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“Believe me,” she said on a laugh, “in the hospitality business you learn to deal with uncooperative people. Many of whom are males.”
Her rich, warm laugh caused a tug of something he’d thought he’d never feel again. Something that was too close to desire for comfort. Which was why Seth immediately shut it down. Even if he were looking for any kind of relationship, which he wasn’t, getting involved with his wife’s best friend would just be too weird.
Which made Brianna Mannion definitely off-limits.
As he used his key to open the lockbox on the door, Seth reminded himself that he’d be wise to remember that.
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ue863acc8-22fb-58a3-a098-408b0c188a21)
HE HADN’T BEEN EXAGGERATING. However, from what he and Kylee had told her, Brianna had expected the cobwebs, mouse droppings and graffiti she remembered from those youthful days of breaking in. The graffiti was still there on the unfortunately ugly wallpapered foyer walls, but the only thing covering the floors was taped-down paper, sawdust and a few scattered nails. Scaffolding and sawhorses supporting long pieces of Sheetrock as tabletops took up much of the covered floors.
“The interior walls are all gone.” That had been a spooky, but in a weird way, fun thing about the house. Going from parlor to parlor, never knowing what lurked around a corner. Pipes and wires between studs were all that remained.
Broad shoulders lifted and fell in what appeared to be a resigned shrug. “They thought open concept on the first floor would make for a communal experience.”
“I can’t argue with that. Especially when you’re hosting a group that wants to spend time together. But they seem to have overdone the concept.”
“Again, we’re in full agreement.”
“Could you put some walls back in?”
“Sure. We’ll have to move some electrical and plumbing, and you’ll probably need to change the HVAC, but it’s doable. Were you thinking of going more back to the original layout?”
“A combination would be good.” She’d decided that on the long drive home. “Some small parlor rooms for more intimate conversations, and even private meals. But I want a wide-open kitchen with plenty of room to serve breakfast.”
Attacking her research the same way she had in her previous occupation, she’d bought two audiobooks about the business of establishing and running a B and B that she’d listened to along the drive, pulling off at exits every so often to write down notes in the three-ring binder she’d bought before leaving Las Vegas. She also had three more books on her Kindle waiting to be read.
She looked a long way up. “The mural is still there.”
Rather than depicting the mythological figures popular at the time the house was built, these were scenes of the peninsula—from the cliffs and crashing waves, to the glaciers of Mount Olympus, standing tall over Hurricane Ridge, to the towering hemlock and Douglas firs, the fields of lavender farms, the strait leading to the Puget Sound cities of Seattle, Tacoma and Olympia, the dazzling blue bay that Honeymoon Harbor had been built on.
Scattered throughout the quadrants were the Native American original settlers, the ships, including Captain Vancouver’s Discovery, fishermen and builders like Seth’s family. Unsurprising, given that the house had been contracted by a timber baron, loggers claimed the center.
“I had to fight to keep that,” he revealed. “The doctors wanted to paint over it and hang a massive chandelier they were bringing in from some old Italian chateau. Fortunately, the historical preservation folks stepped in to back me up since it turned out to have been painted by Whistler.”
“The Whistler? As in James McNeill Whistler?”
“The very same. The original owner of this place had seen one he’d painted on the dining room in the home of some wealthy Liverpool shipowner and wanted something like it for this house. The fact that he was an American pulled a lot of weight with the historical committee.”
“That makes it even more special. If I make a separate page for it on the website, it might even bring in historical art lovers wanting to stay here. Whistler’s got to have a following, right?”
“Could be,” Seth agreed. “The same way people go around the country searching out certain architects’ work.”
“Though, of course, that alone might not cause them to stay more than a single night. Fortunately, with the National Park and the proximity to the coast, and Victoria, BC, we’ve lots of other local things for visitors to do that will keep them here for at least a weekend, or longer. I’m going to make a list and put together packages on the site.”
“You’ve thought this through if you’ve gotten to planning a website.”
“It’s a nineteen-hour drive and a two-hour ferry ride from Las Vegas to Honeymoon Harbor. That gave me a lot of time to think. And I can tell from the expression on your face that you think it’s just a whim, but it’s not. Maybe the idea sounds impulsive, but it’s been percolating in the back of my mind for a long time. It just took an inciting incident to bring it to the surface.”
