Home Matters (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella, Book 1)

by Julie N. Ford

  Pete shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “So what? You’re passionate about design. Nothing wrong with that.” He extended a bent elbow. “We all have our secret passions.”

  “Really?” Olivia eyed him a moment before looping her arm through his. “So, what’s yours?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  “We’ll eat pizza first, then I’ll show you.”

  “Here we are,” Pete said.

  Nestled in a neighborhood across the river from the elegant historical mansions of downtown, he had his arms open wide toward the front of a painfully middle-class home. Complete with pre-fab siding and faux brick façade, the front door sported a 1990s style wreath of dusty, silk flowers and faded gingham ribbon.

  “Where’s here?” Olivia wanted to know.

  Pete pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to her. “Welcome to my obsession of sorts.”

  Olivia glanced down at the card. A hammer with a heart-shaped head and the words Hearts and Hammers: Renovation for Families Who Care for Disabled Loved Ones at Home was embossed across the front. At the bottom, Pete was listed as the organization’s director.

  “Hearts and Hammers?” she questioned.

  Pete nodded. “The name wasn’t my idea, but a promise is a promise.” His voice caught on the last word. “It’s my nonprofit. I renovate the homes of families who have children or loved ones with terminal diseases and, like the card says, are trying to care for them at home,” he explained. “Since treatment is often expensive, the families can’t afford to make the necessary alterations to their homes in order to accommodate equipment like wheelchairs and other types of devices needed to help whoever’s sick feel more independent. I come in and do it at no cost to the family.” He slipped a key into the lock, opened the front door, and motioned for Olivia to follow. “They’re vacationing on Tybee Island for a couple more days, so come on in. I’ll show you what I’ve done.”

  Once inside, he flipped on the lights and proceeded to give her a tour. “Most homes aren’t built for people who need to roll, so we had to open up this whole entry, expand the hallways and doors to make the entire house wheelchair accessible.”

  They turned a corner and headed down a darkened hallway. At the second doorway, Pete stopped and swung the door open. “In here I extended the bathroom, added a commode and shower lift so the disabled boy could get himself on and off the toilet, in and out of the shower, without calling for help.” He backed out of the room, and Olivia followed him across the hall where he flipped on another light. “In here, I raised the ceiling and added this contraption so he could get into bed on his own.” He ran his hand along the metal bars, secured to the bed frame, then waited a solemn moment before speaking again. “It’s important for individuals dependent on others to have as much control over their day-to-day life as they can. Especially those with no hope of ever regaining independence,” he added, his voice hitching again before softening to reflective.

  As if inspecting the contraption for possible inaccuracies, Pete kept his face averted from Olivia’s line of sight, and she wished she could read his expression. But then she didn’t really need to as her mind rolled back to something Tristi had once said.

  “And you know this, I’m guessing, because of your… fiancée?”

  “Teresa…” Pete swallowed what appeared to be a painful lump. “She was diagnosed with Alveolar Rhabdomyosarcoma ten years ago when we were freshmen in college. She endured traditional chemo and radiation, and it worked for a while, but in the end, only made her worse. Her parents tried experimental treatments—expensive treatments—that weren’t covered by insurance, which made her better for a while. But by the time she’d surpassed the max survival rate of four years, she was in a wheelchair full time.” He looked to Olivia then, a shallow pool of tears glistening his eyes. “And very stubborn about doing things for herself. She was a petite little thing even before she got sick, but that didn’t stop her from asserting her opinions and speaking her mind. She was a real fighter ’til the end.” He thumbed away an escaping tear and gave Olivia an intentional look. “Not unlike someone we else both know.” He elbowed her playfully. Her heart ripped open. A river of sorrow for his loss spilled out, but she mustered a smile in return.

