Page 18 of Harts & Hurts

“Okay,” I said, looking around. The area and what I could see from the doorway needed updating, and Griffin had told me that. “Okay,” I repeated, opening my notebook. I pulled the pen from where I’d stuck it behind my ear on the walk over to the main house and immediately wrote down the word paint. “It needs paint. Do you like this door color?”

He seemed surprised that I’d asked, especially if his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline was any indication. “Uh, it’s cool. Why? You want me to get new doors?”

“No, not necessarily. I think they would look good painted a rich black or deep charcoal. I would also recommend changing the light fixtures and the wall and switch plates.” From the foyer, we went into the room directly to our left. It was an office. We crossed the hall into the room on the right, the dining room. “Ugh,” slipped out of my mouth before I could catch it when I saw the room. “Why does every room in this house have a tray ceiling? Was there a sale on them or what?”

He chuckled lightly. “You don’t like tray ceilings?”

“Not in every damn room. There was one in the foyer. I don’t get it.”

“You keep writing on your little notepad. I’m presuming you’re writing the things you need to change. I feel the price tag rising.”

I laughed.

“Is there anything you’ve seen that you actually like?”

“I like the floors.” I looked down at the red oak hardwoods. “I mean, they’re a little orange for my personal taste, but they were a great choice at the time this house was built, and they’re easy to sand and re-stain. That’ll save you a ton of money. And don’t go getting all cheap on me, Griffin,” I joked.

He laughed.

“So far, everything I’ve written down is cosmetic—paint, light fixtures, and switch plates—so we’re not looking at tens of thousands of dollars or anything.” I paused. “Though I haven’t seen the kitchen or the bathrooms yet.”

After finishing the tour of the house, I decided that I was right about the kitchen and bathrooms needing real work. Still, I felt confident that if I tackled one space at a time, with the right contractor and crew, I could get the house up to par and make it perfect for us and Melrose.

“Do you have a contractor in mind?” I asked Griffin. “Are you still in contact with the company that did the guesthouse?”

“Nah. I could probably find the name of the company, have my assistant go through the invoices from three years ago, see who I paid, but one of my boys told me that he knows somebody I can use.”

We strolled across the side lawn, back toward the guesthouse.

“Say,” Griffin said, breaking the silence that had fallen between us. “You got anything planned this afternoon?”

“Nope. I was probably gonna put Melrose in her car seat and drive around, exploring the island today. If not today, then tomorrow.”

“If you don’t mind holding off on your exploring until tomorrow, I want you to go to lunch with me. One of my guys invited me over. He and his wife want to meet you and Melrose.”

I eyed him. “You sure like to spring stuff on me at the last possible moment. What is that?”

He had the nerve to look at me sheepishly. “My bad. I think it might be because I’m a single dude, and usually, I only have to take myself into consideration when stuff comes up. In the future, I promise to be more conscientious about how and when I present things to you.”

I wanted to give him more pushback because I was a firm believer in the idea that you taught people how to treat you. The fact that I was tired from traipsing around a three-thousand-square-foot home factored into the fact that I didn’t have the energy to tell him off. “You’re lucky I’m hungry.”

“You being hungry is a bet I’m always going to win.”

“Uh!” I squeaked out as my mouth fell open. “You trying to say I’m always hungry? So you crack jokes, Griffin? I thought all Hart men did was leave women jilted at the altar.”

“Aww, shit! You took it there, with your Melrose ass.” We both laughed.

I bumped him with my shoulder as we walked side by side. “I’m not always hungry, I’ll have you know.”

“I can’t tell, with the way you’re always down to eat whenever I present the option.”

“Well, hell, stop starving me. You let me go six and seven hours at a time before you mention food. Do you expect me to still be full from food I ate last night?”

“It’s my job to make sure you eat, Anistyn?”

“I uprooted my life, moved to your town, into your house. . . Isn’t feeding me the very least you could do?”

He eyed me, and for a moment, I thought he was going to say something slick, but at the last second, his expression changed. “You’re right, shorty. You picked up your life, you’ve been working with me, you’ve been giving everything you have to our niece, and you don’t complain. There’s a lot of people I could’ve ended up doing this with. It’s cool that it’s you.”