Seth thought about asking what incident that might be, wondered if it had anything to do with a guy, then decided the less he knew about Brianna’s personal life, the better.
“Except for updating all the wiring in the place to keep the house from being a fire hazard, the second floor hasn’t been touched,” he said as they walked toward the back stairs.
Bandit usually took the opportunity to patrol the perimeter for renegade squirrels if no worker was around to mooch from, but today he seemed to have decided to tag along with the pretty new lady.
“The circular stairway in the front entry is a showcase, but if it were the only one, the owners—who I guess would now be you—would have to keep running into guests.” Which he personally wouldn’t enjoy. Then again, ever since his wife got blown up, no one would refer to him as Mr. Hospitality on his best day.
“Good point,” she said.
“The third story attic’s been turned into a penthouse with its own kitchen. The previous owners intended to live there.”
She shuddered. “I remember bats.”
“They’re all gone. Though there is a bat house at the far end of the property, not far from the pond. Not only are they good for pollinating plants, one little brown guy can eat a thousand mosquitoes a night.”
“That’s a plus,” she allowed.
“All the windows, including those in the attic dormers, have been reglazed,” he assured her. “That wavy glass was a better insulator back then and, hell, it just looks better.”
Brianna paused on the landing leading up to what was once an attic crowded with junk. And mice. And, yes, bats. She’d gotten one tangled up in her hair one night, he recalled. He’d managed to free her, but not before she’d practically blown out his eardrums with her screeching.
While Zoe had long dark curls, Brianna’s hair was the color of caramel streaked with gold. As he got a whiff of its citrusy scent, he wondered if the streaks had been created by the blazing desert sun, or if she’d paid for them in some chichi salon. Not that he cared. It was just a random thought.
“I can tell why you deserved to win that award,” she said, thankfully unaware of his thoughts. “You really care.”
“Harpers built most of these old buildings,” he said. “It only makes sense that I’d want them to stay true to the original vision.”
“Yet with your credentials, you could work anywhere. You’d undoubtedly be in demand in lots of big cities where you could make more money.”
“I have all the money I need. And I like it here just fine. Though I have done a couple jobs, for cost, in Portland and Seattle for preservationists wanting to save them from the wrecking ball.”
She gave him another slanted-head look, as if working for free hadn’t been a concept in her high-flying world. Which, he figured, it probably hadn’t been.
“Let me show you the penthouse.” As he followed her up the stairs, it would have been impossible not to notice that she had a very fine ass filling out the back of those skinny jeans.
Off-limits, he reminded himself firmly.
CHAPTER NINE (#ue863acc8-22fb-58a3-a098-408b0c188a21)
“OH, WOW.” Brianna stopped in the doorway of what she’d remembered as a spooky, cluttered bat attic. “This is an amazing space.” She walked in and turned around, arms outspread. “You could have the entire cast of Swan Lake dancing on these floors.” Which were natural light maple coated to a soft sheen.
“Different strokes. I pictured the Trail Blazers running up and down the court.”
“That’s ’cause you’re a guy.” A fact that, as she felt herself drowning in two deep pools of hot fudge, she was all too aware of. She glanced a long way up. “I don’t remember the ceiling being this high.”
“It wasn’t. We raised the roof another four feet, which brought it to twelve feet.”
“I couldn’t tell from the outside. But this makes it so bright and airy. Especially with the open beams and skylights you’ve added to the original dormer windows.”
She walked over to the window and looked out over the water, where a successful haul had a pair of fishing boats moving slowly and heavily into port. A gleaming bridal-white and grass-green ferry chugged across the bay. In the distance, the wooded islands appeared like emeralds on a bed of sapphire silk.
He gave her a brief tour, showing her the small three-quarters bath with a large shower with two walls glass, and the other two subway tile with gray grout. There was also a long counter with double sinks. She would have liked a tub, but lounging in a tub probably wasn’t something she’d have time for anyway.
