5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

M isty

On the drive to lunch, or whatever they call the meal between lunch and dinner–linner, I guess–I kick myself for my impulsive behavior. Did I really just sign a bank loan for 150,000 credits? The thought of it makes me woozy.

Glancing over at Zylus, his profile so perfect it's hard to take my gaze off him, doesn't make me feel better. Did I really just agree to live with a male I've known for less than four hours? Someone should put me in a straitjacket.

I didn't agree to his moving in because it was one of his conditions, or because he's so gorgeous he makes my mouth dry. Whatever I witnessed last night has me terrified. Although I was originally scandalized by his presumptuous demand, I soon realized I'll feel much safer knowing Zylus is just down the hall.

My door has a lock. I won't need protection from him . It's the ghost who can move through walls that terrifies me.

As much as I want reassurance, I vow to myself I won't whisper a word to him about last night's visitation. He must already think I'm the most impulsive person he's ever met. Why else would someone offer a perfect stranger such a business deal?

"Here we are, the Heirloom Cafe."

I try to control the huff threatening to escape my mouth. I don't know why it irritates me that in addition to having vid star good looks, Zylus just whizzes up to our destination and finds a parking spot directly in front of the restaurant's door. Some people have all the luck.

He slides into a red leather booth in the corner and orders the melioncrott , which he describes as planet Hallion's version of a deep-fried PB&J. I decide to indulge and order one, too. It sounds as though I'll be earning some sweat equity myself. I'll be burning off a lot of calories as we demo, strip, and reconstruct a ten-thousand-square-foot mansion.

Somewhere between our order and the moment I scrape the last morsel of food off my plate, Zylus and I strike up what could only be called a budding friendship.

We share a few childhood memories. I tell him about being a tomboy, climbing trees, and spending all my free time lost in books.

It's interesting to hear he's quite the reader too. He used to spend a lot of time at his grandparents' house, reading in their backyard gazebo. When he speaks fondly of those moments in the outdoor structure, I realize we have a lot in common. It was the Interstellar's gazebo that finally made me pull the trigger and spend a thousand credits to enter the drawing.

We move on. Other than religion and politics, we cut a wide swath of topics.

"I disagree," I say, licking my finger and swiping the remains of the powdered sugar the cook dusted over the amazing sandwich. "I think Chanpin Bergin's acting in the Maritime Pirate series was far superior to Agnon Prednum's in the Byzantium Witch's Treasure ." I lick my finger with a flourish, then await his response.

Instead of launching into a debate, holding onto his original position come hell or high water, he gives my opinion serious thought .

"I think the difference might not be so much in their acting ability, but the quality of the scripts."

I can't hide my smile at the way he's finessing this argument. Most guys would be steamrolling me by now in their quest to make me wrong and themselves right. I like our give-and-take.

"You might be right," I concede. "The Pirate series was clearly the better concept."

He nods, pops the last bite of sandwich between his peach-colored lips, and somehow manages to look handsome even as he chews.

His startling good looks fall to the back of my mind, as we share tidbits of our history. His piercing blue eyes bore into me when I tell him about the job market back on Earth. I feel as if he's with me every step of the way when I explain how employers can promise everything and deliver nothing. Yet the handsome male, with his long, black hair, square jaw, and sexy white fangs, is an interesting juxtaposition of contradictions.

He's capable of deep, genuine belly laughs, especially when I make my trademark snarky quips. It's endearing to have a male laugh at my jokes.

I haven't survived on my own for so long without having a spidey-sense. Although he's warm and engaging, he dances around certain topics, especially when I ask questions. Enquiring about his immediate family seems to be off-limits. That's okay. We just met.

Now that we've broken the ice and developed an easy camaraderie, he goes to his truck and returns with a computer pad. If I'd had any questions about his construction experience, that he has a pad in a protective cover strong enough to get run over by a truck, as well as being dotted with at least twenty different colors of paint, reassures me he does, in fact, have a history in the trades.

For the next two hours and several cups of strong coffee, we use the blueprints we retrieved from the town database and discuss room-by-room changes we'd like to see .

Some of our tastes are so similar it's shocking. The bedroom I slept in, clearly the master, will be tastefully appointed in sky blue and milk chocolate.

"It will appeal to both sexes," he says, with a nod. "That room will be easy. How do you say it in Earther? A piece of barnacle."

I return his pleasant smile, wondering how much it will cost to upgrade my subdural translator which is clearly on the fritz. Piece of barnacle, indeed.

