So he took a shower, changed into some almost-clean clothes, and drove to the mainland, where he grabbed lunch at Burger King, stopped at a sports store to buy a football for Jackie, and picked up a phone.
It was late in the afternoon before he got Jessica’s message. She wanted to meet. And suddenly the sun came out from behind his personal rain cloud.
He was ready to get to work. Now. So he didn’t call her back. He decided he’d drop by her office and get the project back on track. But when he parked in the town lot, near the marina, and looked up her office address on her web page, he was surprised to see that she didn’t have an office downtown.
The address was way the hell over on the east side of the island. He groaned in frustration, plugged the address in his GPS, and headed out of town.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled into a gravel drive that led to a house from out of Granddad’s dream. It was old, maybe built in the early twentieth century, which would have made it one of the first beach houses on Jonquil Island. It sat up on stilts right behind the primary dune in a grove of palmettos and scrub pine.
As he got out of his car, the scent of the ocean, overlaid with pine needles, greeted him. In the distance, the surf pounded like a bass drum.
The house was a little run-down, paint peeling from the clapboard siding. But it didn’t matter. If he had to come up with a vision of something, this would be it.
Except for the stairs. The front door was up a flight of stairs with a slightly loose banister. And the reality, born of pain, slapped him across the face.
He couldn’t have a house like this. He’d need one with a ramp or something. It was like having his hopes dashed on the rocks.
He gritted his teeth and hauled his sorry ass all the way up those stupid stairs to the front door and rang the bell.
He waited for a long time—long enough to make him second-guess his decision to come here instead of returning her call. He hated the idea of having to walk back down all those stairs without accomplishing anything.
But just as he was about to turn away, the door opened, and there she stood, looking nothing like a professional architect. In fact, she looked like a really adorable rendition of Rosie the Riveter, in a pair of flip-flops, baggy overalls, a paint-smeared work shirt, and a bright-red bandanna tied around her head.
“Hi,” she said, snatching the bandanna from her head, which only exposed a mop of hair that had gone a little curly in the day’s humidity.
He liked this version of Jessica better than the one who dressed for success. But it struck him that maybe he’d made a mistake. “Is this your office?” he asked.
“My—oh no.” Her big gray eyes widened. “Crap.” An embarrassed smile touched her lips. “I mean, I used to have my office here. In the old guest house.” She waved vaguely to the left. “But I moved downtown a month ago.”
“But your web page said…”
“Oh Lord, I forgot to change the address, didn’t I?”
“So is this where you live?”
“Yeah. It used to belong to my grandparents.”
“Can I come in?”
She hung on to the doorframe and met his stare. Damn. He’d invaded her space again, hadn’t he? He should go.
“I’m sorry, I should have—”
“No, it’s fine. Come on in.”
Chapter Nine
Once Jessica backed away from the door, Topher came barreling into her house like an invading army. She got out of his way as he limped down the center hall and into the big living room at the back.
“This is”—he paused, looking up at the beams in the ceiling—“amazing.”
“Uh, thanks.” Good grief, did he like her mausoleum of a house? Was this what he wanted? Well, she could do Carolina Coastal if that was his thing.
He turned toward her, his one bright eye filled with a blue-hot flame that was nothing short of mesmerizing. “This isn’t the kind of house I expected you to live in,” he said.
“Why not?” she asked.
“I thought you’d live in something ultramodern. Like Yoshi’s house.”
“That was Mr. Akiyama’s vision, not mine. I thought he was crazy at first when he said he wanted a house that looked like a bird taking flight.”
“And you don’t think I’m crazy?”
Did she? Maybe a little. “Look. Mine is not to wonder why.”
He grunted a laugh. “You’re BSing me.”
Was she? Maybe a little, but she kept her mouth shut.
“You know my family is dead set against what I’m trying to do.”
She nodded. “I heard them arguing with you last night. And Ashley tried to talk me out of helping you.”
“And you said no?”
She shrugged.
“That’s not an answer to my question.”
“I did say no. But it’s a risk. Ashley could trash my reputation if something happens to you. So be careful, okay?”
“So you care?” One eyebrow arched.
He was pushing it. She met his stare. “I care about my reputation.”
He barked a laugh and then strode past her, opening the doors to the back porch and walking right through them.
“This is beautiful,” he said when she caught up with him. He turned, gazing out onto the dark-blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean and the white sand of the beachfront. The roar of the surf filled Jessica’s head, making it doubly hard to think.
“So, maybe we could schedule a meeting to talk about where my initial design went wrong. And then—”
“Let’s do it now.”
“Um, well, I’m kind of busy right now.”
“Busy doing what?” he asked, turning toward her, his blue eye like a laser.
She stuffed the bandanna into the pocket of her overalls. “I’m fixing the kitchen sink, if you must know. And really, I think we—”
“You know how to plumb a sink? Really?”
His surprise was so annoying. “Yes,” she said, overstating the truth by a mile.
In fact, when she’d arrived home an hour ago, after stopping at the hardware store for a P-trap replacement kit, she’d quickly discovered the difference between YouTube DIY videos and reality.
She’d spent the last half hour futilely trying to get the nut off the pipe. But the wrench was too big for her hands, and the nut had been tightened by someone with a lot of testosterone.
Why, in the name of creation, were nuts, bolts, plumbing, and tools designed for men? One day, some woman would make a bundle redesigning the world so people with small hands could get a grip.
But she wasn’t explaining all that to Topher, especially since he was grinning at her. Had she seen him smile like that before?
No. And she hated the fact that the smile made him sort of adorable. Or something.
Well, one thing was certain. He didn’t spark fear the way Caleb did. In fact, Caleb had so frightened her that she’d been unable to sit still, which was why she’d come home to get the plumbing fixed.
He turned his back on the ocean and leaned on the railing, folding his arms across his chest. The sea breeze ruffled his long hair and caught in the fabric of his Hawaiian shirt and baggy shorts. He looked a little like a Jimmy Buffett fan in need of directions to a Parrot Head convention.