The walls had been painted a soft grayish sage that blended with the various shades of green outside the windows. A kitchen area with maple cabinets and a gray quartz counter ran along one wall, and a large island divided the living space. The new gas fireplace featured a surround created by vertical strips of marble in grays and whites.
“It’s interesting that they chose such calming colors when the exterior is so discordant,” she mused.
“I figured they thought people would expect bright colors on a Queen Anne,” Seth said. “Or maybe they’d always dreamed of owning a painted lady of their own back home in San Francisco.”
“Whichever, paint can always be changed. Meanwhile, this space is lovely. You’ve almost made me forget the bats.”
“All the vent openings are well screened,” he assured her. “They can’t get in.”
“That’s good to know.” She crossed the room and looked out the windows facing the opposite side of the house, toward the snowcapped mountains, where blue and yellow wildflowers danced in the meadows. “The heron nests are still there.”
The great blue heron was iconic to the Pacific Northwest, celebrated in art going back to the earliest Native Americans. The massive nests on this property had been built in towering Douglas firs over years of breeding seasons, with birds building new nests with sticks and twigs every year. Glancing out, she could count five, though she remembered as many as a dozen at one time.
“Lucky,” he said. “Now you won’t have to change the name.”
She glanced over her shoulder and realized he was standing close behind her. Close enough for her to breathe in the brisk scent of his soap, like the towering fir trees blanketing the mountains, along with an undernote of workingman musk that was clouding her mind. “Lucky,” she murmured, knowing that he was joking. Despite the town’s long-ago name change, tradition was taken seriously in Honeymoon Harbor. Whoever owned the house, whatever it became, this would always be known as Herons Landing.
“As much as I love my parents, I’d feel like a teenager living there all the time it’s going to take to remodel,” she said, moving out of the danger zone before turning around to face him again. “I thought I’d rent in town for now, then eventually live in the carriage house for more privacy when I got up and running, but for now, this would be perfect.”
“And noisy,” he warned her. “Because you’d be living over a construction zone.”
“Ah, but it’d be convenient, because I’d be on-site instead of having to drive in from the farm every day.”
“You really do intend to be hands-on.” The tone was neutral, but she sensed that he was wary about that idea. Given the previous buyers’ choice of exterior paint, she understood his caution.
“I have some ideas,” she admitted. “But you’ve been essentially living with the house, through two earlier owners, and from what you’ve told me so far, you and I are on the same page. Though you’re way ahead of me because I never, in a million years, would’ve thought of this. Obviously you’ve drawn up plans.”
“Sure.”
“I’d like to see them.”
“Absolutely. I also have the originals if you’d like to compare.”
“The originals?” He might as well have told her he’d found the Holy Grail. “Seriously?”
“They were in some dusty old filing cabinets. Harper Construction built the most iconic buildings in town. Like the library, the city hall, the buildings where both your uncle and brother set up shop. We’ve always been proud of that.”
“As you should be,” she agreed without hesitation. “I just never expected them to still be around. What shape are they in?”
“A little yellowed. Brown around the edges. But they’re still readable. And apparently Jacob Harper, Nathaniel’s older brother who built the place in 1894, had a sense of history or immortality, or, if he was anything like Dad, worried about someone stealing them, because he signed every page.”
“Oh, wow.” Her heart began doing a happy samba at that news. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to let me buy the pages with the layouts of the room and exterior? To frame?”
“Sorry, they’re not for sale.”
“I understand.” Which was true. Disappointing, but true. They might not be as famous as Captain Vancouver’s ship logs, but they were a large part of Honeymoon Harbor’s history. Why should he sell them off? Especially to a Mannion?
“Though I can give them to you. After I get them copied.”
He’d been one of the nicest boys she’d known. Which was saying something, since she’d always found her brothers very special. It was also why, although there were times she’d admittedly been envious of Zoe, she’d never been jealous of her best friend for having Seth Harper fall in love with her. Apparently, despite the grief she could tell he was still experiencing, he hadn’t changed. Now he was one of the nicest men she knew. Working with him, while not proving to be all that easy on her hormones, was going to be a pleasure.
