Chapter 20
TWENTY
PIPER
I had a dress that I secretly thought might have magical powers.
It was a knee-length number with a slash neckline that fit me like a glove.
The very first time I wore it, I found a twenty-dollar bill on the ground.
I’d gotten free coffee in it not once, but twice.
I’d worn it to the final court hearing when I was given custody of my boys.
It had luck and good fortune stitched right into the fabric.
It was a special shade of green that made my blue eyes look almost turquoise, and putting it on felt like wearing armor.
I knew I looked good in it, especially with my hair styled in soft waves and a bit of makeup on my face.
That was what I wore to meet Rhett at the Lovers Lane house on Saturday. It was cold out, so I paired it with black tights and tall boots, along with a black wool jacket.
I parked in front of the house behind Rhett’s truck and checked my face in the visor mirror.
I dabbed a little tinted lip balm on my lips and buffed out a crease in the concealer under my eye, even though I knew I was procrastinating the whole time.
I looked fine. Perfectly professional, feminine, and confident.
With one more deep breath, I grabbed my big zippered portfolio from the passenger seat and made my way inside.
I found Rhett in the living room on all fours, his torso twisted as he looked up the chimney. When I closed the front door, he sat down on the floor, leaned an arm against a bent knee, and exhaled. “Chimney needs a serious clean.”
“Hello to you, too,” I said. The foyer floor creaked in greeting as I walked across it before leaning against the thick trim that framed the opening to the living room.
Rhett’s eyes drifted up my boots, my dress, my face. I pretended the weight of his gaze didn’t affect me, choosing to look at the chimney in question instead. He rubbed his jaw with a big hand, leaving a streak of soot across his cheek. I approached, and for reasons unknown, my heart began to jump.
We’d mostly avoided each other all week.
Well—I didn’t think he was avoiding me, but I was most definitely avoiding him.
I’d hide in my office (closet) when he was in his, then breathe a sigh of relief when he’d take off for a site visit.
I only used the kitchen when I was sure he wasn’t there, and I parked as far away from his truck as humanly possible.
I did not visit Peak Coffee, even though I hadn’t found good coffee anywhere else in town.
Cowardly? Maybe. But I hadn’t been kidding when I said I needed time.
Rhett had money, power, and good looks. I had two dependents, five weeks left on my lease, and a dwindling bank account. Going up against him required some serious preparation.
And I was under no illusions—we were going up against each other here.
It might be a partnership, but I suspected that Rhett didn’t do anything without making sure he got his due.
So I had to be on guard and ready for him to try to pull a fast one on me.
If I was going to make the most of this opportunity, I’d have to be sharp.
That was why I’d prepared a portfolio, in the evenings after the boys were asleep. I held the zippered folder under one arm as I moved into the living room, pretending to be very interested in the chimney that apparently needed to be cleaned.
Rhett got up, and somehow it was still a shock how tall he was. One day I’d get used to standing beside him. Even with the chunky four-inch heels on my boots, I still felt like a little shrimp.
I held my portfolio like a shield between us. “I’ve been thinking about this place,” I announced, “and I have ideas.”
Rhett inclined his head and gestured toward the kitchen. I followed the light flooding into the hallway and entered the kitchen with its worn lemon-wallpaper border and leaky sink. Two coffee cups bearing the Peak Coffee logo waited on the countertop.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“An olive branch.” Rhett grabbed one of the cups and handed it over.
I popped the lid and inhaled the scent of rich coffee. “Americano,” I said, pleased. “How did you know?”
Rhett glanced at the cup, then away. “Violet remembered,” he said. “Here. Got this too.” He nudged a paper bag across the counter, and I opened it up to see the crystalline sugar dotting the top of a blueberry muffin.
That was all it took—a coffee and a blueberry muffin, and all my defenses melted like chocolate in the midday sun. Biting the inside of my cheek, I tried not to let it show how much it meant to me. “Thank you,” I said, tearing off a piece of the muffin top. Delicious.
It was the dress, I told myself. This thing was magical. That was three free coffees, and now a muffin!
Rhett watched me for a long moment, then nodded to the folder I’d left on the kitchen counter beside the muffin. “All your ideas in there?”
I hummed as I chewed, setting my steaming coffee down so I could unzip the folder.
“I came up with a couple of concepts, depending on our budget. Some of the amounts are really rough estimates, but they’re probably close enough for us to make some decisions on what we want to do.
You can let me know if I’m way off.” I pulled out two copies of my proposals, along with a bunch of fabric, paint, and flooring swatches.
