17. Sebastian
SEVENTEEN
SEBASTIAN
It had been a while since I’d gotten my hands dirty. I’d never seen so much stuck dried gum in my life, and I never wanted to again. People were disgusting.
I rubbed the back of my neck and pulled my shirt over my head. I was exhausted. I turned the shower knob and began the five-minute countdown before the water got hot. Yet another thing about this house that left a lot to be desired. The ceiling creaked above with my neighbor’s footsteps. Despite myself—and despite the stale popcorn smell that seemed to permeate everything in that old building—I’d enjoyed my time with Charlie today.
When she wasn’t treating me like I was the devil incarnate, she wasn’t bad to be around. I liked how easy it was to rile her up and how red her face turned when she got flustered. And, fine, I hadn’t minded the way she’d been checking me out, either. She hadn’t looked bad in her tight jeans and her old T-shirt. Then again, she looked pretty damn good in whatever she put on. Or took off.
The sight of her naked and splayed across my bed flashed across my mind, and I squeezed my eyes shut. I would not let my thoughts run away with me again. I’d scrape gum off an old ticket booth and play nice with my nemesis, but I absolutely would not indulge in any more carnal thoughts of her.
My phone vibrated against the pedestal sink. It was my mother. Again. She’d called me half a dozen times since I arrived here, but I’d been dodging her calls. I didn’t want her to worry about what was going on here. She’d never had any interest in coming back to this town after we left, and it felt almost like a betrayal to step foot in New Elwood. But I was here for her, in the end. So I could give my mother what she deserved.
I let out a sigh and answered her call. “Hi, Mom.”
“Nice of you to finally pick up your phone.”
“Yeah, it’s been a little busy around here.”
“You’re always busy. How’s it going over there? It’s been a long time since you’ve been back in that town.”
“It’s going.” At a snail’s pace, but I wasn’t too keen on talking business with her. She may have been Lydia Radcliffe’s daughter, but she had no interest in real estate investments. I flicked the water off and stepped out of the tiny bathroom, then glanced up at the unpainted ceiling where Charlie’s hole used to be. “Let me ask you something, Mom. Do you have any idea why Grandma would stipulate that I live in this old house for thirty days before getting the inheritance?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. All I know about that old house is that it’s the first place she ever lived in.”
“Really?” I took a seat on the edge of the bed.
“Yeah, not for too long though. They moved into a bigger house when she was still young, and split that one into apartments. It was the family’s first foray into real estate investments. I used to help her do small maintenance tasks and clean up between tenants for extra pocket money when I was a teenager.”
“I had no idea.” Interesting. I knew our family owned this house, but I didn’t know there was any kind of family history right here. I looked around and tried to imagine what it looked like when it was just one big Second Empire house for a family of five. How much nicer was this house back in the 1940s? Still, it didn’t answer my question.
Why had she wanted me to stay here?
That was the thing about dead people. Sometimes the answers died with them. Not that it mattered. I only had three weeks left before I would fulfill my filial piety, have the deeds officially transferred, and say goodbye to this decrepit ramshackle forever.
“So what are you so busy with over there?” she asked.
I hadn’t told my mother about The Bach Company. Hadn’t told her about Theo Sinclair. I didn’t want to say anything before the deals were struck. But I had to tell her something. “Strengthening the tourism economy. I’m working on turning the old theater into a hotel.”
“Not the Monticello, I hope.” There was a hint of disappointment in her voice, which surprised me. My mother had no love lost for this town, but she cared about some old dump of a theater? What was it about that place?
“It’s falling apart. It’ll probably collapse before I can knock it down.”
“That’s too bad. I’ll miss that place,” she said, not having been there in decades. Maybe she and Charlie had been secretly exchanging notes. “It was the only theater in town until the eighties. It holds so many memories.”
Yeah. She and Charlie had definitely been talking. I rolled my eyes, but a part of me didn’t mind the thought of the two of them getting along. Which was nuts. I needed to get out of this town so I could get my head straight again.