We disagree completely on the kitchen. He wants it to have the latest conveniences, so it will be up to the task of cooking breakfast for a small mob. I have my heart set on the old-fashioned appliances I saw in pictures from the mansion's bygone days.

He shrugs. "We don't have to start there. Those are details we can agree on later."

I like his laid-back attitude as much as I like his face.

When my stomach clenches in anxiety at the thought of sharing the house with him tonight, it's hard to disregard how eager he was to move in. He's got to have an ulterior motive, right?

I don't get a pervy vibe from him, though, and having him just down the hall will be reassuring in case the ghost returns.

Still, I'm sure he's hiding something. I guess it remains to be seen exactly what that secret is.

Before returning to the Inn, Zylus and I make a beeline for Hallion's biggest home improvement store. I've never seen so many power tools in one place. It reminds me how little I know about construction, though I'm not going to admit it.

"Okay, what's first on the list?" I ask, grabbing a cart that's roughly the size of a small hovercraft .

Zylus consults the list he made on his wrist-comm. "We need to pick out flooring for the main areas. I'm thinking something classic, like hardwood or tile."

I wrinkle my nose. "Hardwood? In a place with that much foot traffic? It'll be scratched to hell in a week."

"Ah, but that's the beauty of it." He winks—wow, this male is handsome. "Adds character."

"More like adds to my future headaches," I mutter, steering the cart toward the flooring section.

We spend the next hour bickering good-naturedly over samples. I'm all for the durability of Hallion's equivalent of stained concrete, but Zylus insists it's too "industrial" for the inn's vibe. He keeps gravitating toward these ridiculously expensive marble tiles that look as though they belong in some snooty art museum.

"Oooh, how about this one?" I hold up a sample of fluorescent orange linoleum while controlling my urge to vomit. "Nice and bright, really makes a statement."

Zylus looks physically pained. "The only statement that's making is ‘I have no taste, please gouge out your eyeballs.'"

I clutch my chest in mock-offense. "Wow, tell me how you really feel."

"I just did." But he's fighting back a smile as he plucks the sample from my hand and chucks it over his shoulder.

In the end, we compromise on a nice slate tile for the high-traffic areas and some reclaimed wood for the bedrooms. I've got to admit, the man's got a good eye for this. Not that I'll ever admit it to his face.

Next up is paint, which sparks a whole new round of good-natured squabbling.

"What's wrong with a nice, neutral gray?" Zylus asks, exasperated, as I veto yet another of his choices .

"What's wrong is that it's boring." I brandish a swatch of electric blue. "We need something that pops, y'know? Really grabs people's attention."

He huffs out a laugh. "The only thing that color's gonna grab is a neon sign that says ‘look at me, I'm tacky'."

I stick my tongue out at him. Real mature, I know. "Fine, what's your brilliant idea then?"

Zylus hums thoughtfully, scanning the rows of paint cans. Then his face lights up and he reaches for one on the top shelf. "Here, what about this?"

I peer at the label. "Mystic Moonbeam?" I scoff.

"Trust me." He pops open the lid and I lean in for a closer look. It's a soft, shimmery silver that seems to shift in the light. Almost ethereal.

"Huh." I tilt my head, considering. "That's actually… kinda perfect."

Zylus grins, looking far too smug. "Told you. It'll go great with the dark wood trim."

I roll my eyes but can't quite hide my smile. "Okay, okay, you win this round. But I get final say on the bathroom fixtures."

"Deal." We shake on it, his large green hand engulfing mine. It lingers just a beat longer than necessary and I feel a strange little flutter in my stomach.

Must be all the paint fumes.

We load up the cart with gallons of Mystic Moonbeam and so many other supplies the cart can barely hold them. As we navigate the chaotic checkout line, Zylus leans down to murmur in my ear.

"Not bad for our first shopping trip together. We only had, what, a dozen arguments?"

I elbow him lightly in the ribs. "Excuse you, I believe the term is ‘spirited debates.' And I totally won most of them."

"Sure you did." He looks like he's barely holding back a laugh. "Keep telling yourself that while I repeat two words—Mystic Moonbeam."

I sniff haughtily and turn away to hide my grin. Who knew home renovation could actually be kinda… fun?

As we load the hover-truck with our haul, I catch Zylus watching me with an odd expression. Softer than his usual smirk.

"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious. "Do I have paint in my hair or something?"

He shakes his head. "No, no. I was just thinking… we make a pretty good team."

I blink, surprised. Then I give him a tentative smile. "Yeah. I guess we do."

Maybe this whole partnership thing won't be such a disaster after all.

But I'm still not letting him pick the bathroom tiles.