gone, exactly where I'd been standing.

And he'd saved me.