Chapter 2
Presley
West Aldridge at close range had even more impact on me than he had across a crowded patio three weeks ago at Rowan and Chance’s party.
Those stunning green eyes were kind and attentive.
His square jaw was solid, strong, and made all the more masculine by his beard.
When we’d shaken hands, his was large and undoubtedly powerful, yet his touch had been restrained, almost gentle.
As we’d made physical contact, my heart had fluttered in my chest.
I was so not the flutters-from-a-guy type.
As I stepped back to let him into my home, I took him in as a whole. He wore a black tee that revealed biceps I wasn’t going to get out of my head anytime soon. His muscular legs were thick beneath cargo pants. And that tool belt…
I hadn’t realized I was into guys with beards and tool belts until now.
“Levi had an emergency,” West said as he looked around at my new home. “He might join us later, but we’ll start without him.”
“I’m sure you and I can handle it just fine,” I said, allowing my lips to curve into a flirty smile.
“Once you show me around, I won’t need to bother you.” His tone wasn’t unkind, just businesslike. No grin in return. Not at all flirty.
Okay. I could read a guy. Business it was then. He’d be here for who knew how many weeks. Getting along was key. Which of course meant crossing any lines into flirtation would be a bad idea.
I was down with that. This eye candy might’ve been part of the reason I’d called Dawson Construction in the first place but only a small part.
Multiple recommendations for Levi’s company from my friends and their friends weighed a lot more heavily than the instant attraction I’d had to West at that party.
That kind of reaction to a man wasn’t normal for me, but then nothing in my life had been normal for the past three weeks. I’d jumped straight off the cliff of normal when I’d walked out on my career.
“I’m assuming you have the plans from Levi?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” He held up a thick contractor’s portfolio, but I almost didn’t notice as I tried to swallow the ma’am.
I was thirty-five years old. I’d put West close to my age, maybe a couple of years younger. There was no need for him to ma’am me. But maybe that was just him being polite.
“We’re gutting this whole level,” he said. “Opening it up. New kitchen, new master suite, powder room, utility room, new everything, plus finishing the bonus room above the garage.”
“Yes.” I stepped from the foyer into the hall. “There’s the formal dining room.” I pointed at the mostly enclosed room, then to the opposite side. “Living room, obviously.” We walked down the short hall to the kitchen doorway. “Powder and utility are that way. Kitchen’s here.”
He glanced to the powder room, then followed me into the kitchen. “We got some eighties going on here with the walled-off rooms, huh?”
“So much eighties,” I said. “I fell in love with the lot and the view. The house is okay but…”
“We’ll make it better. Nice breakfast nook. We’re updating the glass there, right?”
He wasn’t referring to his notes, so I could tell he’d studied the plans.
“Right,” I said of the sunroom-style alcove. “Make it look like today instead of yesteryear.”
He eyed the kitchen, taking in relevant details, nodded, then said, “And the master?”
I led him through the living room to the empty master suite that looked out on the lake, just like the breakfast nook and the living room.
“That’s quite a view,” he said, glancing toward the lake before stepping in the opposite direction, past the closets, and looking into the bathroom. “Are you not living here?”
“I am. I moved in on Saturday, but knowing you guys were starting today, I have everything either on the second floor or in storage.”
He nodded. “It’s gonna be loud. No way around it. You don’t work from home, do you?”
“I…don’t work.” I forced a smile, trying to cover how much that was messing with my head.
I could see him trying to puzzle that out. No job. Big house. Expensive remodeling project.
“I was an investment banker until three weeks ago,” I explained.
His brows shot up. “But now you’re not?”
“Now I’m not. I loved the job…until I didn’t. It was long hours, high stress, starting to become toxic. My boss was a condescending, sexist jackass.”
“Sounds like leaving was a good decision then,” he said as he checked something in his portfolio.
“Yeah.” Even I could hear the lack of conviction in my answer, but that wasn’t accurate. Leaving my job was the right decision. I nodded and tried again. “It definitely was. I’m just trying to figure out what to do with myself.”
“You don’t have something lined up?” His brow furrowed as if that didn’t compute.
“No.” I let out a little laugh, hoping that hid how I was freaking out pretty much full-time. “This remodeling project is it.”
