Herons Landing

by JoAnn Ross

  “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?

  Then, the moment she’d seen the heron nests, she’d been absolutely, positively certain.

  “I’m not throwing anything away,” she said.

  He glanced over at her. His expression revealed she’d spoken out loud.

  “I suspect a lot of people in the position I’d reached would probably think I’m crazy to do this,” she admitted. Make that most, if not all. “I’d believed I was on the right track, but sometimes you can get so focused on moving forward, you miss whatever might be down a side road.”

  “That happens in hiking,” he agreed. “I’ve been with people so busy looking at their Fitbits, counting their steps, or how long to their destination, they never pause to take in the view. But this isn’t exactly a side road. Some might view it as more of a reversal.”

  “Or coming full circle.”

  He nodded. “Point taken. And it’s not that I’d ever doubt you when you put your mind to something. To be perfectly honest, after two jobs falling through, I have a vested interest in this one reaching completion. If only to save myself from having to listen to Dad bitch at me for the next thirty or forty years.”

  A thought occurred to her. “Is working for a Mannion going to prove a problem for you?”

  “As long as I’ve been involved in the business, Harper Construction only turned down one job. And that was from a Los Angeles architect who wanted to tear down a cottage house and build an ultra-modern concrete-and-glass box that would block the views of three houses behind him.”

  “Good for you. But did he get someone else to do it for him?”

  “No. We were lucky in that case because although the boundary lines could admittedly be contested, part of the lot appeared to be in the historic district. When every historical preservation group in the Pacific Northwest threatened to help ours fight it, he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, gave up the idea and went back to California.

  “And getting back to your question about us working for a Mannion, I did the pub for Quinn. As well as your uncle’s gallery. And we built a new, larger barn out at your family’s tree farm for various events your family’s been holding there. Last summer your mom turned it into a summer theater for local writers and actors to put on plays.”

  “She wrote me about that.” Having grown up attending plays at the Theater in the Firs, which had always sold out early, Brianna had thought her parents’ idea had been a brilliant addition to their revenue stream, along with strengthening brand loyalty since they definitely weren’t the only Christmas tree farm in the state. But she hadn’t made it home for a single performance.

  Even as she reminded herself that she wasn’t the only one of her siblings to leave the peninsula, Brianna felt a pinprick of guilt. “Mom’s also a Harper.” Brianna had heard stories of her parents’ courtship, which often reminded her of Romeo and Juliet. Or the star-crossed Tony and Maria in West Side Story.

  “Not the first case of our families marrying.”

  “True. My mom’s great-great-aunt married your father’s three-times-great-grandfather. Which makes my mom and your dad third or fourth cousins three or maybe four times removed. I never can remember how it goes, although Aunt Marian, who was into genealogy, once tried to explain her chart with dozens of connected boxes on it to me. I also have no idea what that makes us.”

  “Kissing cousins?”

  Seth’s out-of-the-blue question seemed to surprise him nearly as much as it did her. His shoulders and neck stiffened.

  Meanwhile, an image of him pulling her into his arms, ducking his head, his beautiful, hot, hungry mouth claiming hers, flashed through Brianna’s mind. Before the unwelcome fantasy could turn X-rated, the long and two short warp-and-woofs of the ferry leaving the dock shattered a hush as deep as the coastal rain forest that had fallen over the room. Saving them both.

  “Well, anyway.” She cleared her throat, and tried, with less success, to clear her mind. “Moving on from the logistics of our families’ comingling—”

  This time it was her very wrong word choice. She shut her mouth so fast and so hard she was surprised he couldn’t hear the clang of her teeth. But the flare of heat in his eyes suggested he was thinking of more than the comingling of their families. When her rebellious mind conjured up another image of them lying together on a fluffy rug in front of the fireplace on a rainy winter night, every nerve ending in her body began to spark.

  Dragging her hand through her hair, she took a deep breath. “Another thing that occurred to me during the long trip home was that all those years learni
ng the hospitality business weren’t wasted. When you only have an hour to find a doctor to come give a guest Botox—”

  “You’re kidding.” He seemed as relieved as she was at any excuse to change the topic from kissing. And comingling.

  “A provost for digital initiatives and dean of university libraries at a top Ivy League college was there to give a speech and had just learned that she was going to win a major award that night. She wanted to look her best.”

  “Makes sense to me.”

  Brianna knew that it didn’t make a lick of sense to him. Which was okay, because there had been a time she would have found the request crazy, too.

  “If there’s one thing the past years have taught me, it’s that no matter how well traveled a person is, there’s always going to be times of stress, and different people have their own expectations of what will ease that stress. My job had been to make it happen.”

  As she could’ve done with Doctor Dick. If given the chance.

  “I doubt any guest at Herons Landing will have a sudden need for face fillers,” she said. “But unexpected things do come up.”

  She told him about a less than positive experience when a guest had gotten furious enough to pick up a lobby chair and throw it at her after she’d attempted to explain that she couldn’t arrange for a live tiger to walk into their suite during dessert wearing a ten-carat engagement ring around his neck for his girlfriend.

  “He was an heir to a fortune, and claimed that his about-to-be fiancée’s spirit animal was a tiger. So he’d wanted to make his proposal one she’d never forget.”

  “She’d probably remember it a lot better if she weren’t eaten,” he suggested.

  “That’s pretty much what I told him.” With a little distance, Brianna could laugh at the incident. “Those of us in hospitality share war stories, and I’ve come to realize there are very few problems I haven’t faced.”