Chapter 3

The Daily Edge: Social Tattle from One Edge of Skymar to the Other

With spring around the corner, all our royal watchers keep their eyes out for news about the annual Wild Hyacinth Ball. Who will be invited? Who won't? And what special announcement will the royals make this year? No one comes to the Wild Hyacinth without a significant other, and this year the ball is dedicated to Princess Elliana as she steps back into life as a working royal. The rumor mill is spinning its tales on who Skymar's prodigal princess will bring as her possible future prince. Do you have any guesses?

Three thoughts rushed through Luke's mind at once:

What came out of his mouth was...

"You?"

... which proved even funnier, in hindsight, because Grace Kelly said the same thing at the same time.

Something in the back of Luke's mind made him think of Penelope's scenario, then the word meet-cute.

And everything within him suddenly screamed, Retreat!

"You've met?" This from Mr.Holton, whose brows rose so high they might have matched Luke's. Or Grace Kelly's... er... Ms.St.Clare's.

"In passing at the airport," Ms.St.Clare said quickly, her gaze meeting his. "Nothing of consequence, of course."

Of course.

Though his pulse beat a different response. However, that could be because the idea of working with this woman made him half annoyed and half... well, he wasn't even sure. But annoyed wasn't it.

"Do you still want me to take a look at the place?" Luke turned the conversation back to familiar territory. The job.

Mr.Holton looked to Grace Kelly... whom Luke needed to stop mentally referring to as Grace Kelly, because with his history, he'd inevitably make an idiot of himself and call her Grace Kelly. She shifted her attention with a little uncertainty and then brought her palms together, ushering up a smile as practiced as Mr.Holton's.

"I don't see why not? Unless Mr.Edgewood has any misgivings?"

She wasn't putting the blame back on him. "None at all." He pushed up his own practiced smile and glanced over at Pete. "You?"

Pete's gaze pinged from one person to the next, including the rather large man at Ms.St.Clare's right, who had yet to be introduced. "I don't think so."

A silence fell over the room as Luke locked eyes with Ms.St.Clare, waiting for her to take the next move. Pretty eyes or not, he was going to keep his word and do what he'd promised Lewis Gray.

"Well then, I'm glad we can move forward." She raised her chin and turned to the man beside her. "This is Mr.Brooks, a contractor for the Royal Trust. He's currently working on another project but came this morning to assist you in your estimate."

Assist? Hmm... or spy?

Luke shrugged off the inner growl. Extra caution made sense. Ms. St. Clare and Mr. Holton didn't know Luke any better than he knew them, so for the kids' sake, and the reputation of the Royal Trust, bringing in a respected person sounded smart. "Morning."

Mr.Brooks dipped his head and returned the greeting.

"If you'll lead the way, Ms.St.Clare, I'll be happy to get started with the assessment."

Something flickered in those pale eyes as she stared back at him. What was it? A question? Concern?

He shook off the curiosity. He didn't know and didn't need to know. Instead, he'd just keep to his usual mantra. Do the job, enjoy the craftsmanship, play nice, and move on.

Besides, he had experience with not meeting high-class demands, and the reminder hit deep. His ex-girlfriend proved the sting of that choice all too well in her attempt to make him more "refined" just to impress her new friends. In the long run, he'd ended up miserable and with the clear understanding he'd never measure up to her world.

A hard pill to swallow when they'd both come from the same small town.

But she'd changed to suit her fancy.

A shift that only turned her into someone he didn't recognize anymore with expectations he would never, and didn't want to, meet.

Luke kept in step behind Mr.Holton, who followed Ms.St.Clare and Mr. Brooks.

"You're going to have to tell me the story of how you met her," Pete whispered, his grin almost impish. "I get the sense it wasn't ideal."

"Just a coffee mess-up. That's all."

Silence. But the kind of silence Luke could feel. Like a warning.

"Sounds like a movie meeting to me."

Yep. It was a redhead thing. Luke heaved a sigh. At least the man didn't use the term meet-cute. "Nope. Just a simple mix-up."

"But then to have her show up here? As our supervisor?" His voice was edged with humor. "It's a mad coincidence, is all I'm saying."

"Mad" matched the overall vibe of their first meeting, that was for sure.

The group's path took them through a classroom, which was currently empty of children; a massive room that must have been some ballroom in its former life, and which Mr.Holton thought was currently used as a gym; a large dining hall; and a few smaller rooms into a kitchen. A good-sized kitchen, if they were inside a house, but not the size suitable for a place serving dozens of children.