  Pete looked off across the room. “Her father and I remodeled their family home so she could get around. She lived six more months before…” He closed his lips, nipping off what needed no further explanation. “It was her idea, you know, that one day I start this nonprofit, so I could help other families like hers.” He looked to Olivia again with an obligatory smile. “She made me promise to call it Hearts and Hammers. I knew I’d never make enough money as a contractor to get started, so when Home Matters held open auditions for the first season, I tried out. When I landed this gig, I finally had enough money.”

  Olivia fought back tears of her own. “Pete, I’m so sorry.” She reached out and placed a hand on his arm.

  Pete flinched away from her touch. “Thanks, me too.” He spun away, heading for the hall again. Olivia followed, her heart both breaking for his loss and aching for the touch he’d denied her. “This is our tenth project, but unfortunately, as of last week, I’m officially broke for now. Thankfully, the show came to Savannah, allowing me to finish up this project without having to spend money I don’t have on another trip out here.”

  “How can I help?” Olivia asked, desperate to ease some of his pain. “I can donate. I’ll be getting paid soon and possibly signing a movie deal too.” She was drowning in a volcanizing mountain of unpaid debt and relieved to finally have the means of getting ahead of the flow. But none of that seemed to matter now.

  Pete smiled at her as if she were a naive child. “Thanks, but I’ve got hundreds of families on my waiting list and more being added every day. What I need is a generous corporate sponsor with deep pockets so I can hire some more people,” he explained as she followed him back into the main living area. “And if you’re serious about helping, what we could really use is a good designer.” He wagged his eyebrows at her.

  It took Olivia’s brain a moment or two to navigate the leap from making a monetary donation to actually working on the project, and as a designer no less. “Oh, Pete.” She shook her head. “I’m flattered, but I couldn’t possibly. I’m not a real designer. And besides, what with the show and the prospect of other acting projects coming up, I don’t have the time.”

  Pete’s face creased with disappointment. “Suit yourself, but should your schedule happen to open up down the road, my offer stands,” he said, then rushed on to his next thought. “How about for now, you help by telling me which paint works best for this room.” Kneeling down, he popped the tops off two different paint cans. “Travertine or City Lights?”

  Her head awhirl with the subjects of grief and loss, then with his offer to work with him, it took her a moment to focus in on the paint colors. “Hmm, the taupe is pretty, and soothing, but then so is the blue.” She tapped a finger to her pursed lips. “I’m thinking the blue.”

  The smile he gave her brimmed with pure admiration, which sent her heart spinning, a toy top pinging against her chest. “Me too,” he said. His grin broadened as he stood, a paint roller in each hand.

  “You want to help me paint it?”

  Lounging on a tarp, Pete supported his upper body on one elbow and looked down at Olivia who lay sprawled on the floor as well, her head resting on his thigh. The walls around them had long been repainted and now glowed with a soft shade of blue. How long they’d been stretched out on the floor talking was anyone’s guess. But in that time span, Olivia had learned that they were both the youngest children in their families, both conversely loved country and first-wave alternative music, ate grits for breakfast, and both had favorite movies that seemed to be films everyone else hated—Lady in the Water being exhibit A. He’d grown up on a ranch in Missouri, which wasn’t the South, but close enough that their upbringing with emphasis on community, family, and tradition, felt uncann
ily similar. Lying here with Pete, she had that sensation of being home again and of unconditional acceptance.

  “Favorite Eighties movie?” he asked.

  Olivia thought for a moment, but was having a hard time concentrating on anything other than Pete’s sapphire eyes and how the color had been intensified by the freshly painted walls. Finally, she said the first film that came to mind.

  “Pretty in Pink.”

  “Figures,” he scoffed. “Why is it every girl’s fantasy to hook up with the rich guy they’ve already convinced themselves is too good for them? Like winning his love will somehow validate her in the process? If you ask me, both main characters didn’t actually want to find love, they just liked the idea of it. Why else would they go for the only other kid in school they both knew they’d never be able to date without alienating all their friends and family? Like their love could transcend it all? And they’d known each other for what, one date?”

