Chapter Two
CHASE
I tracedmy finger along the clean line of the cabana roof on the blueprint, a familiar satisfaction at the elegant simplicity of the design filling me. Sunlight streamed through the generous windows of my office, casting geometric patterns on the polished concrete floor. Six months ago, this building had been a forgotten relic just off Main Street in Dove Key. Now Latitudes Design breathed with possibility. My possibility. The soft jazz playing in the background couldn’t quite drown out the low hum of anxiety that had been my constant companion since launching the firm, but the pride of seeing my vision take shape helped keep it at bay. At least most days.
The renovation plans for Sunset Siesta’s pool area spread across my desk. I’d been staring at them for hours, making minor adjustments, checking measurements, and second-guessing placement. Six cabanas, spaced evenly around the free-form pool to form a cohesive whole. Thecustom-built concrete deck would make the area modern and welcoming. The Siesta Sunset project wasn’t particularly large or complex by industry standards, but it carried weight beyond its scope. It was Latitudes Design’s first major undertaking—my chance to prove that leaving the security of Patterson & Walsh hadn’t been professional suicide.
I sat back, rubbing my eyes. The plans before me were solid. Better than solid. The designs balanced luxury with practicality, offering shaded retreats that would elevate the resort’s aging pool area into something worth the premium rates we needed to charge. I knew the work was good. So why couldn’t I stop fidgeting with the details?
The answer arrived unbidden, in the form of chestnut hair and warm brown eyes that practically glowed in the sunlight. Harper Coleridge. General manager of Sunset Siesta. Single mother. My best friend’s sister. The woman I’d been carefully not thinking about for longer than I cared to admit. Years.
“Not helping,” I muttered to myself as I reached for a drafting pencil.
I’d known the Coleridges most of my life. Eli had been my best friend since elementary school, which meant I’d grown up with his family by extension. I’d witnessed Harper evolve from an annoying kid sister to a confidently capable woman who radiated warmth and quiet strength. Never drawing attention to herself, she was simply, undeniably beautiful. I’d watched her navigate the shock of unexpected pregnancy and abandonment with a fortitude and grace that still astounded me. And I’d kept my distance because some lines weren’t meant to be crossed.
The memory of Eli’s teenage decree floated back. “My sisters are off-limits, man. Bro code. Don’t mess with it.” Astupid adolescent pact that shouldn’t matter twenty years later.
But it did.
Especially when Harper’s smile made my chest tighten.
I forced my attention back to the blueprint, looking for distractions in dimensions and material lists. A cabana on the north side needed a slight adjustment to its flowing drapes—nothing major, but worth noting before tomorrow’s construction meeting. I scribbled a correction, losing myself in the familiar rhythm of problem-solving.
A soft knock pulled me from my concentration. Marilyn Wallace stood in the doorway, two steaming mugs in hand and an amused expression on her face. “You’ve been staring at those plans for three hours.” She placed a steaming mug of coffee on my desk. “I figured caffeine might be in order.”
I smiled gratefully and inhaled the rich aroma. “You’re a mind reader.”
“Part of the job description.” She settled into the chair opposite me, her own mug cradled between her hands. At fifty-two, Marilyn radiated a calm competence that had made her my first and only choice when staffing the office. Her silver-streaked bob and practical attire projected the professional-but-approachable image I wanted for Latitudes.
“How’s the Franson meeting looking?” I asked, taking a sip of damn good coffee.
“Confirmed for Thursday at two. She’s bringing her husband this time.” Marilyn’s expression turned wry. “She mentioned he hasstrong opinionsabout the guest bathroom.”
“No worries. Most people do.” I smiled, a rush of gratitude rising. Six months in, and I still marveled at how she kept on top of it all.
“The contractor called about the Rivera kitchen,” she continued. “The custom cabinets will be delayed another week. I’ve already adjusted the schedule and let Mrs. Rivera know.”
“How’d she take it?”
“Better than expected. I sent over that 3D rendering you did of the finished space—it softened the blow considerably.”
I nodded. Another crisis that Marilyn’s diplomatic skills averted. “You know, when I hired you, I thought I was getting a receptionist. Turns out I got a miracle worker.”
She waved away the compliment, but her smile showed her pleasure. “Speaking of miracles, have you made any progress with this?” She nodded toward the Sunset Siesta plans.
“Some.” I rotated the blueprint so she could see the layout. “I’m considering shifting the placement of these privacy plantings. The current plan works, but if we move them here”—I indicated the new location—“we can create more natural screening without blocking the ocean view from the deck.”
Marilyn studied the design, head tilted. “Makes sense to me. Though I have to wonder if you’re overthinking beautiful cabanas because you’re nervous about the project.”
I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it. She wasn’t wrong.
“It’s your first major contract since opening Latitudes,” she continued gently. “You’re a partner in the business, and it’s for people you care about. Of course you want it to be perfect.”
“I know.” I gestured vaguely, unsure how to articulate the pressure I felt without sounding ungrateful. “There’s a lot riding on this.”
“And the end result will be worth it.”
Relief and appreciation mingled as I nodded. “Thanks, Marilyn. For everything.”