The room stretched into a few smaller adjoining rooms—ones Mr.Holton mentioned they'd like to bring into the renovations for additional space, a smaller dining area, a storage room, and a closet. From the looks of it, the kitchen had needed modernizing for a long time. Dated cabinetry. Nicked walls. Original fixtures.

And the floor dipped and dented from over a century of use.

Luke rested his hands on his hips, surveying the space. All cosmetic, from what he could tell. Straightforward fixes.

Assuming the foundation wasn't in trouble.

So, with an unwelcome audience of untrained viewers—apart from Brooks—Luke examined the concern areas in the kitchen and then followed Brooks into the crawl space for a look at the underbelly. The age and build of the space tempted Luke to linger a little longer within the dark corners, just to make note of building patterns and materials used over a century ago, but he kept to his goal: structure.

He'd restored old houses back home. Mt. Airy had a couple dozen Queen Anne–style houses and Victorians. The Smith and Merritt houses back home probably boasted the same age as this one, but weren't nearly as grand... nor made of stone.

He pressed on a board here and scraped at the stone of a wall there, carefully moving his trained eyes over every spot available to assess. After about an hour, he stood from his ducked position and plucked his flashlight from between his teeth before turning in Brooks's direction. "Do you know what the other company used to justify a weak foundation?"

Brooks gave his head a shake. "I wasn't available for their inspection, so I cannot tell you."

"Well, if you're seeing what I'm seeing, then it looks like that other company was trying to hoodwink this orphanage."

"That was my concern too, which is why I encouraged Ms.St.Clare and Mr.Holton to take a second opinion." Brooks raised his flashlight, larger than the one Luke carried in his pocket, and swept the shadowed space with another splash of light. "Once I heard the company's name mentioned—Westons is what they're called—I wondered if they were up to no good. Their investors are after property, and there aren't many places as pretty as this spot. Westons is polished, so they charm their way into business, from what I've heard."

"Pretty is as pretty does," Luke's granny used to say. And the idea of somebody trying to trick money out of an orphanage? That just made him downright mad.

"You'd think kids like this would inspire a bit more compassion and a whole lot more virtue." Luke stepped toward the door, giving the space another look. "And from what I can tell, there's no need to tear down their home."

The two men reentered the kitchen where Mr.Holton, Ms.St.Clare, and Pete waited.

Luke took off his cap and ran a hand through his hair, certain he'd met with a few cobwebs, among other things. "The foundation looks sound and most of the underlying structures are in good shape." Luke turned to Brooks for confirmation and the man nodded his agreement.

Grace Kelly's posture drooped just a bit as if she were... relieved?

"But multiple floor joists are bad and need to be replaced," Luke continued. "So we'd need to tear out the floor, but since you were planning to remodel the kitchen anyway, it could all work together well."

"And save much more heartache and money in the process, I'd wager," Mr.Holton offered.

"Than tearing the castle down?" Luke chuckled. "You bet, but I ought to warn you, once we start peeling back parts of the house, we're bound to find other things to fix."

"Is that a common occurrence?" Ms.St.Clare directed her question to Brooks, as if double-checking Luke's words.

There was just no way to win with this woman!

"Yes, Your—" The man paused. "Ms.St.Clare. It's not only common but expected."

Her chin lowered just a smidge. Served her right.

"I can't vouch for what else we might find, but if you have the right team, most problems that arise should be fixable as long as the bones of the building are good." Luke shrugged a shoulder. "And they seem to be."

"This particular project is the most pressing and will lead to the greatest immediate help for the orphanage." Ms.St.Clare studied him with those blue eyes of hers. "But there are other improvements we hope to add as funds and time allow. And as we raise awareness, we hope for additional donors to support the orphanage in order to make those improvements more quickly."

"Which does bring us to the question of time." Mr.Holton steadied his attention on Luke. "The Donors' Banquet is scheduled for mid-May. Do you think these repairs and renovations can be completed by then?"

Luke looked over the kitchen area again, making another quick mental tally. "If you have a good team and not too many surprise complications, then I'd say yes."

"And you have experience leading such a team?" Ms.St.Clare's voice held a tinge of doubt.

"I've led a lot of teams, Ms. St. Clare," he answered, holding her gaze. "But we'd get the job done faster if it's a good team. At least a few workers who know about building. The others I can direct."

"Sounds like a hefty cost," she replied.

Luke had worked with women before, so the idea of having Ms.St.Clare as his supervisor wasn't the problem. The problem was her doubt and condescension. He almost grinned. Now there was a great vocabulary word too.

