4. The Offer
CHAPTER FOUR
THE OFFER
Sophie
“Babe, someone’s at the door!” I shout from the pantry. Chappell Roan is blasting through the surround sound speakers, and my arms are covered in wet paint. I probably shouldn’t be painting in my favorite spandex shorts, but here we are. At this rate, half the clothes I own are destined to become ‘painting outfits,’ and honestly, I’m fine with that. Julian keeps threatening to toss them out, but I’ve caught him staring at my arse too many times for him to follow through. “Julian, can you hear me?”
The doorbell rings again, and when I glance down at my phone, I see an unfamiliar man standing at the front door according to the security camera.
Setting the paintbrush down, I quickly wipe my hands on my shorts and walk through the house to the front door. It’s probably the tree delivery company with the new magnolia trees I ordered for the front garden. As I pull the door open, I place one hand on my hip.
“Hi. Let me go grab my husband and he’ll tell you where to plant it. You’re from the garden center, right?”
The man before me is incredibly good-looking, and I swallow as I take in his fitted jeans and leather jacket. He’s tall, like Julian, and has dark brown hair that compliments his golden skin tone. And his eyes… they’re a light gray color that reminds me of molten silver.
“Umm, not exactly. My name is Malakai Ravage.”
The name clangs through me, and it takes me a second too long to realize this is Julian’s long-lost childhood friend.
“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry,” I mutter, before my hand flies to my mouth briefly. “Shit. Fuck. Sorry.”
He laughs, and his face softens, the corners of his eyes crinkling as a relaxed warmth spreads across his features. There’s something easygoing in his expression—and I realize, in that moment, I instantly like him.
“It’s okay,” Malakai says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I like it when people don’t filter themselves. Keeps things… real.” His eyes glint with something mischievous as they flick briefly over me, and then back to my face. My cheeks heat slightly when I realize I’m only wearing spandex shorts and an old, too tight T-shirt—the paint in my hair and all over my face notwithstanding. “Besides, I think the more honest someone is, the more fun it gets.”
I raise an eyebrow, matching his playful tone. “I’ll be the judge of that. Are you good at planting trees or does your specialty lie in charming unsuspecting homeowners? Because I really am expecting a delivery from the garden center and I just picked up some baked goods from downtown, and if you’re good with a shovel, there might just be a warm cinnamon roll in it for you. I’m also completely in over my head with the renovations.”
He chuckles and the sound is low and smooth. “Now that’s an offer I’d be a fool to pass up.” His grin widens, and for a second, the air feels lighter between us. I bite back a laugh, my pulse quickening at the easy way he’s bantering. His eyes flick over the exterior of the house in all of its half-painted glory. “Really, though. I’m more than happy to help out. I spent a few summers building houses in college.”
Relief washes through me. “Oh my God, that would be incredible. And I’m sure Julian would appreciate the help, too.”
Malakai’s expression tightens for a fraction of a second, and then one of his hands comes to the back of his neck.
“Yeah, we’ll see about that. We sort of got into an argument last weekend.”
My brows pull together. I’d asked Julian about the coffee date with the infamous Ravage brother, and all he’d said was that Malakai hadn’t changed one bit in the seventeen years they’d gone without speaking. I’d assumed that meant they’d drifted apart naturally, not that there was any lingering bad blood between them.
“Oh, well, I’m sure if you offer your services, he’ll be quick to forgive,” I say quickly. Holding the door open, I gesture for him to come in. “He’s just painting the games room.”
Malakai whistles as he steps inside and does one full circle as he looks around. “Wow.”
I sigh as my eyes take in the plastic sheeting that could fill a football field at this point. That’s not even including all of the dust and grit from the drywall and plastic sheeting over the original stained glass window we’ve decided to restore.
“I know. It’s a work in progress. Trust me, I stay up late in bed just tossing and turning about if it’ll ever be done?—”
“It’s fucking fantastic,” he says, walking through the foyer before turning around to face me. “This is a great house. I’m kind of jealous,” he says, walking until he reaches the grand staircase. Running a hand over the smooth wood, he turns to face me. “Sebastian Hale Whitlock?”
My mouth drops open at how easily he names the architect who built the newly renamed Ashford Palace —a name my husband chose, obviously.
“How on earth do you know who Sebastian Hale Whitlock is?”
Malakai chuckles. “Because he built the house I grew up in, too.”
A smirk plays on my lips. “Right. Ravage Castle. Did you know he only built the two houses before dying in a plane crash?”
Malakai nods. “I did. It’s kind of a grim thought. Two masterpieces and then bam. ”
Sebastian Hale Whitlock was known for his grand yet intimate designs that blended European influences with California’s natural beauty. His designs were a hallmark of luxury in the late 1800s. Not a lot of people know about him, and the fact that Malakai does pleases me.
