“Unless we get any technical questions about the renovations. Those are squarely for you.”
“Let me change,” he says with a huff. “I’ll meet you downstairs. But I’m not making any promises! If I hate it, I’m leaving.”
“Deal!”
I grin as I walk back downstairs, pleased with the idea. It’s satisfying to collaborate with Clay, and I’m glad for the chance to spend part of my Sunday with him.
And it's not even breaking our boundaries, because this is clearly not a date. Sure, I knew I’d probably see Clay today, so I wore the gray pants that make my butt look cute, my date pants. But we’re on a mission, separate from our secret arrangement.
Clay meets me on the street. He’s in jeans and a collared white shirt with short sleeves, dashing and casual.
I swallow. “This way!”
It’s Sunday afternoon, and the streets are busy around us as we walk through the gayborhood.
“Let’s review before we arrive,” I say. “I’ll tell everyone how you’re doing such a gorgeous job renovating the old building, and how you care about it so much, you’re not even considering selling to a developer. Can I share pictures of your work, too?”
Clay arches an eyebrow. “You’ve been taking pictures?”
“Of course I have. Blossom has never looked better.”
Clay nods. “Thanks for doing this,” he says after a moment. “When it comes to carpentry, talking to a crew or placing an order at the shop, I handle myself just fine. But social stuff like this, I say the wrong thing. Act too gruff when I don’t mean it.”
“Gruff or not, your intention is always clear. At least to me it is.”
“I guess that’s something.”
I smile. “My job requires that I’m social, and that works. I’m recharged by other people. But it’s easy for me to spend the entire day running around town, talking to every person I see, and not realize how exhausted I am until I crash at home. I should probably learn to take some more downtime.”
“You ever want to practice your scowl to keep people away, you know where to find me.”
I pretend to scowl at him, and Clay snorts out a laugh.
“You’ll have to work on it,” he says. “Still too cheerful in the eyes.”
Ahead of us, people mingle outside of the old inn, the site of today’s tour. I wave to someone I know, and Clay keeps pace beside me.
“Just follow my lead,” I tell him. “I’ll steer us to the right people.”
Blossom’s building is old, but the inn is truly historic. Constructed with local stone, the exterior boasts decorative turrets and iron-framed windows, and the interior hosts a grand art collection and period furniture, all meticulously maintained.
“Not bad,” Clay says, eyeing the building as we walk in. There’s a string quartet playing in the rear, and I see a small guided tour ascending the staircase. “This must have been built what, late 1800s?”
“That’s how I understand it,” I say, “but Himari here would know for sure.” I offer Himari a smile. “Good to see you! How are you doing today?”
She pushes a strand of dark hair out of her face as she approaches. “Nicholas! Good to see you, too. And I’m guessing this is Clay?”
Clay looks slightly disturbed that she recognizes him.
“Clay,” I say, “meet Himari. She’s on the board of the Historical Homes Association.”
“Uh, hi,” Clay says. He sticks his hand out abruptly, and Himari smiles as she takes it.
“To answer your question,” she says, “the inn dates from 1874. But the original structure was replaced with this current building in 1897.” She studies him for a moment. “You’re preparing to sell Randy’s building, as I hear it.”
Clay nods, and when he doesn’t offer more, I jump in.
“He’s not one to brag, but Clay’s a brilliant carpenter. And he’s got a true passion for maintaining old buildings. He’s fixing up Blossom before he sells it because he’s committed to finding a buyer who won’t tear the structure down.”