I huffed, glaring at the hole above my head. “What memories?” And why did everyone insist on keeping the structure on life support to keep their memories alive? Why was everyone around here, namely Charlie, so obsessed with romanticizing the past when we should be living in the now and creating something for the future?
My mom laughed, and it wasn’t a laugh I’d heard before. It was wistful, hopeful. The sort of laugh you’d hear from a clear-eyed young woman. Not someone who’d endured the loss of her home and the breakdown of her relationship with her mother. When she spoke, I could tell by her voice that she was still smiling. “I had my first date there when I was a freshman. With your dad, as a matter of fact. Oh, he was the hottest boy in school. I remember?—”
“ Mom .”
“What? I was just going to say he was a perfect gentleman. Well, mostly a gentleman, if you catch my drift.”
“Mother,” I bit off.
She laughed. “I’m just teasing you, Sebastian. Besides, I married the guy. How could I not after he took me to see ‘Love Story.’ We shared one of those huge tubs of popcorn, and he purposefully stuck his hand in at the same time as me so our knuckles would touch. By the end of the date, your father worked up enough courage to just hold my hand without popcorn. It was really sweet.”
Barf. I really hoped that was all my parents did in that theater. Otherwise, I’d bulldoze it immediately.
“That’s nice, Mom, but I can’t get sentimental. It’s just business. I’m building something for the future.”
“The future. You’re not even married. No kids. Who are you building this future for?” she asked, indirectly complaining about the fact that I hadn’t given her grandkids yet. But this was the first time I didn’t immediately deflect her gripe. She had a point. Who was I building a future for?
I was doing it for her and Dad, most of all. For the three of us, as recompense for what we’d endured.
But…then what? What if my mother didn’t want what I was planning on giving her? What if she really did care about a moldy old theater?
So who was I doing this for, really? The good residents of New Elwood? I didn’t think so. For me? I’d only enjoy the financial gain of my investments for another forty years, sixty at best if modern medicine could crack the longevity code.
Discomfort churned in my gut. But if I lost my nerve now, I’d never close this deal. I had to get the approval, sign the contract with Sinclair, give one fat check to Hamilton Bach, and erase New Elwood from my memory.
At that moment, the only thing I knew for sure was that this wasn’t the time to argue with my mother. The water had started to heat up when I turned it off; there was steam coming from the bathroom, and I only had about ten minutes before the water turned cold again.
“I got to run, Mom. Thanks for checking in.”
In the morning, I stopped by Magnolia Café the same way I had every morning since I first discovered it. Sophie at the register had seen me enough times that she’d asked if I wanted the usual. Of course I did. Those damn scones were addicting and her freshly brewed coffee was perfect.
There was something comforting about having a “usual.” I liked walking in here and smiling at the staff, knowing they knew me and would take care of me the way they always did.
Sophie smiled at me. “You and Charlie still at each other’s throats, or has she softened up at all?”
I blinked. “You know her?” What was I asking? Everyone knew everyone in New Elwood.
“Sure do. She’s a sweetheart,” Sophie said, and my throat tightened. Did she say sweetheart or sweetheart , my little nickname that Charlie loved to hate? Did Sophie know about us? And by us I meant our living situation, work competition, the unrelenting sexual tension? Was that why Sophie always gave me that look when I walked in here? Shit. Was any place in the town safe?
Or was I just paranoid because I’d jerked off to the thought of Charlie, and now I couldn’t go two minutes without thinking about how it would feel to have the real thing?
“She hasn’t been too sweet with me,” I told her.
Sophie flashed me a rueful smile. “She’s loyal to the bone, and unfortunately, your plans are a direct attack on New Elwood.” Sophie handed me the warmed scone in a brown paper bag and my usual coffee.
“Calling it an attack is a little harsh. I’m trying to help the town survive.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I am.”
Sophie tilted her head. She was much friendlier than Charlie, but she had a little glint in her eye like she could see right through me. “Charlie’s a good friend, is all,” she finally said.
I nodded. “You know what Charlie usually drinks?”
That glint in her eyes flashed again, and I wondered if her whole sweet-as-pie thing was just an act. “Why?”