“He was really ahead of his time?—”
“Malakai.”
My husband’s voice resounds through the large, empty hallway, and Malakai and I both turn to face him as he walks over to us.
My eyes flick between my husband and Malakai, and both of them seem to size the other up immediately. Malakai, for example, pushes off the banister and places his hands in the pockets of his jeans. All hints of the smile that was just on his face is gone, instead replaced with scrunched brows and an apprehensive expression.
I glance at Julian as he approaches, noting the sweat still glistening on his skin and the way his eyes immediately flick toward Malakai like he’s scrutinizing him.
Huh.
“Julian,” Malakai says.
“I see you’ve met Sophie,” Julian says, stopping next to me and placing a sweaty arm around me.
“I have,” Malakai replies, eyes twinkling. He looks right at me as he delivers his next line. “And she’s even more beautiful than you described.”
My neck flushes as I grin up at Julian. “Aww. You told him I’m beautiful?”
Julian’s arm tightens just enough around my waist to make a point. A point I can’t quite read yet, but I know it’s there. His gaze locks on Malakai, and suddenly the easygoing husband I know is gone. This version of Julian is colder, like someone threw a bucket of ice water over him.
“I did,” my husband says, words cold.
“I see you’re renovating?” Malakai asks. “Apparently I’ve volunteered my services.” He looks at me briefly before continuing. “I also wanted to apologize for last weekend.”
My eyes flick between the old friends, and I remove Julian’s arm, stepping back. “Why don’t I give the two of you some privacy?”
“Soph—”
I take another step back. “I’m going to make us lunch. Malakai, would you like to join us?” I ask.
“As long as it’s okay with Julian.”
My husband’s jaw tics and he shrugs. “Sure.”
Clapping my hands once, I smile at both men. “Wonderful. We don’t have much—just some leftover sandwiches from a place downtown. And a couple of cinnamon rolls that I can heat up, as promised.”
“Sounds great,” Malakai says, giving me a genuine smile. “Thank you, Sophie. I’m really glad we met.”
I wink at Julian before walking to the garage, where we have a small makeshift kitchen set up. I plate the leftovers and make a quick salad before bringing it all to the old bar table that Orion loaned to us so that we didn’t have to eat our meals on the floor. It’s dark in here, so I click the button to open the garage in order to bring some natural light in. A minute later, Julian and Malakai walk into the garage.
Their voices are too low to decipher. Julian is doing his casual-but-not-really posture, the one he uses when he’s pretending to be fine. I’ve seen it before—him keeping his guard up with my mother and his parents, especially—but he’s usually very warm to random strangers, let alone people he considers friends.
I set the salad down, watching as Malakai places a hand on Julian’s shoulder, only for Julian to flinch, like he didn’t expect it. I don’t think Malakai notices, but I do. Julian hates people catching him off guard, but he doesn’t usually react that way to old friends. I cross my arms as I observe them some more.
This isn’t the same banter I usually see when Julian reconnects with old friends. I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering if there’s more to their story than the neat little version Julian gave me years ago. Racking my brain, I try to remember what he’s said about Malakai over the years. Whenever he talked about living in Crestwood, Malakai always came up. Julian seemed to have mostly fond memories of their time as friends, and I can’t recall any sort of falling out.
What really happened between them?
I set the sandwiches down on the table, grabbing a bag of Julian’s beloved Flamin’ Hot Cheetos from the stash he keeps hidden behind the cereal. He discovered them shortly after moving here, and now he’s obsessed.
I toss them onto his plate, catching the quick smirk he tries—and fails—to hide.
“I knew I married you for a reason,” Julian says, popping one into his mouth.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” I tease, nudging him with my elbow.
“Thank you for lunch,” Malakai says.
“Of course.” I take a seat across from them. “So? Did the two of you reconcile? Because we could really use Malakai’s help around the house,” I add, cocking my head at Malakai. “That is, if you’re still able and willing to help?”
He gives me a dashing smile and removes his leather jacket, his muscles contracting underneath a fitted, gray T-shirt. Good God. I swallow and look down as he sets his jacket on the back of a spare chair, mentally chastising myself for checking out another man right in front of my husband.
“I’d love to.”
I look over at Julian, and he’s watching me with some kind of unreadable expression.
I can’t tell if he actually agrees to all of this, or if he’s going along with it for some reason I don’t understand.
“Great,” my husband says, grabbing a sandwich.
“Great,” Malakai echoes, narrowing his eyes at Julian as he grabs a sandwich, too.
My lips twitch as I look between them.
This is going to be… interesting.
“Great,” I tell them both.