It’s an answer, but a careful one that sidesteps the actual question, so I think of how best to proceed. If he grew up in Seaside, he’s obviously familiar with the house. Maybe he even stayed here when it was an operating B&B. But that doesn’t explain why he’d have all these schematics and renderings done in such detail if he didn’t already have a client who wanted to refurbish the property.
Unless he did.
“Oh, I get it. You bid on the repair work after the fire in the kitchen, right?”
He blinks, once. I’m not sure if we’re using our telephone code and that’s a yes, or if he’s just blinking. “For the last owner, I mean.” I gesture to the book and blueprints, because he’s not answering, and I can’t tell if that look he’s wearing is annoyance or constipation.
Finally, he tilts his head to the side, a little jerk toward his shoulder that’s not a nod or a shake, it’s more like a Maybe. Or a Whatever. Or possibly a You’re irritating me with these stupid questions.
Dealing with this guy is too much work. It’s only half past nine in the morning, and I already need a drink.
“Forget it. Moving on to the elephant in the room. You and I have a problem. Let’s be nice and call it a personality conflict. This job is going to take a long time, and I’m not the kind of girl who’s going to sit up in my bedroom knitting while the men make all the decisions and run the show. This is my house. If I decide to hire you for this job—and I’m only saying if—I won’t tolerate your attitude.”
Slowly, he arches one of his eyebrows.
“Yeah, you heard me.” I wave a hand up and down, indicating his general impression of a volcano about to erupt. “This whole grouchy caveman thing you’ve got going is already on my last nerve, and you’ve only been here for fifteen minutes. I understand that you’ve been through some kind of trauma, but so have I, and you don’t see me going around glaring daggers at total strangers. Either you rein in your nasty mood monster, or we have nothing more to discuss.”
I fold my arms over my chest and wait for the volcano to blow.
But it never comes. Theo just stands there, gazing at me, his expression softening until it almost looks as if he’s about to break into laughter.
He props his hands on his hips, looks at the ground, shakes his head like he can’t believe what a psycho I am, then meets my eyes.
He nods—slowly, emphatically, an unmistakable yes—then smiles.
Beyond my shock that the man actually knows how to smile, my sense of relief is overwhelming. I feel like I’ve successfully negotiated with a terrorist. “Okay. Good. Well, like I said, I’ve already made a verbal agreement to work with Craig, so I’ll have to think about this over the weekend.”
Theo’s default scowl snaps back into place. He snatches up his pen and pad and does his thing, then thrusts it out at me, almost hitting me in the nose.
I’m the best man for the job!
I am this close to smacking that pad out of his hands and cracking him over the head with the Buttercup Inn book.
“Wow, you’re just determined to try my patience, aren’t you? Do you remember a few seconds back when I said rein it in, Sunshine? I fucking meant rein it in.”
His face falls, his shoulders slump, and he stares contritely at the floor like a five-year-old who’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It’s ridiculously adorable. My heart softens toward him, this riddle of a man who’s a snarling bear one moment and a sad little boy the next.
From several rooms over, Coop loudly clears his throat, closing the bathroom door firmly enough that the sound echoes down the hallway.
Lord, these two men have all the finesse of a pair of grenades. “I’ll call you Monday,” I tell Theo in a gentler tone. “Okay?”
He glances up at me from under his lashes, then with his pen slowly circles something on his pad that he’s already written. When he holds it out to me to read, I sigh.
“You don’t have to be sorry, just stop acting like I ran over your dog. Deal?”
His eyes search my face. His gaze is filled with unspeakable loneliness, and that naked antipathy that I don’t understand but that raises all the tiny hairs on the back of my neck and sends a charge like electricity over my skin. It’s the same feeling I had at the diner and in the backyard at the party. That sense of unwilling recognition.
Of being seen by someone who doesn’t want to see.
Without responding, Theo turns abruptly and leaves. The sound of his boots heading toward the front door and disappearing through it are quickly followed by Coop’s farewell shout.
