“Okay? Are you here to buy the B&B from Gale?”
Carter tilts his head at me. “Why would you think that?”
“Well, you randomly showed up in Coconut Beach, and you’re staying two months, which is a very long time. You never talk about your job even though you’re a self-diagnosed workaholic. And a week later, I conveniently receive a letter from a development company to purchase this place. It seems like a lot of coincidences.”
“Granted, it does. But I’ll give you my word that I do not work for that company.” He turns to face me, and his voice is steady. “I’m genuinely on vacation. That’s not a lie.”
I search his face for the tells I’ve trained myself to read. Years of managing high-end guests will do that.
“I believe you,” I admit.
“You should.” He goes back to working on his wall. “What did they send you?”
“A shitty offer to purchase the land at a quarter of the value.”
“That’s predatory.” He drops a long strip of wallpaper in the bag.
“These companies try to take advantage of the elderly. It enrages me,” I admit. “It should be illegal.”
“I agree,” he says.
I exhale slowly, trying not to get worked up about this again. It took hours for me to calm down earlier. “I can’t let my grandmother know. She’d take the money, and I’d lose this place.”
“You would?”
“Yes. This is my inheritance. It was my dream to one day own and run the B&B with Josie.” I grow sad, thinking about that.“If Gran sells it, the new owners will knock this building down before the ink dries and replace it with businesses.”
“I’m not convinced she would sell it for less than it’s worth,” he says. “She’s too stubborn and in tune. Trust me, your grandma is a haggler.”
This makes me grin.
I pull the last strip from my area, and underneath it is bare. He does the same. We laugh, and I hold up my hand for a high five. The plaster is a patchwork of old adhesive and rough patches, which looks worse than the wallpaper did, but the walls are solid.
The trash bag is overflowing. I have paste up to my elbows with a smear on my forehead from pushing my hair back. Carter has wallpaper stuck to his shorts that he hasn’t noticed.
I step back and look at the bare walls. They’re ugly but somehow better than what was there before.
“I’m painting tomorrow,” I tell him.
“What time?”
“You’re not invited.”
“Ten?” he asks, like I didn’t even speak.
A smile comes.
“I should clean up,” I say, dodging the question, knowing he’ll be here.
Neither of us moves. He straightens and looks at me like he knows my heart.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, “they picked the wrong person to push around.”
“You’re right about that. I will be their worst nightmare.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
His mouth curves, and I’m standing close enough to see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes. My pulse is racing, and I swear he can hear it. His fingers brush down my forearm and slide until they find my hand. I don’t pull away.