  Laughter rolled up from Olivia’s gut. “Wow, you’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?” she teased. “Not only a watcher of Nineteenth Century romances, but of cheesy Twentieth Century first-love films as well.”

  Pete shrugged. “It bothers me, the way women are obsessed with dysfunctional love. With wanting the opposite of what’s good for them,” he said, and Olivia got the feeling he was referring more to her, and her attraction to William, than he was to a character in some silly teen film.

  But then what did he know about her heart, her goals, and dreams? Nothing. So what if William tended to smoke and drink too much and leaned toward the shallow end of interesting? He’d been a bachelor for years now. All he needed was a little time and the love of the right woman to change all that.

  “And like I said, I have three older sisters,” he added, his face twisting into a grimace that spoke volumes.

  “Say no more. Let me guess,” Olivia said, waving her hands. “Your sisters fawned over you as a baby and toddler, giving you more attention than you knew what to do with. Then, as you got older, as many boys do, you became a pain in the butt and weren’t so cute anymore, so they stopped fawning over you. In order to regain their attention, you became all the more annoying. After all, negative attention is better than none at all. Am I right? Then, it didn’t help matters that your daddy pushed aside your sisters, focusing all his attention on his only son and heir to the ranch,” she said, and waited while he appeared to be at a loss for words. “I’m close, aren’t I?”

  “All right, Smarty-Pants, let me do you now,” he said by way of confirmation. “Your mom wanted a girl, and it took five tries until she got one. She spared no expense showering you with everything you wanted—the pink room with the frilly canopy bed, dolls, and dresses galore. Then she ignored your brothers while she paraded you around to every beauty contest in Tennessee and the surrounding area, attended every cheerleading contest… and so on, and so forth. Your brothers resented you. Sure, they were nice enough when your parents were around but made you pay for it when they weren’t.” He paused to give her a sly look. “But once you got old enough to date, they sat on the front porch, cradling a shotgun, warning your date that anywhere he touched you, they were going to touch him when you guys got home.”

  Olivia shook her head. “Shotguns on the porch in Brentwood? No. But the rest? Surprisingly accurate,” she admitted. “Only now that my brothers are all off and married with a slew, or partial slew, of kids, they’ve become much more civilized.”

  Pete gave her a long, penetrating look. “I guess that means you’re getting the last laugh,” he said, smiling, though there was no twinkle in his eye. “You’re a big star now, while they’re stuck in suburbia with a ‘slew’ of kids.” His voice took on a haughty edge as he added, “How dreadfully dull.”

  “Yeah, dreadful,” she agreed, her fears becoming more apparent under the glaring light of his insight. But then, so what if she’d chosen a career over a house full of kids for now? She was not quite thirty, and there was still plenty of time for her to have a family. But what if her career continued on its current path, which included jet-setting between movie and television sets, possibly being relentlessly stalked by the paparazzi? Did she want to try and juggle a family along with all of that? And if not, could her millions of adoring fans ever be enough to take the place of a tiny set of fingers curling around hers, her reflection mirrored in the sleepy eyes of a precious child?

  She glanced at Pete. He always appeared remarkably comfortable in his own skin. But was he? “Why are you on TV renovating houses instead of astride a horse, swinging a rope?” she asked, hoping she wasn’t the only one here confused about her life’s current path.

  Pete rolled a shoulder. “Punching cattle wasn’t really for me,” he said, matter-of-fact. “I like to build. Re-imagine.”

  And so did she, she’d recently discovered. “I get that,” she said, thinking about how hard it must have been for Pete to walk away from his family’s expectations in order to do what he was obviously born to do. She’d only been an armchair designer for what, a week and a half? But she’d found re-creating a room, even if only on paper, more satisfying than any role she’d played on or off the camera thus far. “You’re very brave,” she began, “I wish I…” but she couldn’t, didn’t even dare to go there.

