Chapter 1 #2
Eli laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Slumming it today, Ashworth? You’re usually holed up in your fancy office, drawing perfect lines or whatever it is you do.”
“Someone has to prevent your sister from installing purple shag carpet,” Chase replied, his eyes finding mine again with a hint of shared humor.
“As if,” I protested. “My taste is impeccable.”
“Yes, it is,” Chase agreed with unexpected sincerity, and a rush of warmth engulfed me.
Eli looked between us with a barely contained smirk. “Well, I’ll leave you two professionals to your… professional things. I’ve got a room full of future divers waiting to discover they can’t clear their masks without panicking.”
“Your confidence in your students is inspiring,” Chase said.
“Hey, they’ve all come back alive so far, haven’t they?” Eli headed for the door, then turned back. “Take good care of the project and the project manager, Chase. My sister works too hard.”
Before I could protest this characterization, Eli was gone, his footsteps fading down the walkway that connected the bungalows to the main property.
Which left me alone with Chase amid the constant hum of distant construction and the soft whisper of ocean waves from beyond the half-built deck.
I became hyper-aware of my appearance—dusty jeans, resort polo shirt with the embroidered sunset logo slightly tilted, brown hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail.
“I got the final renderings late yesterday,” Chase said, breaking the momentary silence as he held up the rolled sheaf of documents. He moved to a makeshift table formed from sawhorses and a sheet of plywood. “And some material samples I’d like you to approve.”
“Wonderful.” My voice sounded overly bright to my own ears. I stepped closer as he unrolled a large, detailed color rendering of the finished bungalow.
My breath froze. His design was stunning, more beautiful than I had ever imagined from his hand-drawn sketches.
The exterior featured storm-resistant concrete siding in a warm white tone, with crisp black trim and large windows that maximized the ocean view.
A private deck stretched across the ocean side, with built-in seating and steps leading directly to the beach.
The surrounding landscaping incorporated native plants that would provide both privacy and beauty.
“Chase,” I whispered, moved by the vision he’d created. “It’s perfect.”
Something flashed across his face—pride, pleasure, something deeper I couldn’t name. “You think so?”
“It’s exactly what I wanted but couldn’t articulate.” I leaned closer, examining the details. “You’ve captured the essence of what makes Sunset Siesta special but elevated it to something new.”
“That was the goal,” he said, his voice warm. “Honoring the history while moving forward.”
He pointed to various elements of the design, and I listened, entranced, as he explained each decision with the passion of someone who truly cared about creating meaningful spaces.
The interior featured vaulted ceilings with exposed beams, large sliding doors that opened the living area to the deck, and a seating area.
“For the bathroom countertops, I’m thinking this.” He produced a sample of polished quartz with tiny fragments of sea glass embedded throughout. The surface caught the light, sparkling with blues and greens that evoked the ocean beyond.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmured, running my fingers over the smooth surface. “Local?”
He nodded. “A craftsman in Key West. Costs a bit more, but the quality is exceptional, and it tells a story about this place.”
“The ideal balance of practical and special,” I agreed. “Our guests will love it.”
“Speaking of guests, I’ve been thinking about the target market for these bungalows.
” Chase leaned in closer, his arm brushing against mine as he indicated the floor plan.
The light contact sent a ridiculous tingle up my spine.
I forced myself to focus on the plans, not on the way his presence filled the unfinished space.
“These aren’t just rooms. They’re experiences.
Honeymooners, anniversary celebrations, special occasions. ”
“Premium pricing. Which we’ll need to offset the building costs.” I hesitated, then added, “Thank you again for the investment. I know it was a risk.”
Chase’s expression turned serious, and his eyes held mine. “Not a risk. An opportunity. I believe in this place, Harper. And I believe in your vision for it.”
Something unspoken passed between us, and I found myself wondering, not for the first time, what had prompted Chase Ashworth—successful architect with a fledgling firm here in Dove Key—to invest his own money in our struggling family resort.
His twenty-five percent stake and cash infusion had made the renovation possible, but the business case didn’t quite explain the passion he brought to every aspect of the project.
“Well,” I said, breaking the moment before it became too intense, “your belief is paying off. These bungalows are going to save us.”
I’d nearly had a coronary when he unveiled the design for four brand-new bungalows stretching along the far end of the beach.
He’d kept the idea to himself until he was sure, then had lobbied hard for the unexpected project.
And expense. I’d reluctantly approved it, but now that I saw the real potential, I was fully on board.
Chase nodded, turning back to the renderings. “The indoor-outdoor flow was key to the design. I wanted guests to feel connected to the beach and water even when they’re inside.”
“It’s just right. Authentic luxury, not pretentious.”
“Exactly.” His smile was warm, appreciative. “You get it.”
“We make a good team. Even when we argue about budgets.”
“Especially then,” he countered with a hint of humor. “Your practical constraints rein me in a little.”
“And your insistence on quality saves me from my worst penny-pinching instincts.”
Chase laughed, the sound rich and genuine in the bare space. “Remember the great light fixture debate of last month?”
“When you tried to convince me to spend three times the budget on custom pendants?” I shook my head, smiling despite myself.
“Well, design isn’t just about aesthetics—it’s about experience. How a place makes you feel.”
“I get that. Which is why I love your idea for the countertops. I’m still not going for the pendants, though.”
Our eyes met over the plans, and I was intensely aware of how this place made me feel. My earlier anxieties about budgets and timelines melted into something warmer, more complicated.
I cleared my throat and looked back at the renderings. “So, timeline for these bungalows?”
Chase shifted his weight, returning to professional mode. “Plumbing rough-in completes this week. Electrical next.” He ran a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of uncertainty. “I’m a bit concerned about the windows. The supplier is backlogged.”
“Can we expedite?” I mentally calculated what that might do to our already strained budget.
“I’ve been working on it. I have some connections from previous projects. I might be able to pull some strings.”
“Chase Ashworth, using his considerable charm for the greater good of Sunset Siesta?”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Is that how you see me? Charming?”
The question caught me off guard, and heat flooded my cheeks. “I meant, uh… professionally speaking. You know, with suppliers and contractors.”
“Ah,” he said, his expression unreadable. “Of course.”
An awkward silence fell between us, filled only by the distant sounds of hammering and the gentle shush of waves. I scrambled for something professional to say. “What about the fixtures for the bathroom? Did you decide on the matte black or the brushed nickel?”
“Actually,” Chase reached into his messenger bag and produced another small sample board. “I found an option I think you’ll like better.”
Our hands brushed as he passed me the sample—a beautiful, antique copper that would age naturally over time, developing character and color with each passing year. The metaphor wasn’t lost on me.
“Oh my,” I said softly, looking up to find him watching me intently. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he replied, his voice lower than before.
The air between us thickened. Our shoulders brushed again as we both leaned over the plans, and this time neither of us moved away. The moment stretched, possibility lingering heavily in the sawdust-laden air.
“Harper!” someone called from outside, breaking the spell. “You there? The Hendersons are checking out and asking for you specifically!”
I stepped back, reality rushing in. “Duty calls.”
Chase nodded, rolling up the renderings with careful hands. “We can review the rest of these later. Sounds like your magic touch is needed.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” I mentally shifted into general manager mode.
As I turned to leave, Chase called after me. “Harper?”
I glanced back, caught by something in his tone.
“It’s going to be worth it. All of this. I promise.”
I nodded, believing him despite all my practical doubts, and headed back to deal with the Hendersons, the feel of aged copper and the memory of his arm against mine lingering like promises.