“Might as well save her a trip and get her one,” I answered, shrugging.
Sophie popped a brow. “Uh-huh. Vanilla cappuccino.”
“I’ll have one of them as well, then.”
“Coming right up.”
I ate my scone while I waited, then thanked Sophie for the second drink once it was ready and headed out on my way.
I got to the theater early and waited outside with two coffees in hand. It wasn’t long before Charlie arrived in a pair of worn jeans and a tight green T-shirt with her hair swept up in a high ruby bun. “Who’s the worm today?” I joked.
“You’re always the worm, Anderson. And since it seems you missed the memo, that’s not a compliment.”
“Ouch,” I said. “Now I wish I hadn’t gotten you this.” I extended the second cup.
She dropped her gaze to the proffered cup, surprise flitting across her expression. Taking the cup, she popped the lid, gave it a little sniff, and let out a hum of pleasure. “Vanilla cappuccino. How did you know?”
I shrugged. “Lucky guess.”
Charlie gave me a squinty-eyed look, but I thought I saw a glint of pleasure in her eyes. “Thanks.”
That tiny curl of a smile on the very corner of her lips gave me a stronger rush of adrenaline than the world’s tallest bungee jump. This woman was becoming a problem, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to solve it.
But hell. It was one coffee. I wasn’t handing her the Monticello on a silver platter. Couldn’t a man do a good deed once in a while?
She took a sip and licked a little foam off her lip, and I followed the movement of her tongue. Clearing my throat, I turned toward the doors.
We made our way into the theater, and it reeked of ammonia and the chemical lemon-scented cleaning agents we’d been using. I wasn’t sure if it was that we’d actually begun to spruce the place up or what, but somehow it seemed brighter. Cheerier. Like a little life had returned and resurrected it from the grave. I shoved my toe into the thin carpet fibers. Too bad I was going to have to kill it again.
With our coffees in tow, we return to our respective duties. Charlie sat on the staircase making calls to sell advertising space on the marquee while I worked with the contractors to make sure no one broke their neck removing the chandelier. As the hours passed, I began to notice little nuances about the theater that I hadn’t seen before. Like the detail on the brass banister and the intricately painted ceiling. I thought about my mom and dad’s first date and tried to imagine them, fourteen years old, walking into the theater.
It wasn’t all bad. Everyone in town probably had memories in this place. But tearing it down was still the best option. The business development in Arlington was too big to pass up. It was my future, my mother’s well-deserved restitution, and the end of my grandmother’s stranglehold on our family. I couldn’t give that up for a few musty old memories. Even if they belonged to my mom.
Or anyone else.
I glanced at Charlie, who was speaking into her phone and waving at one of the laborers on the far side of the lobby. He grinned at her and winked. Throwing the man a glare for reasons I couldn’t quite explain, I shook my head and turned my attention back to the chandelier.
At lunchtime, the crew had dispersed for a break, but Charlie kept at it, not pausing for a second. She was determined, all right. Smart. Resourceful. Grudging respect for her was growing in my black heart like a weed. But I still couldn’t get behind her restoration rescue, no matter how honorable.
I walked down the old staircase just as a visitor arrived. Right on time.
“Are you Mr. Anderson?” the woman asked. She was about my mother’s age, dressed in a navy pantsuit with rosy cheeks.
“Yes, you must be Mrs. Sheffield.”
The councilwoman extended her hand. “Sure am. Call me Dolores.”
I shot her my winning let’s-do-business-together smile and offered her a handshake. “Thank you for coming by.”
She stood back and assessed the lobby. “Wow, you’re really putting a lot of elbow grease into this place.”
“We are, and it’s only the lobby. I can’t tell you how much time and effort and money is going into it. To be honest, I’m a little concerned there may not be enough in the budget to get it all done before the gala,” I said, and Dolores frowned.
“Really? It’s a pretty significant budget. Regis had to pull funds from other festival projects to make it happen.”
“That’s the thing about these old buildings. You never know how much a restoration—even a small one—will cost.”
“The budget’s fine. We’re making it work.” Charlie appeared behind us, a fold forming between her brows.
