I liked Tom. He seemed nice, competent and safe. He listened to my wishes and worries and gave his input. He was a nerdy older man who clearly was in this industry since before I was born. I don’t know what his injury was, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find out it was a broken hip.
When I rush into the building, I get halted at security and then almost break an ankle making a break for the elevators. I’m pretty sure a security tail is called on me, but it’s worth it. I loathe being late, but sometimes with kids, it’s a necessary evil.
Molasses moves faster than this elevator I’m on and by the time I make it to the seventh floor, I’m seventeen minutes and forty-three seconds late, but who’s counting?
I run to the secretary so tell her I’m finally here for my meeting with Mr. Valenti. She alerts him and I’m sure his face will be stern and disappointed. I’m sure he’ll be older than my father and I’ll feel like I’m being lectured. His frown will pull at his lips and his eyebrows will crease his forehead so severely it’ll be permanent.
Instead, the man that rounds the corner is surely a Junior Architect. He’s young, probably early thirties, with dark hair and a five o’clock shadow. His eyes are impossibly green and he’s tall, at least six foot which is monstrous to my petite size. If that weren’t enough, he’s so handsome it hurts to look at him.
The gruff voice with the slight rasp I’d heard over the phone didn’t do this man justice. I was expecting an older man with a world of experience under his belt. Not a man handsome enough to make my hibernating lady parts awaken for the first time since Ava was born—and that wasn’t in a good way.
I thought I was immune to attraction since I’d lost Maddox. No one has held a candle to the feelings he stirred inside of me and losing him had done irreparable damage. It’s nice to know that part of me isn’t gone after all.
“Hi, Mr. Valenti. It’s nice to meet you. I apologize for being late. I pride myself on always being on time, and I know that sounds like a major cliché, but I have a daughter. Sometimes she makes it impossible to leave the house in a timely manner. Today was especially difficult—”
“Ms. Fletcher, I’m sorry, I have a busy day ahead of me and I’m already behind schedule. If you’ll follow me to the conference room we can get started on discussing your project.”
There’s the reprimanding. My face heats and shame consumes me. Like a disciplined dog, I follow him with my head down and stay quiet.
We enter the conference room with a wall of windows and a view of the Cape Fear River. He sits at the head of the table and I choose the seat catty-corner to him, in front of the sketches Tom showed me as well as some new ones.
“I’ve been told you already purchased the land you’re building on, correct?” Straight and to the point. Noted.
“Yes, the deal finalized a few weeks ago, right after my initial meeting with Tom.” It feels weird to use Tom’s first name when I keep calling this man Mr. Valenti. Then again, Tom offered for me to call him that as soon as we’d met. This new guy seems to want to keep things formal.
“I’d like to go look at the land to get a better feel of the space and what will and won’t work. Tom’s sketches don’t always do the space the justice it deserves.” He seems competent and confident in his work, I’ll give him that.
We take some time to go over the design and what I’m looking for so he has an idea of what I want and can determine if it will work.
“I love the farmhouse design with a big wraparound porch. My ideal designers would be Chip and Joanna Gaines, if that gives you an idea of what I like. I’d need an office space and a mudroom as well as a playroom for my five-year-old.” His eyebrows shoot to his forehead with that one. Likely, he probably thought with my age I might have a newborn and a husband at home, not a five year old without a daddy.
“I don’t mean to be frank, Ms. Fletcher, but at this stage, I’m not used to working with women. Husbands and wives, sure. Mainly it’s men relaying whatever their spouse wants, and usually the wife steps in during the decorating phase, but I rarely see a single woman coming into my conference room for the bare bones.” He leans back with an ankle on his knee, ever curious with a touch of arrogant annoyance.
“With all due respect, I’m a single mother and I have the means to give my daughter a nice home. Frankly, for the price tag, you shouldn’t care if she came in here demanding you make our house in the shape of a unicorn if you know I’m good for the money. With that being said, shall we head to the site or do you want me to call up my mother so you can tag team to badger me on when I’m going to find a man?” I cross my arms and wait and he stands and clears his throat.