“Thanks, Megan! See you soon!”
The front door slams, and I’m left alone in my ruined kitchen, wondering what the hell Theo Valentine’s problem is.
And why I’m becoming so eager to find out.
6
I call Suzanne, who I figure is the best source of information in Seaside, considering she seems to know everyone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Suzanne, it’s Megan Dunn.”
“Megan! How are you?”
She sounds overly excited to hear from me, which makes me suspicious. “I’m good, thanks. How are you?”
“Fantastic! I just closed escrow on a place up in the hills that has an incredible ocean view and an even more incredible price tag. This cute young gay couple bought it and they’re going to sink a ton into renovations. I was just about to send Theo an email to let him know they’ll be contacting him.”
“Speak of the devil. That’s why I’m calling.”
She sounds confused. “About the gay couple?”
“No, Suzanne, about Theo. He came out this morning to give me a quote on the house. It was less than half the price of the other guys’, and he brought me these really incredible renderings that blew me away.”
“Oh, great!”
“No, not great. Because Theo was being Theo, and I’m not sure I can deal with that for the next few months while this project gets done. I already negotiated an agreement with Craig from Capstone, and I’m leaning toward keeping it because Theo is so strange.”
“Believe me, you’ll get used to his silence real quick as soon as you see the quality of work he does.”
“It’s not his silence that’s the problem. It’s his weirdness. Every time he looks at me, I get the feeling he’s either going to hit something or cry.”
Her matchmaker instincts kick in. “Maybe he has the hots for you!”
I snort. “Believe me, this isn’t the hots. This is more like the freezing colds. The guy can barely stand to be around me.”
Suzanne is thoughtful for a moment. “I mean, he’s odd, definitely, but I know for a fact he’s harmless, Megan. He’s a big guy, but he’s gentle as a lamb.”
“I’ve never met a lamb who goes around with a hurricane brewing over its head.”
After a pause, she says gingerly, “Okay, I’m going to say something now.”
I know that means it’s going to be something I don’t like. I wait for it, exhaling in annoyance.
“Maybe—and I’m only saying maybe—you’re just sensitive.”
I frown. “Sensitive? About what?”
“About men.”
“About men?” I repeat, puzzled.
“You know, because of your husband.”
“Oh. You think I’ve lost my ability to judge a person’s character because my husband died, is that it?”
“It’s just that nobody else has ever had a problem with Theo, sweetie,” says Suzanne in a placating tone. “Except you.”
Frustrated, I blow out a hard breath. “So I’m told. But I’m not imagining it, Suzanne. Even Coop said he’s never seen Theo act the way he acts around me. He said I ‘agitate’ him.”
“Coop said that? Huh. Well, that’s weird.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you!”
“Maybe he’s jealous of your tan?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Maybe you remind him of someone he hates
?”
“It’s possible, but I doubt it. His problem seems very Megan specific.”
“Maybe he thinks you should put on a little lipstick and a shirt that doesn’t have a band logo on it to make it seem like you give an actual fuck before you go out in public?”
That makes me smile. “Inside thought, Suzanne.”
“Hmm. And you’re positive he doesn’t have the hots for you?”
“Oh yeah, I’m sure he gets an expression like he just took a dump in his pants every time he sees me because he’s so attracted to me. It’s definitely true love.”
She laughs. “Okay, I’m fresh out of smart ideas, then. Chalk it up to one of those things and stay out of his way while he works on the Buttercup. Maybe he’ll warm up to you after a while.”
“Or maybe he’ll leave random tools on the floor for me to trip over and break my face on.”
“Don’t be silly, he’ll do no such thing. If you don’t like Theo, just deal directly with Coop. From the sound of things, that would suit both of you. I’m telling you, he’s the best there is. I’ve got a list a mile long of people you could call for a reference if you don’t want to take my word for it. And why flush money down the toilet if you don’t have to? Just my two cents, but I think it’s worth it to put up with him in the short run for what you’ll get out of it in the long run.”