"Not as much as tearing down the place and rebuilding it," he shot back, and something in those eyes flickered with a hint of... fire? Humor? He couldn't tell and didn't want to find out. "Like you heard earlier, our cabin doesn't currently have electricity, but if you could point me in the direction of a place in town with public internet access, then I can do my research for material costs around here and get an estimate to you by tomorrow afternoon."

"Detailed?" Ms.St.Clare challenged.

"Line by line." He grinned. "I'll even use spell-check."

She narrowed her eyes a second and then looked away, one corner of her mouth twitching.

"You're welcome to use the internet here, Mr.Edgewood," Mr.Holton offered, speaking into the tense silence. "Mrs.Kershaw has made her office available for any of our needs."

"I appreciate that." Luke turned to Pete. "If Pete will drive me here in the morning, I'll try to have everything ready for your review by afternoon."

"Thank you, Mr.Edgewood." Ms.St.Clare's quick response paired with her softened smile caused him to do a double take. Was the woman.... nervous? He stifled an eye roll.

Nope. He'd gladly give the estimate and leave this job in someone else's hands. He didn't need to spend time working with a woman who sent his thoughts into some sort of ping-pong guessing game. Besides, she was clearly doubting his skills, and nobody needed to work under scrutiny like that.

As soon as he and Pete were in the car, Pete turned to him. "Ms. St. Clare reminds me of somebody, but I can't figure out who. Does she make you think of anyone?"

A villain. Luke shrugged. "A movie star?"

"Hmm, perhaps that's it, though I'm not up on my Skymarian actors." Pete put the car into gear. "But her bein' a movie star would suit the situation, wouldn't it? Since your life is kind of like a movie right now anyway."

Luke didn't respond. No way he was walking into that conversation.

"She does give off a sense of—"

"Arrogance?" Luke pressed back into the seat. "Entitlement?"

"Ah, you don't fancy her," Pete stated more than asked.

He shouldn't have opened his mouth. "I try to steer clear of folks who put on airs, that's all."

"Put on airs?" Pete repeated, appearing to mull over the notion. "If she's a movie star or high rank in the royals, she likely has reason to put on airs, as you call it."

"Being a certain social status or rank doesn't mean you stop being polite or kind. In fact, I'd expect folks who've been given more in life to be even kinder because they have so much already."

Pete paused, contemplating Luke's words. "I like that idea, but I don't believe it's as common in practice."

"No," Luke said, releasing a sad chuckle. "Usually the opposite."

"I wonder what her reasoning is. Why she seems so mad."

Luke stared out the window, those icy blue eyes of hers emerging in his mind against his will. "Most people who put on airs are either trying to prove something... or hide something."

He didn't know which one it was for Grace Kelly, but he had no interest in finding out.

Text from Ellie to Maeve:He is here! In Crieff.

Maeve:Maxim Thompson from that fabulous Italian holiday?

Ellie:No! The American from the coffee shop. And why do you keep bringing up Maxim? He was a fiend.

Maeve:A delicious-looking fiend, who had a rather ravenous kiss, if I recall from your retelling.

Ellie:And the very man who made certain that the paparazzi caught us in a rather compromised position! I thought he was helping me with my sunscreen! Had I known he was posing for the paparazzi, I would have pushed him in the pool.

Maeve:Your royal life has been fraught with unfortunate moments.

Ellie:And poor choices.

Maeve:Remember, we are not wallowing in self-pity and regret. Though I do blame some of your ill behavior on your strange brunette phase.

Ellie:Why are we friends?

Maeve:Because I know all your secrets and don't treat you as if you're special. Now about this American? I happen to like most Americans, as I am one myself.

Ellie:You're only half American. Your mother is Skymarian. Besides, you've lived in Skymar for ten years. You can't claim your American status anymore. You've even lost part of your accent.

Maeve:Oh, I claim American status quite regularly when I want to. So did the American recognize you?

Ellie:He recognized me from the coffee shop, but not for any other reason. And no one from the orphanage has given any indication of who I am. The entire village of Crieff is remarkable at creating a space where I can just be a normal person.

Maeve:You will never be a normal person.

Ellie:Again... why are we friends? And I would love to be just a regular person for a little while to someone. I can only imagine how refreshing it would be.

Maeve:I'm a regular person. It's not super refreshing. But as someone who has only been a royal by living vicariously through you, I wouldn't want a constant fishbowl life either.

Ellie:Thus the reason Crieff is such a haven for us. Well, at least for me, especially during the last few years while I've been trying to reinvent myself.