“After you.”
҉ ҉ ҉
The first meeting with the new architect could’ve gone better, but after I snapped at him, he seemed to have thawed. He even gave me permission to call him Wren, which is a good sign.
I get home and let the little monster run loose to her room. I head toward mine, the one I used to share with Maddox, and open up our closet to put my shoes away and change into sweats.
There’s a box in my closet labeled with my name in Maddox’s handwriting that I’ve never been able to open. After more than five years, I still don’t have the nerve to see what’s inside. I know whatever it is must be sacred and therefore it scares me.
I need to build up the courage to open it or merely touch or move it. I know the house won’t be built and livable for a while, but the knowledge that someday in the foreseeable future I’ll have to go through that box shakes me to my core.
I’ve gone through Maddox’s things over the years. Most of it went back to his parents. A few trinkets here and there I’ve kept, of course. A lot of his clothes and shoes went to charity. There’s a framed picture of the two of us on my nightstand as well as one on Ava’s. I want her to know her father and know he would’ve loved everything about her. He was a good man and over time it’s gotten easier to talk about him.
But I still quake in fear over that damn box and what it could potentially be storing.
Once again, after I put my shoes and coat in my closet, I stare at the box, willing myself to find the strength to open it. There could be things in there that related to Ava’s birth or things for his parents, but I can’t do it.
I close my closet door and walk out to the living room where my daughter is now watching Nickelodeon and singing along to the theme song of Vampirina.
My phone rings and it’s my best friend and business partner, Meghan. “Sweetheart, how does pizza for dinner sound?” I call before answering my phone. She’s already bouncing off the walls and I’m too exhausted to cook.
“Hey, Meg.” Meghan and I met when we both worked at Starbucks. Who knew our start-up jobs as baristas would get us where we are today? Our positions took us to social media and marketing and experimenting with photography to bring in new customers. Meg is better at the marketing, and not to brag, but I’m a bit of a photography guru. Now we have our own business and it’s quite successful.
“How’d your meeting with the architect go?” If she saw Wren she’d eat him up in a heartbeat.
“It started a little misogynistic, but thankfully took a turn for the better. He all but asked me where my husband was after I mentioned I had a kid. But I served him a nice hot plate of fuck you and he apologized at the end of the meeting.”
“Mommy you said a swear!” The girl doesn’t bother to turn around to admonish me. She’s unbelievable.
“Sorry sweetheart.”
Meg is laughing on the phone, either at me or Ava, I’m not sure.
“Good for you. If you need me to kick his ass, just say the word.” My best friend is the total package. She’s a blonde bombshell who comes from money but doesn’t act like a pretentious, snooty brat. Her eyes are bluer than the Caribbean; she’s smart, athletic, and funny. Most men can’t keep their paws to themselves around her. Plus, she’s insanely loyal and one of the best people I know.
“Thank you, but
I got it covered. The worst part?” I pause for dramatic effect until my best friend huffs in irritation. “He’s gorgeous. I don’t think he’s always so brash and rude, but he said he has a lot on his plate.”
“You’re already making excuses for him. He must be model-worthy if he’s got you worked up.” Her hesitation makes me nervous. I distract myself by ordering the pizza on my laptop before I lose my appetite over what she’s about to say.
“Whatever you’re about to say—”
“Shut up and listen to me. It’s been five years. You’re killing it. You’re independent and stable and have the cutest daughter I’ve ever known, and I’m not only saying that because I’m her godmother. It’s time, Carson. Maddox would want you to get back out there. You’re young and gorgeous and about to spend a lot of time with the first guy you’ve called attractive since before your daughter was born.”
She’s right, of course, I know that. Maddox told me himself he wanted me to move on and be happy. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel a knife of betrayal slicing through my core. I can’t shake the fear of losing someone again or the guilt of moving on.