  “You are,” he said, his gaze snagging hers, reeling her into a lingering look of mutual understanding that held long enough to steal her breath and hold it until her head grew light.

  Pete was the first to sever the tie. “So… it must be getting pretty late.” He moved to sitting, forcing Olivia to do the same. “I better get back to the site, make sure my guys aren’t goofing around.”

  In one swift movement, he hopped to his feet, then reached down, offering Olivia a hand up. She gazed at his outstretched fingers, disappointed that their evening together had come to an end. With hesitance, she grabbed hold. The warmth of his palm rushed up her arm to her chest.

  Pete yanked her up to standing, sending her head for a turn. Her feet landed unsteady against the floor. His hands circled her waist to stabilize her, but not before her body had fallen against his chest. He smelled of sawdust, along with a trace of spicy cologne—one hundred percent man.

  Shivers of electricity tingled up her spine.

  The ghost of a smile hovered on his full lips as he asked, “Are you all right?”

  Cheeks pink, bleeding to red with his close proximity, Olivia swallowed down to her purring heart. “I am now,” she said, the words coming out all throaty.

  His eyes searching hers, he leaned closer, but then stopped.

  Olivia’s head grew heavy with desire, her heart skipping every other beat, and both made it impossible for her to think clearly. But then sometimes too much thinking was a waste of time, especially when every ounce of her body was screaming for her to take what she wanted. Sliding her hands up and over his shoulders, she threaded her fingers around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers.

  She’d heard people describe a kiss as fireworks exploding in one’s chest, but she’d never experienced this sensation for herself. Until now. Like her blood had ignited into giant sparklers, her veins popped, stinging her from the inside out, from head to toe, and every cell in between. She felt as if the only way to relieve her mounting itch was to take more of him, to consume him.

  Pressing her body against his, she deepened their kiss. Pete responded by knotting his arms around her waist, lifting her feet from the floor. And for a moment, Olivia floated. Her mind, her body, suspended in time. This space and this kiss, this man being the only parts of her that were real. But with the loss of gravity also came a disorientation that quickly morphed into a need to regain control. Snapshots of the future she’d planned as one-half of a Hollywood power couple, along with that picture perfect image of beautiful, brown-eyed babies set against the backdrop of a million-dollar address, flashed against her tightly pressed eyelids. Then those snapshots began to fade until they were nothing more than gray and black shad
ows.

  Dislodging her lips from Pete’s, she unlatched her fingers from his neck and pushed against his chest. “I can’t,” she said, breathless.

  Pete loosened his grip, setting her feet to the floor again. “Olivia…” he murmured. And because she was feeling it too, she could hear the desperation, the raw frustration, in his voice.

  Whether it was a fear of the intense desire she felt for him, or if it was that her identity had been wrapped up in her quest for fame and fortune for so long, she didn’t know for sure. But either way, right now, she needed her space.

  Pushing against his chest again, she wiggled out of his grip. “You have to stop kissing me,” she said, pressing her fingertips to her lips in order to still the lingering effects of his mouth against hers.

  Pete raked his hands through his hair and blew a long sigh to the ceiling. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groaned. “You’re the one who kissed me this time.”

  He was right. And she couldn’t argue with the facts. But in her defense, over the last ten days or so, she’d become increasingly confused about what she truly wanted from life and could hardly be held accountable for her actions. “I know… it just…”

  Regardless of whatever she ultimately decided, and until she got her head together, she knew it wasn’t fair to keep stringing Pete along. “I’m serious,” she said, deciding that staying her present course was her best and only option for now. “I’m with William.”

  Pete’s eyes clouded over. “Clearly,” he growled.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Means you two obviously belong together,” he said as he bent down and snatched his coat from the floor. “Spoiled, selfish, and way too concerned with what other people think.” He punched his arms into the sleeves and zipped the front. “Have you ever considered that you might be selling yourself short?”