Maeve:So what's he doing in Crieff? It's not a typical tourist spot for Americans. For anyone, really.

Ellie:He was recommended by one of Father's advisors as someone who could give an estimate for the orphanage project.

Maeve:Interesting...

Ellie:I can almost hear you plotting something that will make me nervous.

Maeve:Not plotting. There's not much to plot... yet. But your entire meeting in the coffee shop and then discovering you may be working with the man is interesting. Do you need an extra set of eyes? I could come help.

Ellie:I'm not certain anyone is ready for your sort of help, Maeve.

Maeve:Why do I get a sense that he's handsome? The less you talk about someone, it usually means the more handsome he is.

Ellie:That is not true.

Maeve:That he isn't handsome?

Ellie:No.

Ellie:I mean, yes. He is handsome, in a rugged sort of way. I meant, no, talking about someone less has nothing to do with how handsome he may be. Sometimes I want to forget the person.

Maeve:So... I'm hearing that he's handsome.

Ellie:It doesn't matter if he's handsome, Maeve. I'm finished with short-term romances and he's not on the list. He'd NEVER be on the list. My parents have suggested some excellent options for my future, and I don't plan to disappoint them yet AGAIN. I've already done so much for which they've had to bear the brunt of the consequences. Considering their opinion is the very least I can do. Besides, I know they want what's best for me.

Maeve:Perfect. Then you ultimately get to choose, right?

Ellie:I'm not so certain I'm the best person to make the choice based on my past. No, I think it's time to trust their plans.

Maeve:You still should have some say, El. It's YOUR future.

Ellie:When you're a royal, it's never solely one person's future.

Maeve:I'm not going to have this argument with you again; however, I will say that I'd rather watch a handsome, well-built (see what I did there) carpenter work out, over one who doesn't improve the view. I think I may need to come and help you.

Ellie:I'm ignoring you. However, I must say he seems an honest, straightforward sort. And I was probably rude again. Or nonresponsive. Why can't I just be normal?

Maeve:Because you're not normal. We've covered this already.

Ellie:It is so difficult to be myself with new people. I'm always afraid they have some sort of ulterior motive and I must keep up my guard. I'm waiting for the cameras or the trickery. It's horrible.

Maeve:Maybe it's worth taking someone at face value every once in a while, El. It might restore some of your faith in humanity.

Ellie:Says the woman who would rather bury herself in her cottage and create music instead of talk to people.

Maeve:Dead composers and musical instruments are the best listeners. And we rarely argue.

From: Josephine Martin

To: Izzy Edgewood, Penelope Edgewood, Luke Edgewood

Date: March12

Subject: Re: The cabin

I'm glad to hear you're doing well, but I really think Mr.Gray could have taken better care of you and your assistant. A house with no electricity? Really, Luke! Though you've been on all sorts of adventures without electricity, so this should be manageable for you, at least.

And before you hear this from Penelope, I may have mentioned to Lori Creswell at church that you were single. I didn't make any plans, as you're not here, but I did plant the idea in her head. You'd be a great father to her children.

I look forward to hearing more about your trip. The photos are lovely, but I'm a little concerned about how remote you are. They do have hospitals nearby, don't they? You're notorious for putting nails through skin or getting hit with boards or... whatever else it is that happens to you and leaves scars. Or dents.

Love,

Josephine

PS: Charlie is doing a great job in your stead with the business. You'd be proud. I've tried to see if she's interested in dating right now, but she keeps avoiding me. Do you think those two things are connected?

Text from Penelope to Luke:You're having supper with Izzy? I'm so jealous right now. I bet you'll tell her your secret.

Luke:Well, since it's a secret, you'll never know.

Penelope:Izzy's not nearly as good as you are at keeping secrets. I bet I can get it out of her. In the meantime, I'm going with Matt to Iris's dance recital. She's having her first jazz concert. I braided ribbons into her hair. She's magnificent.

Luke:I should text Matt and tell him I'm sorry for him. Jazz recital AND braided hair talks? Poor man.

Penelope:You're not going to scare me. Matt's a dancer. He talks dance. As far as braided hair? He's just glad he has such enthusiastic help with girlie stuff now. Here's a pic. She says hi, BTW.

Luke:Now THIS is the definition of cute. Right here. Even the braids.

Penelope:The fact you even brought that up makes me wonder if you're not a little preoccupied with Grace Kelly. Or is that a secret too (insert wiggly eyebrows).

Luke:I'm currently preoccupied with ending this text conversation.

