“I thought you might need one of these after all your hard work.” Josh drops soundlessly to the step beside me, handing me a caramel swirl Cornetto.
“My hero.” I don’t waste any time tearing off the wrapper. “How did you know these were my favourite?” I lick the ice-cream and stray nuts off the inside of the foil wrapper.
Starting on his ice-cream, Josh gives me the side eye. “I didn’t. They’re my favourite, so I got you one too. I missed these while I was away. These and Twisties.”
“I don’t know if I could live anywhere without Twisties for too long. Six months in New York was more than enough. Although Dad found an excuse to visit three times, so I got a steady supply. I especially missed them when I went to the movies,” I say between licks of the creamy deliciousness Josh has given me.
“It’s a dilemma, alright.” It doesn’t escape my notice that Josh keeps his eyes firmly on his ice-cream while shifting around a bit on the step.
“Okay. I have all the information I need except a brief and a budget from you.” I swap my ice-cream to my right hand, to take some notes.
“Huh. You’re a lefty too. How did I not know that?” Josh notices before quickly looking away.
“I don’t know. Technically, I’m ambidextrous. I can write with either hand. I just prefer the left. Are you left-handed too?” Of course I’ve always known he was left-handed. When I was eight, I saw it as a sign from the heavens we weremeant to be.
“Yep. Despite the best efforts of the nuns in primary school.” We both laugh, knowing how tough it is to be a lefty in a righty world.
“About the house—to be honest, I don’t really have a brief. Like I said, fixing up what’s here would be enough for me on my own, but I can see the resale value in making it more of a family home.” Josh leans back on his elbow on the step behind him, causing his t-shirt to pull tight across his abs. Gulp. “Which I guess means I’m giving you an open brief.”
“Right. And what about budget?”
“Well, without wanting to sound like a tool, like I said, I’m going to dip into the trust fund for the renos. I don’t want to overcapitalise, though, so I’d like your advice on how much is too much.” Josh screws up his face as though he’s smelt something bad at the mention of his trust fund.
“Sounds like you don’t like taking money from your dad.” I know I’m poking at a sore point based on his comment to Will.
He takes a while to answer.
“It might sound harsh to you, coming from the Australian version of the Bravermans as you do, but I hate the prick. The less I owe him, the happier I am.”
“The Bravermans?” I’ve never heard of them.
“FromParenthood. A TV show. Big family. Parents who loved them. And each other. Anyway, the point is, I hate taking anything from him.” Josh shifts on the step, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation is taking, so I detour.
“I hear you. Anyway, you’d really have to go all out to over-capitalise on a house in this location. Do you trust me?”
Our gazes connect, and the discomfort of a few moments ago drops away. The heat that always seems to be simmering under the surface whenever I’m with Josh rises to my cheeks and his.
“I trust you completely, Greer.”
Metaphorically crossing my fingers, I ask what, for me, is the most important question, “Do you want to gut the place and make it modern, or would you like to retain the old-style character?”
“I don’t want to gut it.” Josh’s eyes snap wide, making his parti-coloured eye pop. “I’d like to retain the character, that’s what attracted me to this particular house—the fact it hadn’t been buggered up with aluminium windows and such. But I don’t want the extension to look like a fake old-style house either—like those hideous project homes you see. Am I making sense?”
“Absolutely.” I can feel my mile-wide smile. “What you’re looking for is original character with a contemporary twist.”
“Exactly.” No sooner are the words out of his mouth than a deafening clap of thunder has us jumping out of our skin.
“I think we’d better get …” Anything else Josh might have said is lost as the torrential rain that’s been threatening pounds down around us.
Chapter Seven
Josh
We’rebothlaughingandcompletely soaked as we fall through the back door, despite having only been in the rain for a matter of seconds.
“There’s not a lot here to dry off with, I’m afraid.” I hand Greer the damp and sandy towel I’d hung over the kitchen door after my surf. “As you’ve no doubt noticed.”
“Thanks anyway.” She hands the sand-covered towel back to me with a grimace and lifts the hem of her t-shirt to wipe her face.