I mull it over because she makes some good points. I got a big chunk of change in the settlement from Cass’s accident, but I know how these kind of large renovation projects can go way over budget. And there’s no guarantee the B&B will be a success after I open. I could be filing for bankruptcy in a few years if the economy tanks. I need to be practical about this. Practical, frugal, and emotionless.
Except for my intense curiosity and my sore ego, I’d be all set.
“Maybe if you told me more about him, it would make me more comfortable.”
“What do you want to know?”
“About his accident,” I say without thinking. “I want to know what happened to make Mr. Popularity turn into the Grinch.”
On the other end of the line, there’s a long sigh. “Sweetie, that story needs to be told over drinks. What’re you doing tonight?”
I look around the kitchen, at the scorched floor, the boarded-up windows, the empty takeout containers crowding the counter. “Not a thing.”
“Be ready at six. I’m driving. And wear a skirt, for God’s sake. I have a reputation to uphold in this town, and your homeless stoner look isn’t cutting it.”
She hangs up without waiting to hear the argument she already knows is coming.
* * *
At precisely six o’clock that night, Suzanne arrives looking like she has an appointment to meet Hugh Hefner. I’ve never seen so much cleavage in my life.
“Hi, Suzanne.” I warily eye her hairdo, which is teased and sprayed to ’80s hair band proportions, her stilettos, which are sky-high, and her skirt, which is so tight I suspect her circulation is being compromised. “Please tell me we’re not going clubbing.”
She looks at me as if I’ve been smoking crack. “There aren’t any clubs within an eighty-mile radius. We’re going to Booger’s.”
Booger’s? This is why I never go out.
“Don’t give me that look!” Suzanne scolds when she sees my expression. “It’s a very nice, upscale restaurant.”
“I think our definitions of ‘upscale’ might be different.”
“Jeez, what’re you, ninety, Grandma?”
“Thirty-two, actually.”
Suzanne grimaces. “You’re younger than me too? How did I not notice that on your escrow docs? It’s a pity I already decided not to hate you. Nice dress, by the way.”
“Thanks. I had to go out and buy it today because I didn’t own one. I didn’t want to get clobbered by my real estate agent.”
She narrows her eyes at my waistline. “Are you wearing a waist trainer under that?”
Perplexed, I look down at myself. “What the hell is a waist trainer?”
She groans, throwing her hands in the air. “I changed my mind. I do hate you. Let’s go, you’re making me thirsty.”
I lock the front door, she grabs me by the arm, and we’re off to Booger’s, which I suspect will be about as pleasant as a visit to the gynecologist.
When we arrive, I’m surprised to find I was wrong. Whoever named the place was off his rocker, but the location is spectacular. Booger’s sits at the end of the beach promenade, overlooking the ocean. It has a kitschy seafaring theme that manages to be ironically sentimental instead of just plain tacky.
Fishnet is strung from the ceiling and hung with starfish and Christmas lights. Brick walls are covered in framed black-and-white pictures of old movie stars and dotted with big portholes for windows. Candles glow atop polished wood tables, and an enormous captain’s wheel garnishes the hostess stand where Suzanne gives our name to a hostess who looks fifteen years old.
“It’s cute,” I say, looking around.
Suzanne nudges me with her elbow and grins. “Would I steer you in the wrong direction?”
“The name, though.”
“It’s the nickname of the owner. Someone caught him picking his nose in elementary school, and it stuck.”
I grimace. “Hopefully, he’s abandoned the habit and doesn’t pick his nose in the kitchen.”
“This way, please.” The hostess, holding a pair of menus, gestures for us to follow her.
Suzanne gets a lot of stares as we walk to our table. Even some of the women seem interested in her beauty queen bounce. I admire her self-confidence and have to smile when a guy drops his spoon into his soup as we pass by.