Penelope:And... since Izzy and I have found our romances in Skymar, I have high hopes you're next on the list.

Luke:I am not in one of your candy heart–flavored movies. Goodbye, Penelope.

Penelope:Denial is the first step to the Hallmark chime. Just so you know.

Pete dropped off Luke at Cambric Hall and left for the cabin, nearly giddy with the fact that the electrician had arrived. With a list of concerns and additions Luke made for him, Pete promised he'd ensure the electrician went through each one and text Luke should there be any questions. Already, Luke had created a blueprint for changes to enhance the place, as Lewis Gray had wanted, which was one of his favorite parts of the process. Visualizing. Seeing potential.

And then having the ability to make the potential a reality.

He spent the morning into early afternoon working on research and predictive costs, based on the manpower available. Mrs.Kershaw's office door stood open, allowing him glimpses of children of all ages as they passed in the hallway outside. He even caught sight of his two new friends, Faye and Amara, and he was pretty sure they made it a point to pass by the door more than needed.

Mrs.Kershaw had been kind enough to bring him lunch, which gave him freedom to keep working. The sooner he had this finished, the sooner he could get back to the cabin and start making renovation plans with Pete.

He'd just printed off the estimate to leave for Ms.St.Clare and her team when the sudden feeling of being watched brought his attention up from his laptop.

Two familiar little faces peered through the door, and they'd brought a friend. A little black furry one.

"How can I help you ladies?"

They skirted around the doorframe into the room, hands behind their backs. The little dog waddled forward, nose sniffing the air, tiny tail wagging like an energized flag.

"We brought you a wee bit to eat," Faye said, holding out her offering in a napkin. "Some of Mrs.Kershaw's biscuits."

"And a cup of coffee." Amara revealed a paper cup complete with lid.

Luke tucked the papers beneath his arm and rounded the desk to approach the girls before lowering himself to a knee so that the dog could get better accustomed to him. "That was awfully nice of you." He gave the dog a scratch behind the ear before taking the offerings from the girls. "And who is your friend?"

"That's Clootie." Amara dropped into a sitting position, and the dog waddled over to land in her lap. "He's the house dog."

"Mrs.Kershaw has been the headmistress here for a hundred years." Faye nodded, her eyes wide. "And every time one dog dies, she gets another just like it, and they're all named Clootie."

"Well, that makes it easy to remember, I reckon." He took a sip of the coffee, welcoming the taste and warmth. If a cozy room like this office kept a slight chill to it, he couldn't imagine how the larger rooms felt. "Is there a special meaning to his name?"

"Aye," Faye offered, lowering herself beside him.

"It's a dumpling," Amara rushed to answer.

"No." Faye sent Amara a frown and then turned back to Luke. "Clootie is the cloth wrapped around the dumplin' for cooking. My gran used to make apple clootie dumplings for me before she passed on."

Luke studied the little girls. So much loss at such young ages. Made their smiles even sweeter.

"So the dog's named after a piece of cloth that wraps around a dumpling?"

Both girls nodded.

He could go along with it. He'd heard worse names for dogs.

"Do you have any dogs?" This from Amara.

"I have two, but they're both big dogs. Not nice and tidy like Clootie here."

"What are their names?" Faye ran a hand over the dog's head.

"Well, I have a shepherd named Chewy and a hound named Indie."

Both girls tilted their heads as if the names were new to them. Luke didn't figure to explain since neither little girl had probably seen the corresponding movies.

A bell he'd heard throughout the day chimed, causing both girls to come to attention. "We've got to go, Mr.Luke." Amara took Faye's hand and they both started toward the door, Clootie tagging along behind.

"Thank you for my coffee and cook—biscuits." Luke raised the cookie-laden napkin in appreciation and followed the girls to the door.

He was rewarded with twin smiles and waves as they rushed down the hallway hand in hand. His grin stretched wide as he leaned against the doorframe, taking in the sweet view.

"A smile?"

Luke turned to find Ms.St.Clare standing a few feet away from the doorframe where he'd been leaning. "And a genuine one?" She followed his gaze to the girls disappearing around the corner of the hall, those eyes flicking back to him with a hint of curiosity in them. "I didn't realize you possessed one."

Her gaze was softer today. Not quite as... unwelcoming. The loose curls that had escaped her bun and framed her face probably helped. It was hard to look mean with a halo of curls around someone's face. He inwardly groaned. Halo of curls? Where on earth did that thought come from?