“I’m not going to date my architect.” Besides, I don’t know if he’s single.
“Well if you’re not, give him my number. It’s been a minute for me too.”
Over my dead body.
Fifteen
Wren
I’m such a dumbass. If I stuck my foot in my mouth any deeper I’d probably be able to bring up what I had for dinner last night.
Carson Fletcher is quite possibly one of the most gorgeous women I’ve seen in my entire life. Hair isn’t something I naturally notice when meeting women, but hers was so bouncy and shiny it should have its own TV commercial. And her eyes. I could’ve gotten lost in those sky-blue orbs. She’s impossibly sweet and evidently successful and she has a daughter. She has that total mom vibe about her where I know she was meant for motherhood. As soon as she mentioned a kid, I wasn’t surprised.
What shocked me was the ringless finger. Who in their right mind would let her go? When my mind wandered to more sinister topics, I shut it down. I wasn’t going there, and if Carson ever felt the need to tell me her story, then I’d listen.
But she won’t. Because she’s my client. Not my friend or my girlfriend or anything else.
And I was a major dick to her.
I tried to make up for it by apologizing, but Carson isn’t going to give in that easily, and she shouldn’t. I’m glad to see she has a backbone and a good head on her shoulders. But I’m still kicking myself from here to China for taking my bad mood out on her. Again, I’m such a fucking dumbass.
While I work on my other projects, the bombshell gets pushed to the back of my mind. Never gone, but not occupying my every thought either. But the second I pull up her sketches and the notes I made, she’s all I can picture. I can hear her breathy voice and smell her flowery perfume. I’m enamored by her and it’s a foreign feeling.
She’s not just an itch I want to scratch and she deserves more of that. Something about her tells me she’s not just an over-privileged girl with a baby.
I have another meeting with her next week to go over the new sketches where I totally scrap Tom’s original ideas. The guy couldn’t see all her potential and wasn’t giving her the home she and her daughter deserve. I’m going to rectify that.
The rest of my day is spent steering into the skid, where I focus solely on the Fletcher project since my mind doesn’t want to stray from it anyway.
By the time I glance at the clock, it’s already six pm and I’m running late. Another thing my sister will be on my case about. I pick up the phone and dial her number as I close down my computer and rush out of the office.
“Hey, Sis, I’m running late. Traffic is a bitch, but I’ll see you soon.” It’s a lie I’ve told a million times before, so I shouldn’t be surprised when she calls me on my bullshit.
“I can hear your computer shutting down, you patho. Just get your lying ass over here.”
I run down to my truck and weave through the downtown city streets toward the suburbs of Marsh Oaks where my little sister lives.
Their two-story brick house sits on a solid acre of land which includes a playground, in ground pool, and tennis court. It’s a sprawling five bedroom, four and a half baths with a gorgeous front porch and vaulted ceilings. I designed it for them when I was just starting out as an architect with H+J and now I’m using their home as a model for Carson’s.
Yes, their home, because despite my sister being four years my junior, she’s already married with two kids.
I park behind her husband’s sleek black Mercedes and half-jog to the front door. I’m never particularly eager to spend a night with my sister’s family. Not because we have any bad blood, but if I’m being brutally honest with myself, I’d have to admit they have what I ultimately want. But I’ll never admit that to her because she already gives me enough shit about not settling down.
“It’s about damn time you showed up here. The girls aren’t going to remember you if you stay away any longer.”
I hug my sister as I step into her home. “Good to see you too, Sis. Where are the twins?”
“Right here, Uncle Wren!” Paige and Charlie come running on their little toddler feet and barrel into me.
“Wren, good to see you, man.” Grant, Sadie’s husband, offers me his hand and leads us all into the living room. “Care for a drink?”
“Water’s fine.”
“Water over whiskey? Must be something serious going on.” My sister laughs. Just because our father was a borderline alcoholic doesn’t mean we’re all like that.