Once we’re seated, we spend a few minutes looking at the menu, then order our drinks and meals from the heavyset waitress who comes by. When she’s gone, Suzanne says, “So. Theo Valentine.”
“The man of the hour.” I munch on nuts from a bowl the waitress left on the table. “Mystery man with a name like a porn star.”
“He’s not all that mysterious.”
I stop munching and stare at her.
“Okay, he’s a little mysterious.”
When I don’t relent with the stare, she sighs and gives up.
“Fine, he’s very mysterious. Now. Before, he was just Theo, local pretty-boy jock set to take over the world. All the girls were in love with him, of course. You don’t get that quality of man meat much in this town.”
I pop another fistful of nuts into my mouth. Around them, I say, “You truly have a way with words, Suzanne.”
She smiles serenely, twirling a lock of dark hair between her fingers. “He was a couple of years behind me at school, but God, did I have a crush on him. I’m a pushover for swagger, and he had it in spades. He went to college in Washington, but came back because he and Colleen were still together and she didn’t want to leave Seaside. They were supposed to get married. You met her at Sunday’s party, do you remember? The schoolteacher with the pretty blue eyes?”
I do remember. Her eyes weren’t the only things that were pretty. She had sleek brown hair and beautiful skin, a figure even voluptuous Suzanne might be jealous of.
“Let me guess. They never got married.”
“Nope.”
“So what happened?”
“Theo’s accident happened. And from the way she tells it, from the moment he woke up in the hospital, he wanted nothing more to do with her. Wouldn’t even look at her. Never spoke to her or anyone else again.”
“Yikes. That’s harsh.”
Suzanne taps her manicured nails on the table. “Yeah, Colleen was devastated. I still don’t think she’s over it. I’ve tried to set her up with every single man from here to Timbuktu, but she always says no. I suspect she’s hoping one day Theo will snap out of his silent funk and take her back.”
“So what’s with his whole not-talking thing? Were his vocal cords crushed or something?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, sweetie. His doctor won’t te
ll anybody anything, of course, but I know a few of the nurses who were at the hospital when he was brought in the night of the accident and were there during his recovery. They both say the same thing: Theo refused to speak, he refused to answer questions about why he wouldn’t speak, and he went into a rage if pressed about it. Trashed an exam room when a physical therapist got too pushy is the way I hear it. Then of course the doctor wanted to send him to a psychiatrist, but he refused that too. Just checked himself out of the hospital as soon as he could walk again, and that was that.
“Everybody in town felt bad for him, so he kept getting jobs, and after a while, nobody cared anymore that he didn’t talk, because his work wasn’t affected. In fact, it seemed to get even better. And he’s fast. He can tear down a house and completely rebuild it before his competition has even gotten around to putting in bids. Whatever demon is driving him, it has a good work ethic.”
The waitress arrives with our drinks, giving me a moment to think. I sip my iced tea, even more curious now about the mystery man. I’m about to ask Suzanne what kind of accident Theo was in when a deep voice interrupts.
“Well, look who it is. Fancy meeting you here.”
I look up. It’s Craig from Capstone, standing beside our table, smiling down at me.
“Craig! Hi, what a surprise. What are you doing here?”
Suzanne kicks me under the table. I glance sharply at her. She’s gazing up at Craig with big moony eyes and a blinding smile, batting her lashes. She’s pulled back her shoulders so her cleavage is displayed at its most advantageous angle for someone looking down.
He’s getting the VIP treatment because he’s handsome. That rugged, cowboy type of handsome where you just know he’s really good at chopping wood and taming wild stallions and shooting poor game birds out of the sky and stuff like that. He’s got dark blond hair, dimples you could fall into, and a smile as easy as a Sunday morning.
And he’s not wearing a wedding ring, a fact that Suzanne’s sharp eyes didn’t miss.
He says, “I was in the area this afternoon to meet a client, thought I’d catch a bite before I went back to Portland.” He notices Suzanne and her cleavage. His smile widens. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Midnight Valentine Page 6