Chapter 2 #2
“Here.” Harper pointed to the floor plan for a cabana.
“I was at The Sandpiper last week, and I was drawn to the wood in their restaurant. It has this beautiful, variegated pattern that would tie in wonderfully with our existing wood accents at Driftwood Grill.” She pointed toward the main resort restaurant and its screen of vertical planks framing the entrance. Then she handed me a sample board.
I ran a hand over the smooth surface, considering. “Coastal Blend, right? Good quality.”
“The lumberyard is running a promotion right now. Thirty percent off for commercial orders over five hundred square feet.” She glanced up at me, a hint of triumph in her expression. “Which we’d easily clear with six cabanas.”
I raised an eyebrow, impressed. “You’ve done your homework.”
“I’m not just a pretty face,” she deadpanned, then smiled to soften the words.
“You’ve proven you’re much more than that.” The response came automatically, but I quickly redirected. “It’s a solid suggestion. The Coastal Blend would work well with the overall aesthetic.”
Harper nodded before turning back to the plans. “That’s what I thought. It has these subtle grains running through it that would look great in the sunlight.”
We spent the next few minutes discussing various options and placement details. Harper had an eye for design that went beyond mere aesthetics—she understood functionality, durability, and the practical needs of a busy resort.
“If we shift the service access point to this side”—she indicated a spot on cabana five—“it would be less visible from the pool deck but still give staff easy entry.”
I evaluated the suggestion, mentally reconfiguring the layout. “That would work. Good catch.”
“I’ve spent enough years watching servers struggle with awkward access points.” She shrugged. “Makes more sense to design it right from the start.”
“And that’s why client input is invaluable.” I made a notation on the plans. “You see things from an operational perspective that I might miss.”
“Is that your diplomatic way of saying I’m picky?”
I looked up to find amusement dancing in her eyes. The sunlight caught the warm undertones in her hair, making it glow against her tanned skin. For a moment, I forgot we were standing in the middle of a busy construction site. I forgot how to breathe.
“I’d say discerning,” I replied, my voice dropping a little. “It’s a quality I appreciate.”
Something shifted in her expression, a subtle softening, a flicker of awareness that mirrored my own. For a heartbeat, we weren’t resort manager and architect, but simply a man and woman standing close enough to feel the warmth between them.
“And I appreciate a designer who listens.” Her voice carried a hint of playfulness. “Instead of dismissing my operational concerns as irrelevant to the grand artistic vision.”
“Sounds like you’ve dealt with some ego problems in the past.”
“You have no idea. The last project manager we worked with actually said—and I quote—If you wanted practical, you should have hired an engineer.” She rolled her eyes. “As if aesthetics and functionality are mutually exclusive.”
I laughed. “On behalf of my profession, I apologize.”
“Accepted.” Her smile widened, genuine and warm. “You’re definitely an improvement.”
The compliment shouldn’t have affected me as much as it did.
I’d received plenty of professional praise in my career and from clients far more prestigious than a family-owned resort in Dove Key.
But Harper’s approval carried a weight that defied logic.
I wanted to impress her, to see that light of appreciation in her eyes.
It was a dangerous impulse for a man trying to maintain professional boundaries.
Boundaries I wasn’t sure I could keep if she encouraged me.
I forced my attention back to the plans, tracing a line with my finger. “I’ve been thinking about the privacy plantings. If we shift them six inches, we could enhance the screening without compromising the ocean view.”
Harper leaned closer, studying the area I indicated. She nodded slowly. “I like that. And Finn would approve too. He’s been very concerned about whether people can see him building sandcastles from the cabanas.”
The mention of her six-year-old son brought a smile to my face. “Important design considerations from our youngest consultant.”
“He takes his advisory role very seriously.” Harper’s expression softened the way it always did when she spoke of Finn. “Yesterday he informed me that all pool areas should have secret tunnels for escape routes.”
“That’s actually not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Don’t encourage him!” She laughed. “He already thinks you hang the moon since you let him help with the initial measurements.”
I remembered that day clearly—Finn following me around with a small measuring tape, solemnly recording numbers in a notebook that consisted mostly of creative spelling and stick figures. It had added an hour to my site survey, but the kid’s enthusiasm had been contagious.
“He’s a good assistant. Very detail-oriented.”
“He gets that from me.” Harper’s voice carried a note of pride.
Our eyes met again, and this time the connection held.
The air between us electrified, becoming charged with something neither of us acknowledged out loud.
I was acutely aware of every inch between us—not enough for propriety, too much for what I wanted.
Her lips parted as if she might say something beyond the professional discussion we’d been maintaining.
My eyes automatically dropped to her generous mouth.
The chime of her phone shattered the moment. Harper blinked, then reached into her pocket with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I should check this.”
I stepped back, grateful for the interruption even as disappointment coursed through me. The distance helped clear my head, reminding me of all the reasons I needed to keep my distance.
She glanced at the text and sighed. “Kitchen crisis. Apparently, there’s a disagreement about the new menu items that requires management intervention.”