“It’s nothing. Work’s been overwhelming and I need to keep a clear head. I work tomorrow and need to drive home tonight. I don’t need a drink.”
“It’s a girl, isn’t it? Finally. I never thought I’d see the day.” While she didn’t totally miss the mark, it’s not in the way she thinks. Yes, I’m thinking about Carson constantly, but I’m not dating her or in love with her. Therefore, I can’t tell Sadie anything. But I could use this moment to my benefit.
“The only girls in my life are my nieces.” My sister rolls her eyes. “There’s a girl…she’s my newest client. I’m designing a house for her and her daughter and I’m using your house as a baseline. Would you mind if I brought her here to show her the layout?” My sister gets a devious look on her face that I don’t like.
“You want her to meet the family? Grant, can you hear the wedding bells?” I roll my eyes and take a gulp of my water.
“Sadie, listen to me. She. Is. A. Client. And she has a kid already. Whatever her story is, it’s a little too complicated for me.” Carson intrigues the hell out of me, but I just want to show her the house.
“Fine, whatever you say, but you’ve never given anyone a home visit before. Don’t come begging to me when you decide you love this girl.” She stands and heads into the kitchen to check on dinner, but yells over her shoulder before she’s gone. “I’m just kidding. I better be the first person you tell when you end up with this girl.”
Siblings, man.
҉ ҉ ҉
“This house is beautiful. It’s perfect.” Carson looks around, her sapphire eyes peeled toward the ceiling, taking in the entirety of the space.
“I wanted you to see a real-life example of this style home and what you could do with it, with the layout, and everything.” I scratch the back of my head and clear my throat. The more time I spend with Carson the more nervous I get. While she remains cool and collected.
Normally I am too. That’s what I don’t understand.
“Yeah, this is great. Thank you, Wren.” She walks through the playroom and into the living room. I see her nod as she takes in the open floor plan. She stops in front of the fireplace at a picture I was meaning to remove before she got here but forgot.
“Wait, is this your house?” She spins around and tugs on the ends of her hair as if the thought of being in my home make
s her uncomfortable. She’s staring at a picture of me with Sadie and the twins. The wheels in her head are turning rapidly.
“No, that’s my sister and my nieces. Her husband isn’t in that picture, obviously. I built this house for them a few years ago. I should’ve told you.” I shake my head as if to erase the idiocy I’m spewing.
“No, it’s okay. You have no reason to tell me anything.” Her face flushes and she steps away from the pictures. “Can I look around upstairs?”
I lead the way as she debates the pros and cons of having the master bedroom upstairs versus downstairs. I let her walk around my sister’s house because she doesn’t seem like the kind of woman to snoop and mess things up.
As she’s checking out the upstairs, the garage door opens and I rush down the steps. Goddammit, Sadie.
“Hello? Wren, are you still here?” my sister calls out.
I meet her in the kitchen as she walks through the mudroom carrying various shopping bags.
“Sadie, what the hell are you doing?” I’m going to kill her so I can show Carson how well blood stains go with hardwood floors.
“I wanted to meet the girl you’re pretending not to like.”
“I’m not pretending. I barely know her and she’s my client. There’s a reason everyone says not to mix business with pleasure.” She gives me a pointed look. “She’s gorgeous, I won’t deny that, but it’s not like that with her. We’ve only met a few times and I didn’t give her the best first impression.”
“So what? There’s a reason why there are so many movies where enemies turn to lovers in Hollywood. It’s a huge success. The fireworks, the feeling you can change a person. It’s romantic.”
“And this is Wilmington, not Hollywood. My life isn’t a romantic comedy.” She’s as exasperated as I am. We’re at a standstill, but if I know my sister, she’s not giving up yet.
We’re staring at each other, fumes pouring from each of our ears when the musical voice of Carson Fletcher comes around the corner.
Selfless (A Carolina Coastal Novel Book 1) Page 7