I still wasn’t entirely sure how that had happened. One minute I was trying to prevent her from impaling herself on a piece of siding, the next I was practically her unwilling liaison to the architectural community of Monroe County. The two Queen Conch IPAs she’d brought over yesterday as a peace offering—or a bribe—still sat untouched in my fridge. A cold, sweating reminder of my general state of bewilderment and an increasing, unwelcome sense of obligation.
With a sigh that felt like it originated somewhere around my kneecaps, I removed the key from the starter. I wasn’t a man to put off unpleasant tasks.
“And this won’t get easier. Get on with it, Coleridge.”
The lobby of Sunset Siesta was a work in progress. Half the ample space was sectioned off with heavy plastic sheeting, the air thick with the scent of sawdust, freshpaint, and plaster dust. A temporary check-in desk, manned by the unflappable Dana, had been set up near the main entrance. I sensed Harper’s touch in the attempt to make it more welcoming and beachy with the local fish sculptures and seashells attached to the front.
I spotted Chase almost immediately conferring with a couple of workmen, his dark hair looking neat despite the surrounding entropy. A set of rolled-up blueprints was tucked under one arm, and his expression was intent as he pointed to something on a newly framed wall.
The man had a new partnership, a new wife, a new business, andtwinson the way. This was a terrible time to ask for a favor, especially one involving the walking, talking, noise-generating complication that was my new neighbor. I almost turned around, almost convinced myself this could wait.
No. Get it done. You told her you would, so rip off the damn Band-Aid.
I waited until his workmen had dispersed before approaching. “Chase. Got a minute?”
He turned, a faint smile touching his lips when he saw me, though his hazel eyes still held that focused, assessing look he got when he was deep in a project. “Austin. What’s up? Don’t tell meLine Dancersprouted a leak.”
“Boat’s fine,” I said, feeling like an idiot already. I tried for casual, for the tone of a man merely passing on a piece of trivial neighborhood news. It probably came out sounding like I was about to confess to a felony. “It’s, uh, my neighbor. The one renovating Heron House?”
Chase’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. He knew about Heron House. Everyone in Dove Key knew about Heron House, the grand, decaying white elephant.
“The one you’ve been complaining about making aracket at sunrise for weeks?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Or is it months now?”
“That’s the one. Her contractor just walked off the job. Friday, I think. Left things a mess. She’s… in a bind.” I shifted my weight, avoiding his perceptive gaze. “She found out you were an architect. Asked if you ever did, you know, quick consultations. Just to look at things.” I waved a vague hand, trying to minimize the whole thing.
Chase was silent for a moment. He unrolled his blueprints slightly, then rolled them back up. “Heron House. That’s a beast of a project. Ambitious. Contractor walked off, huh? Can’t say I’m entirely surprised, some of the characters calling themselves builders down here…” He shook his head. “What exactly did he leave her with?”
I gave him the short, heavily edited version—the siding issue, the general chaos, her clear lack of experience. I definitely didn’t mention the part where said neighbor had practically melted against me, or that her lips tasted like saltwater and pure, unexpected sweetness.
Chase listened patiently, his expression thoughtful. When I finished, he tapped a finger against his rolled-up blueprints. “Makes sense she’d be looking for some solid advice if her contractor bailed. How’d she know to ask for me specifically?”
Heat prickled at the back of my neck, and I scrubbed my hand over it, suddenly finding a loose floorboard fascinating. “I might have… um… mentioned you were an architect. In passing. The other day. She, uh, she asked me yesterday if I could put her in touch.”
Chase’s lips curved into a faint smile, the kind that said he was seeing about three layers deeper than the surface I was presenting. But he didn’t press, thank God, just gave a slight nod. “Right. In passing. Got it.”
That amused look lingered, making me feel like ateenager caught sneaking in after curfew. He knew something was up, or at least that I wasn’t giving him the full story.
Which, of course, I wasn’t.
“She’d be happy with a quick look-see, I think.”
“I’m slammed, Austin. You know that,” Chase replied, waving at the half-gutted lobby. He ran a hand through his hair. “But, damn. Leaving her high and dry on a place like Heron House… that’s rough.” He turned his eyes back to me, a flicker of curiosity, or maybe just sympathy, in his hazel eyes. “All right. I could swing by and take a quick look. Maybe point her in the right direction, make sure nothing’s about to fall on her head or cost her triple what it should. But I absolutely cannot take on another major renovation right now. I just signed two new clients last month.”
Relief washed over me, followed, just as quickly, by the dawning dread of having to relay this information to Iris. Another conversation. Another opportunity for horrible awkwardness. Another attempt to keep myself from reenacting that kiss, the tempting warmth of our bodies against each other.
“Understood.” My voice came out a little too quickly. Almost eager, dammit. “That’d be great. Just needs some professional eyes on it. Maybe you know someone reliable who isn’t a complete hack, someone who won’t try to fleece her.”
“Possibly.” Chase glanced at his watch. “Tell you what. I can stop by early tomorrow morning, say, seven-thirty?”
“Seven-thirty,” I repeated, my mind already racing. I had no idea if seven-thirty on a Tuesday worked for Iris. For all I knew, she planned to sleep until noon and then commune with squirrels. But she wasn’t exactly in a position to be picky. “Yeah, that should be fine.”
“Good.” Chase clapped me on the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with some misaligned ductwork that’s threatening to derail my entire HVAC plan.” He offered a brief smile and unrolled his blueprints.
I said thanks to his retreating back and headed for the exit, the unpleasant task of informing Iris of her early morning architectural consultation looming before me like an ominous thunderhead.
I spent the rest of my workday rearranging tomorrow’s charter to the afternoon when the client had a last-minute schedule change, then making sureLine Dancerwas shipshape. But as the afternoon sun began its slow descent toward the Gulf, I pulled my truck into the driveway and parked under the carport. Then, with feet that could have been fifty pounds heavier than they had half an hour ago, I veered onto the overgrown path that led to Heron House.
The place looked even more dilapidated in the afternoon light, its peeling paint and sagging porches showing years of neglect. The only sign of life was a faint, melodious humming coming from an open window on the ground floor. I knocked on the massive, ominous-looking dark front door, the sound echoing unnervingly in the sudden stillness.
