Chapter 3
As they entered the vestibule, Phil tried to hold back the wistful smiles that threatened as dozens of bittersweet memories came to mind.
When she was younger, she’d had an army of imaginary friends whom she would play hide-and-seek with throughout the massive house. She even let them win sometimes.
When she got older, she and Mya would have slumber parties. Using a special scale they had devised, they would rate the boys at school. Corey Anderson, who eventually became Mya’s boyfriend—and finally, after fifteen years apart, her husband—always scored the top rating.
Phil glanced over at Jamal. He would have given Corey a run for his money back in the day.
“This is what sold me on the house,” he said, running his palm along the ornately carved banister that traveled up the staircase. “Look at this detailing. The Realtor said it was all done by hand.”
“It’s beautiful,” Phil remarked. When she was eight years old, she had broken her arm sliding down that very same banister after seeing it done in a movie. As much of a tomboy as she’d been back then, it was a wonder she’d made it through the rest of her childhood without any more broken bones.
“Why don’t we start upstairs?” Jamal said. “There’s less work needed up there. We can take a quick look around before discussing the really intense stuff.”
She followed him up the stairs, gawking unabashedly at the way the shorts fit over his butt. It was too damn firm. He was too damn fine.
Lethal. That was the rating Jamal would have received on the scale she’d developed with Mya all those years ago.
His smile, his naturally wavy hair, those sinewy muscles, his scent—clean, yet spicy.
Everything about him was lethal, especially to a woman who had gone over a year without a man in her bed.
Her battery-operated toys were fine for providing temporary relief, but she couldn’t snuggle up to a vibrator. She missed snuggling. She missed men.
But she sure as hell didn’t miss the heartache they caused.
That was what she would remember when she caught a glimpse of Jamal’s gold-speckled eyes and charming smile. Kevin had nice eyes and a sexy smile, too.
“There are three bedrooms and another small room in the rear that the Realtor said was used as a sitting room, but I’m going to turn it into an additional bedroom.
The biggest problem is that there’s only one bathroom up here, which means if the B he could do whatever he wanted with it.
Even if it meant putting up freaking drywall.
“Just…show me the rest,” she said.
“Here’s one of the things I’m putting into your capable hands,” he said, pointing to the pocket doors that recessed into the walls between the dining room and kitchen. “They’re pretty banged up, but if at all possible, I want to keep them.”
“Of course you want to keep them. They add too much character to this house to think of getting rid of them.”
Phil glided her hand along the smooth mud where the panels of Sheetrock met. She could not believe the man was replacing the classic plaster walls with drywall, but at least he’d done a good job.
“You did this work by yourself?” she asked.
Jamal nodded. “Have I impressed the guru?”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why not? Everyone else does.”
“First, I’m not a guru,” Phil said. “My dad deserved that title, not me. And secondly, I work mostly in wood and wrought iron, so I’m not the one to properly judge drywall installation.”
“That’s too bad,” he said. “I was hoping you’d be impressed.”
Phil looked over at him and was caught off guard by the sexy smile pulling at the edges of his lips. She knew flirting when she saw it.
That would not be good. She could not handle a sweaty, sexy, flirting Jamal Johnson.
“So, besides the doors, what else is there?” she asked.
“I’ve got my blueprints out here,” he said, motioning for her to follow him outside.
Phil stopped short. “If you’re not doing a renovation, why did you draw up blueprints for a house that’s already built?”
He shrugged. “You work in wood and wrought iron; I work in blueprints. It just makes it easier to have a map of the house so I can pinpoint each thing that needs to be addressed.”
She accepted his explanation with the same amount of guarded skepticism she took everything else he told her.
Outside, the blueprints were spread out on the top of a folding table, held at each corner with pieces of leftover wood.
She stood next to Jamal as he pointed out various jobs that needed to be done throughout the house.
She tried to ignore the combination of sweat, sawdust, and man that flooded her senses.
Ignoring a ten-piece brass band blowing in her ear would have been easier.
“My biggest headache right now is fixtures,” Jamal was saying. “I’d love to get something comparable to what’s in the downstairs bathroom and kitchen, but I can’t find anything even close.”
Phil ordered herself to focus on the job at hand, and not on his scent. Or the muscles rippling underneath his T-shirt. Or the way she’d clung to them when they danced months ago.
“You won’t find them in hardware stores,” she said. “Your best bet will be companies that specialize in reclaimed fixtures. They salvage pieces and sell them to people restoring older properties. I’ve got several contacts I can check for you.”
When he didn’t comment for several moments, Phil glanced over at him. That smile was back, the one that made her heart beat just a bit quicker.
“I knew I’d come to the right person,” he said. “Together we’re going to take Belle Maison in a completely new direction.”
Yeah, that’s what she was afraid of.
As Phylicia leaned over the table, studying the blueprints, Jamal studied her.
He couldn’t get over just how much of a contradiction she was.
She worked in a decidedly male-dominated field, yet those high cheekbones, amazingly deep brown eyes, and lush, full lips could easily grace the cover of a fashion magazine.
She was tall and slim, but years of manual labor had added definition to her arms and shoulders. Jamal remembered how they had looked in the sleeveless bridesmaid gown she wore at the wedding.
Why had someone so sexy, so feminine, decided to work with hammers and sanders?
Probably because she was damn good at it.
He’d noticed several pieces of furniture in various stages of restoration when he visited her workshop yesterday.
She seemed to spend most of her time laboring over stuff most people would write off as useless.
But in her hands, what was once decrepit gained new life.