I handed Rhett a copy of the paperwork before laying the samples out on the counter, arranging them by concept.
My hands moved quickly, grouping the little squares of fabric, stone, wood, and paint colors.
I ran my fingers over the fabric I’d sourced for curtains in my favorite concept, loving the texture and deep ochre color.
Rhett moved closer, and his shoulder nudged mine.
I pushed the bag with the muffin in it out of the way and took half a step sideways to put a little more space between us.
My heart rattled. Stealing a glance at my boss, I tried to remember that he wasn’t my boss right now—he was my business partner.
“When did you do this?” he asked, studying the samples for a moment before shifting to look at the paperwork. There was a line etched between his brows as he scanned my proposal, flicking between the three concepts—and three budget estimates—that I’d come up with.
“This week,” I answered, waving a hand. The truth was, I’d stayed up until almost midnight every night, drawing floor plans and sending inquiries for various materials. I was tired—but I was full of energy.
I loved this kind of work. Commercial design, like the ski lodge, was challenging and lucrative, and I’d pursued it as a career because I thought I could leverage my skills to better effect, compared to residential design.
But my true love was in homes. I loved coming up with ideas for well-designed homes that felt cozy and personal, but polished and put together.
One day, my own home would come together just like these designs.
Right now I had two young boys, so I had to go with the utilitarian more than the magazine-worthy design, and money constraints meant I had to be very slow and considered.
But one day, maybe a decade or two from now, all the thrift-store finds and the antiques-store treasures would come together, and I would be surrounded by beauty in every room.
When I looked up at Rhett, I found him staring at me. I realized I was smiling to myself, proud of my work, and let the expression fade off my face.
This was the moment he told me he didn’t want to spend this much.
He just wanted to go with the cheapest everything, rent a bunch of trendy furniture, and sell.
I knew it was coming. Even during the hours I’d spent putting this proposal together, I’d known it would probably be a waste of time and effort.
But I still did it, because it brought me joy, and I’d learned to carve out bits of joy wherever I could. It had taken me a long time to learn that no one else would make me happy. I had to do it for myself.
Sometimes, that meant putting pretty inspiration pictures together and thinking about what a home could be, in another universe. If I had money—if I was in charge.
“Piper,” Rhett said, shaking his head. My heart sank. He stared at the paperwork, and I braced myself for his rejection. I marshaled my thoughts, ready to launch into all the justifications I’d prepared.
This was something I’d gotten used to with Jacob.
Anytime I wanted to spend some money—on the house, on myself, on the kids—I had to explain and justify and defend.
I needed watertight arguments for every new cushion and set of sheets, for every hair appointment and new tube of mascara.
It had been exhausting to be questioned and doubted all the time, about everything.
But I was ready. I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders before facing Rhett. This wasn’t my boss Rhett. This was my business partner.
Before I could speak, though, Rhett set the paperwork down on the counter and leaned his palms on either side of it, shifting his gaze to one of the little bundles of samples.
“This is incredible,” he said. “I can’t believe you did this in less than a week.
Where did you even find—how…” He shook his head, gaze sliding over to me.
“I underestimated you, Piper,” he murmured, grabbing that ochre fabric I loved so much.
His long fingers rubbed the swatch, then flipped it over, and he tossed it back down with the bundle of samples for that design.
I hid my unsteadiness with a sip from the coffee cup he’d brought me. “I told you I needed some time.”
“I thought you meant you needed time so you wouldn’t bite my head off the moment you saw me,” he said.
“Well. That too.”
His chuckle was another shock to the system, a slow build of pleasure deep in my gut. I smiled into my coffee as he straightened. “Hit me with the pitch,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“I know you’re going to use all this”—he waved at my work—“to tell me which design we should be running with. Let’s hear it.”
“This is a collaboration, Rhett.”
His eyes sparkled. “So let’s collaborate.”
I pursed my lips to hide my smile, then reached over to flip his bundle of papers over to the second design—not the cheapest refresh of the house, and not the full-scale renovation, but the middle ground.
The one where we worked with the bones of the house to bring it back to life.
If we were careful—and if there weren’t any nasty surprises hiding behind the walls—this option could potentially make us the most money.
It was also my favorite, the design that I would choose for myself, if I could. I couldn’t decide if it would hurt the most or the least to make this house into my dream home just to sell it to someone else.
I guessed I’d find out soon enough. With a deep breath, I explained to Rhett what I envisioned.