When I’d left my job, I’d been fueled by multiple things: concerning news from my doctor, ongoing insistence by my BFF, Chloe, that my job wasn’t worth the stress and lack of respect from my boss, and chronic resentment at said boss.
Walking out, seeing his stunned expression, had rocketed me to a natural high that had lasted for days.
“Levi said you purchased this place earlier in the spring?” West said.
I nodded. “It’s funny how things work out.
I bought it on a whim when I was still working and living in Nashville.
Had no idea what I’d do with it. Rent it out, use it for a weekend place.
.. When I quit my job, all I could think about was getting away, out of the city.
Far away from everything. Starting over. ”
Recovering.
Getting healthy.
Learning to relax.
That was turning out to be quite the challenge.
“Gonna be rough for a few weeks,” West said, “with a work crew here every day, making a racket.”
“I figure I’ll spend time outside, floating on the lake, reading, gardening.”
“You garden?” He didn’t hide his surprise.
With a self-conscious grin, I admitted, “Not yet. It’s supposed to be soothing. Meditative. I bought some flowers to plant.”
Please, let it be meditative. Let me get swept away by it, taken out of my head.
My head wasn’t a good place right now.
For the first two and a half weeks after I’d quit, I’d kept busy by getting my Nashville condo ready to sell.
I moved things to storage, painted, made some minor repairs, had the flooring replaced.
I hired a staging company. I put it on the market a week ago and got a good offer right away.
Then this past Saturday, I made the move to Dragonfly Lake.
Once the movers had left and I was alone in my new place, I expected to feel invigorated, excited, joyful. I’d done it. I’d taken a huge step toward changing my frantic, unhealthy life.
Instead, I’d been jittery, unable to sit still, nearly panic-stricken at the emptiness that stretched out in front of me.
My single-minded purpose since grad school had been to earn a shit ton of money, then invest it and turn it into a double shit ton. Quadruple. Tenfold.
By working my fool ass off, plus having spot-on gut instincts and general good luck, I’d accomplished a bigger net worth than I’d thought possible. When most people would think, I’ve made my nest egg; I’m good, I became determined to do it again. Build it into more. Climb higher.
“I’m gonna take a closer look at the kitchen,” West said, closing his portfolio and leaving the bedroom, dragging me out of my musing.
I followed him. “I was under the impression there’d be a whole crew here. I bought a dozen donuts for you guys,” I said, gesturing to the box on the counter as I reentered the kitchen.
West was eyeing the windows in the sunroom, then turned his attention to me.
“Paul, Nathan, and Fritz will be here shortly to get started with demo. Some days it’ll be the four of us. Some days it’ll be more. Just depends on the day and the tasks. You didn’t have to get us anything, but thank you.”
“I would’ve gotten coffee too, but I don’t love the bakery’s one-size-fits-all pot of java. I haven’t figured out the best place to get coffee in town. What’s your favorite?”
He paused as if he hadn’t thought about it before. “I just make some at home. I don’t know of a good coffee source in town.”
“You’re kidding me.” This town might be small, but its people still needed good coffee.
“No, ma’am.”
Ma’am again.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“You can ask,” he said.
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-one.”
I filed that away. “I’m only four years older. You don’t need to call me ma’am.”
With a tilt of his head, he said, “Are you not from the South? It’s a way to be polite.”
“Be less polite. Pretty please? Just call me Presley.”
“Yes, ma—” He stopped himself, laughed. “Presley. I’ll do my best.
“And please eat some donuts.” I opened the box and held it out. “Save me from myself.”
He grinned, and my God, my heart… I swear it fluttered again. It didn’t make sense how much this guy’s smile affected me.
“You got a sweet tooth?” he asked as he took a single glazed donut from me.
“If it’s bad for me, I crave it. Sugar, wine, coffee, you name it.”
“The guys’ll take some of these off your hands when they get here. I’m going to poke around a little deeper, see what we’re up against.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“No, ma— Dammit,” he said quietly. “Presley. I’ll just do my thing, and you can do yours.”
“Okay,” I said, as if I had any idea what my thing was. “I’m going to eat a donut out on the patio, then maybe plant flowers.”
After that, I had no clue, but I needed to figure it out. It was that or lose my mind.