“Sounds urgent,” I said, keeping my tone light.
“In the grand hierarchy of resort emergencies, food generally trumps construction.” She tucked her phone away and met my eyes again, her expression firmly back in professional territory. “I’m sorry to cut this short. Are we good with the wood change?”
“Absolutely. I’ll update the order specs this afternoon.”
“Perfect.” She gathered her clipboard. “I trust your judgment on the planting adjustments too. Whatever you think works best.”
I nodded, already missing her presence even though she hadn’t left yet. “I’ll have revised plans for you to review by the end of the week.”
“You’re the best, Chase.” She reached out, her hand briefly touching my arm.
With that, she was gone, weaving her way through the construction zone with the confident stride of someone who belonged everywhere she went. The place where her fingers had touched my arm tingled through the fabric of my shirt.
Movement at the edge of the construction zone caught my attention.
Ben Coleridge, the eldest sibling, sat at one of the undisturbed pool tables, hunched over what appeared to be flashcards and textbooks.
His posture spoke of frustration—shoulders tight, one hand stuck in his light brown hair as he stared at the materials spread before him.
Before I could overthink it, I approached the table. Ben was so absorbed in his studies that he didn’t notice me until I was nearly beside him.
“Double-checking drainage or dodging math?” I asked.
He snapped his head up, then snorted when he recognized me. “Neither. Trying to memorize acronyms that make absolutely no sense.”
I glanced at the flashcards spread across the table, which looked medical in nature. “EMT training?” Harper had mentioned that he’d started taking classes.
He nodded, pushing the cards away with a grimace. “Turns out there’s a lot more memorization than I expected.”
Ben had always been the enigma of the family, the intense one who carried a rough, troubled history.
Seeing him wrestle with textbooks under the Florida sun was relatable in an unexpected way.
We were both trying to build something new under intense scrutiny, to prove we were capable of more than our pasts suggested.
His struggle with acronyms wasn’t so different from my struggle to balance budgets with vision, loyalty with desire. “What’s giving you trouble?”
“All of it.” He gestured at the scattered cards. “I’ve never been good at this crap. I learn by doing, not by staring at cards until my eyes bleed.”
I set down my plan tube on the table, then picked up one of the cards. “SAMPLE—Signs/symptoms, Allergies, Medications, Past medical history, Last oral intake, Events leading to illness or injury.” I read aloud. “Patient assessment framework?”
“Yeah.” Ben’s eyebrows flew up. “How’d you know?”
“Educated guess.” I twitched a corner of my mouth. “But it makes sense as a systematic approach. Like a checklist.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s it.”
“I had to memorize building codes my first year out of school.” I set the card down. “Hundreds of regulations that seemed completely arbitrary until I saw them applied in real situations.”
“How’d you get through it?”
I considered the question. “I made it practical. Instead of trying to memorize abstract numbers and rules, I connected each code to an actual building element. Made them real.”
The lines in his brow smoothed. “That might work. I’ve been trying to force them in by repetition, but nothing’s sticking.”
“It worked for me. Connect the acronym to the action. Visualize yourself asking a patient about allergies while you’re thinking A.
What does P look like when you’re asking about past history?
Make it tangible, not just letters floating in your head.
” I tapped the tube with its rolled-up plans next to me.
“That pressure you feel? It’s the same pressure I feel trying to ensure these designs hold up, literally and financially. We just have different acronyms.”
His expression shifted, a flare of understanding replacing the frustration. “Make it real… Okay. That might work. I’ve just been hammering away with flashcards, getting nowhere.” He started gathering the cards, his movements less defeated, more purposeful.
“Everyone hits walls.” I straightened and grabbed my plan tube. “It’s how you get over them that counts.”
He met my eyes then, a spark of the determination I recognized in Harper flaring briefly. “Appreciate the advice.”
“Anytime.” I hesitated, an unexpected urge to offer more encouragement taking over me at recognizing a kindred spirit in his struggle against self-doubt.
“Look, Ben, for what it’s worth… This EMT thing?
It’s impressive. Takes real courage to chase something that demanding, especially when it doesn’t come easy. ”
Surprise widened his eyes again, and he seemed momentarily lost for words. We weren’t close, despite my long friendship with his brother. Just two guys connected by Eli and now, unexpectedly, by the shared weight of trying to build something new.
“Yeah, well… Thanks,” he mumbled, looking down at his books again, a faint flush rising on his neck.
I clapped him lightly on the shoulder, a brief gesture of support before stepping away. “Good luck with the studying.”
As I walked toward the beach bungalows, the sounds of hammering and sawing welcomed me back to the familiar world of buildings and blueprints.
My thoughts drifted between the two Coleridges I’d just encountered—Harper with her warm smile and professional competence, and Ben with his determined struggle to forge a new path.
Both of them, in their different ways, were trying to build something meaningful. Maybe that’s why I felt drawn to them, beyond the complications of attraction or old friendships. We were all works in progress, reaching for something more.