“I’d love that. Thank you. But since they’re a Harper family heirloom, I’d be thrilled just to have the copies.” She could already imagine them on the wall. Not in frames, she decided. But shadow boxes to honor them with the importance they deserved.
“They’re all yours.”
An easy silence settled over them as they both looked around, imagining the house as it could be. “It’s going to be wonderful,” she breathed. “Since so many of the guests will be coming here for the outdoor activities, I want an easy, simple style they can feel comfortable in. Where they don’t have to worry about knocking over a gilt-rimmed vase. But I also want to celebrate the curves and quality of the time.”
“Dressing your Victorian dowager in flannel shirts, jeans, hiking boots, while keeping her good set of pearls.”
He’d surprised her. Until she thought about it a second. This house might be her dream. But in a way, the entire town was both Seth’s family history and daily reality as he brought Harper-constructed buildings back to life. He was the one who’d dedicated his life to blending the disparate eras.
“I wonder if people realize how lucky they are that you decided to stay here in Honeymoon Harbor,” she said. She had no doubt he could make a great deal more in most older cities in the country.
He shrugged. “I never had any desire to go anywhere else.
“How about you drop by the office tomorrow?” he suggested. “About noon. We can go over the original blueprints and what I came up with, both before and after the lower floor walls came out, and you can give me your ideas.”
“I’d love that. I’ll bring lunch.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Tonight’s my first night home in two years,” she said. “Which means Mom’s going to make way too much fried chicken and potato salad.” Although her mother might not have allowed processed food in her home while Brianna had been growing up, Sarah Mannion’s fried chicken, which had won awards at the county and state fairs, was a family favorite for special occasions. “There’ll be leftovers.”
“I’d never turn down your mom’s chicken,” he said. “So, moving on, how would you like to see an idea I had for the second floor tower room? The previous owners turned it down, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to pitch it again.”
“I’d love to hear any ideas you have.” After checking out Harper Construction’s website, she’d been blown away by their portfolio.
They left the large room and headed back down to the second floor, followed by Bandit, claws clicking on the wooden stairs. As he’d warned her, the second floor hadn’t been touched except for all the open wall spaces where outdated electrical and plumbing had been replaced.
“We also added air-conditioning,” he said. “Which didn’t used to be needed here, but the past summers have had some hot spells, so it seemed prudent. There’s a solar unit on the back side of the roof you can’t see from the front that provides the power.”
“Does solar really make that much of a difference here?” In Las Vegas, it made sense, but even here in the rain shadow so-called “banana belt” of Washington State, which received less rain than Seattle, winter days were still long and dark this far north.
“True,” he said when she shared that thought. “But conversely, summers are sunny and clear and can stretch from a five a.m. sunrise to ten p.m. sunset. That produces a lot of free, clean energy, which doesn’t all get used because the temperatures, which are admittedly rising, are still fairly mild. And here’s the best part. When you produce more solar energy than you need, it gets sent back to the utility grid. Net energy metering rewards you for producing electricity for your neighbors by paying you for the extra solar power.”
“Like spinning the meter backward?”
“Exactly.” His smile wasn’t as intimate as the ones she’d watched him bestowing on Zoe Robinson all during high school, but the warmest she’d seen since her arrival. Kylee might be right about food being the way to a man’s heart, but just perhaps, talking construction and energy conservation was the way to Seth’s.
But no... They were merely two old friends embarking on a joint project that would prove equally fulfilling and profitable. Reminding herself that she hadn’t come back to Honeymoon Harbor to attempt to hook up with her best friend’s widower, Brianna turned her mind back to their conversation.
“The credits show up on your bill, and the law requires that you be reimbursed for every kilowatt hour of electricity you produce. At minimum the power company has to pay you the same rate they charge you. So, the summer credits add up for you to use in the winter. Which, since we’re doing a green renovation, with all the insulation and other stuff I don’t want to bore you with until you’re sure you really want to do this—”
“I’m sure.” She’d thought it all through on the drive home and had convinced herself that she wasn’t really acting on impulse. That returning home and buying Herons Landing was what she wanted to do with this next phase of her life. But, admittedly, there’d been those nagging little thoughts of, Do you really want to throw away all you’ve worked for?