“Oh, Charlie. Good to see you.” Dolores greeted her with a hug and Charlie glared at me over the councilwoman’s padded shoulder. Any goodwill that cappuccino got me was apparently gone.
“Can I show you what we’ve done so far?” Charlie asked, pulling Dolores further inside.
“Actually, there’s a few things I’d like to show Dolores first. After all, I was the one who requested the meeting, and I’m sure she’s very busy.”
I shot Charlie a polite smile, but I knew my eyes were saying, Back off, devil-woman. You won’t steal the councilwoman from me .
In response, Charlie’s eyes said, I impale worms on my six-inch spike heels in my spare time.
The look didn’t turn me on. I wasn’t enjoying it. Not even a little bit. If my cock twitched the tiniest bit behind the placket of my pants, it was because of friction. Or a stray breeze.
Dolores didn’t seem to notice our wordless communication. “I am short on time today, Charlie. You don’t mind, do you? I’ll be at the gala, so I’ll get to see it when it’s finished. It’s already looking ten times better.”
Charlie offered a gracious smile. “Of course.”
I took the councilwoman on a tour of my hotel vision. We surveyed the plans I had drawn up and discussed timelines, occupancy projections, and job creation estimates. Charlie hovered nearby the entire time, pretending to talk on her phone. I couldn’t prove she was doing it, but she didn’t have much to say to whoever was on the line other than mm-hmm and yeah .
“You know a hotel that size is going to cast a pretty big shadow over Main Street,” Charlie said, inserting herself into our discussion.
I nodded as if politely considering her point even though it was ridiculous. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a little shade, what with global warming and all?”
“That’s true,” the councilwoman agreed.
“So the best way to solve climate change is fewer trees and more concrete?” Charlie pursed her lips.
“Good point,” the councilwoman agreed—again.
I was beginning to think her vote wasn’t as much of a shoo-in as I’d expected.
Charlie launched another volley. “I’m just saying it’ll stick out like a sore thumb. This hotel completely clashes with the rest of the buildings. Tourists come here to have the small-town vineyard experience. This hotel won’t give them any of that.”
“Small-town vineyards to explore during the day, but at night they want high-thread-count sheets and a continental breakfast that doesn’t include rancid popcorn. You know, the comforts of home.”
Charlie narrowed her eyes. “What do you know about home?”
“Why don’t you two save the arguments for the gala, okay?” Dolores said, stepping her foot between us, an indulgent smile on her lips. “Mr. Anderson, would you mind sending a copy of your proposal to my office? I’m looking forward to reviewing it. A nice hotel for our guests could be a great addition to New Elwood.”
I resisted the urge to shoot Charlie a petulant, triumphant smile. Barely.
“Absolutely,” I told the councilwoman. She wished us luck on the revamp and headed for the door.
Charlie’s narrowed gaze met mine. My heart sped up. I loved it when she looked at me like that.
“I could strangle you,” she hissed.
“Whatever you’re into, I’m game,” I said, and I was rewarded with a flush on her cheeks.
She took a step closer to me, delicate lavender teasing my nose. “You have no idea who you’re messing with, Anderson.”
“I’m shaking in my boots.”
“You think you can parade the councilmembers right in front of me, and I won’t do anything about it?”
“Sweetheart, you know, and I know, and they know, that if the town dies, all your precious history dies with it. I’m proposing an alternative.”
“I reject your alternative.” She inhaled, and the very tips of her breasts brushed against my shirt.
All I wanted to do was grip her chin in my hand and tilt her head up so I could kiss her. I wanted to feel her soften against me, to see if that flush went all the way down her chest. I wanted to feel her skin beneath my palms and use all this anger and animosity and energy in a way we could both enjoy.
I wanted to feel the rake of her sharp nails on my back, to pleasure her until she screamed my name. I wanted her so badly that for a moment, I forgot about the hotel and the demolition and the whole fucking point of my being here.
In a low voice, she said, “I’m not rolling over and letting you win without a fight, Anderson.”
I watched her walk away and wondered if I’d actually care if I lost to her.