"I reserve smiles for friendly people." He finagled the cookies into his coffee cup hand and tugged the papers from beneath his arm. "I emailed a copy of this estimate to Mr.Holton per his request, but here's a paper copy I planned to leave for your review."

She hesitated, as if caught off guard, and then took the proffered paper. "Thank you."

He nodded, keeping to task. "I took some of the material costs from market prices, but I bet you could get a sizable discount if buying bulk. Do y'all have a contractor's discount at some of your building supply stores? I reckon the orphanage is tax exempt."

For the first time, Grace Kelly lost a bit of her posture. "I... I'm not certain about bulk purchases, but yes, the orphanage is under a special tax bracket."

"Well, both will save you some money. The more you can save, the more the orphanage can put back into these kids." He took a sip of his coffee and gestured with his chin in the direction Faye and Amara had disappeared. "I'm wondering if you ought to have someone inspect the heating system too. Make sure it's in good working order."

"I know these types of buildings aren't as insulated as newer structures."

He sent her a look, but her attention was focused down the hallway. She had a delicate nose too. He pinched his eyes closed. "I'd imagine so."

Quiet stirred greater temptation to look her way again, so he decided right then and there that he should probably leave. "The estimate has a detailed inventory of what's wrong, so whoever you get to do the work, you at least have knowledge about what needs to be fixed so another team won't try to take advantage of Cambric Hall."

Her attention flashed back to him. "Are you not interested?"

His brows flew skyward. "Interested?"

"In the job," she clarified, and he wanted to go hit his head against one of the stone walls, if for no other reason than to remove any definition of "interested" other than renovation.

"I figured you'd probably want to get someone else."

One of her golden brows rose. "Because of your ogling me in the coffee shop?"

"Ogling?" He turned to face her. "I can assure you I wasn't ogling, Ms.St.Clare. Ogling implies I had disrespectful thoughts or intentions, but that's not the case."

Her gaze searched his and some sort of itching feeling he couldn't reach buzzed in his chest.

"And exactly what sorts of thoughts were you having?"

"Human ones." Her stare held him, and his throat started to close up. Heat climbed his neck and scorched his face. Even his beard started tingling. Hitting his head against that stone wall sounded better and better all the time. "You're nice to look at. Like the view from these windows or the architecture of this building. That's as far as my imagination went. Nothing but simple admiration."

Silence followed again and he took such a large drink of coffee, it hurt to swallow.

"I think we may have gotten off to a poor start, Mr.Edgewood, and I'm afraid I'm to blame for that. I'm sorry." Her words drew his attention, those blue eyes examining his face, searching. "Would you allow me to start over?" She offered her hand, a hint of a smile on her lips. "I'm Ellie St.Clare."

Red lights started flashing in the back of his mind at her sudden gentling. Unkind and demeaning proved an easy person to dislike and avoid.

But a woman who took responsibility for her actions and attempted to rectify them? Nope. Beam me up, Scotty! He didn't need any reasons to like Grace Kelly, because then things like emotions started crowding in on solid good sense.

And Luke was a big fan of solid good sense and few emotional tangles.

In fact, he didn't like any sort of tangles.

Her golden brow rose higher, waiting.

Ridiculous. Silly. He'd just treat her like anybody else he worked with. No problem.

He pushed his palm down the side of his jeans, as if it were dirty or something, and then took her hand in his. Her fingers slid over his palm to take a firm hold, and a frisson of connection zoomed from the touch.

Her soft orange scent hit him in synchrony.

She didn't feel or smell like anyone he'd ever worked for or with.

He cleared his throat. "Luke Edgewood."

Those piercing eyes continued to study him. "It's nice to officially meet you, Luke Edgewood." She released his hand and stepped back, bringing the papers up. "I'll review these this evening. You should hear something from me by tomorrow."

He dipped his head in acknowledgment.

"But I hope you're prepared to take the job."

His turn to raise a brow. "You haven't even looked at the estimate."

"I know." Her chin rose, lips taking a slow curve into a broader smile that actually lit her eyes. "But I trust you." She paused, searching his face again. "And I don't trust a great many people. I believe you would have the children's best interest at heart, and that's what matters most to me."

And with that, she turned and walked down the hallway.

Luke barely smothered his groan.

Heaven help him! Why did she have to turn around and be nice?

Even tell him she trusted him.

If she'd stayed mean, it would make things a whole lot easier for him. His gaze followed her retreat and then he looked away. Shoot fuzzy!

He didn't need to feel any sort of attraction to her. She was supervising the project. She lived in Skymar. And, most importantly, he wasn't looking for romance.