A Heart's Design

by Natalee Cooper

  The lilt in her voice made him smile, despite the leftover residue in his mouth from the grenade Natasha had handed him last night. “You could say that. Wait. They’ve already aired the story?”

  “They had all the charity coverage on the ten o’clock news. Though yours got a little more attention than the others, what with you being the west coast’s current favorite.”

  He snorted. “Right. Lucky me.” His last word broke into a yawn, which he covered with the back of his fist.

  Jase dropped William’s letter back onto his nightstand and noticed Madison’s silver bracelet. Scooping it up, he headed to the kitchen, fighting another yawn.

  “Is everything okay?”

  He rubbed a hand over his face, the stubble on his jaw rough against his fingers. “It was a long night, that’s all.”

  “Another nightmare?”

  His answer came out more a grunt than anything coherent.

  “You aren’t fooling me. I know they’re still bothering you. Just like I know when you’ve gone more than four days without a good run.”

  He winced at her motherly tone. Not because it annoyed him, but because it was so full of worry. “They’ll go away. They did before.” Never mind he’d run to escape them. But this time would be different. Instead of reacting, he’d act. He would.

  It’s time.

  And then Natasha’s words crowded their way through his mind on repeat. “You’re as broken now as you were then.”

  He rubbed his forehead, putting pressure at his temples.

  “Are you still there?” Penny asked.

  “I’m here.”

  There was a pause on her end, as if she silently debated whether to dig further, but he didn’t give her the chance. “Do you know a Madison Blakeley?”

  “She’s one of the architects who bid on the restoration.”

  His palm met his forehead. “No wonder she didn’t stick around after Natasha’s announcement.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.” He set Madison’s bracelet on the counter, careful not to tangle it. “Is she local?”

  “Yes. I believe she took over her father’s firm when he passed away last year.”

  The corners of his mouth fell. “Why don’t I remember her bid?”

  “It’s possible you only skimmed it. Your criteria were a minimum five years restoration experience, hers was maybe half of that.”

  “Right.”

  “Why the interest? If I might ask.”

  “I met her last night at the gala and was curious.”

  “Curious, huh?”

  The endless blue of the architect’s eyes, and that red dress with her blush that matched, had him past curious, but he wasn’t going to admit those thoughts to the woman who was almost as much of a mother to him as an assistant. Not when it would only get her hopes up of seeing him in a relationship—the serious kind she probably prayed about nightly for him. The kind he didn’t have time for.

  “Strictly a business curiosity.”

  “I see.”

  Her words might have well been a giant sigh, but he let the subject drop. “I meant to call and warn you about last night. I’m sorry.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “You’ve planned, with careful precision, every detail for next week’s scheduled announcement, clear down to which of my ties will coordinate best with the theatre’s background. Natasha stole that moment from you.”

  “No one could have predicted her actions last night.”

  “Still.”

  “How the restoration is announced isn’t important. Not really. That it’s finally happening is what I’m celebrating.”

  “Well, you deserve this and more.”

  Penny sniffed, and he pictured her dabbing her eyes with the embroidered square handkerchief she always carried—the one that reminded him of his grandmother.

  “Don’t knight me just yet. In case you forgot, I’m making a lot of money on this.”

  She laughed out loud, but the last note turned wistful. “I can’t wait to hold season tickets again. My heart truly broke the day the theatre closed their doors nearly twenty years ago.”

  “We’ll get it perfect. I give you my word.”

  He let her know he’d be in after lunchtime and disconnected the call, his promise to her settling in on his shoulders for the long haul. The weight wasn’t uncomfortable, simply a steady reminder to get this one right.

  Jase tapped his fingers on the counter next to Madison’s bracelet and took in dawn’s peaceful, cloud-scattered sky beyond his windows. The early morning blue hit him with a shot of assurance—and reminded him of a certain architect’s eyes.

  Less than twenty minutes ago, he’d fought the cold, lingering remains of his nightmare, and less than stellar thoughts about his old college friend. Now, those images and thoughts were only as ominous as the shadows from those brilliant white clouds in the distance. Definitely manageable.

  He considered the piece of jewelry and whether to ask Penny to send it to Madison’s office or return it himself, but somehow, the idea of stuffing the personal item in a shipping box sounded careless. Returning it in person was the only choice, but he’d wait until later. A stutter in his breathing told him he needed some down time.

  Grabbing his laptop, he sank onto a chair on his deck, the wood cool beneath him. He pulled up his files for the restoration, skimming the bids until he came across Madison’s, his curiosity too strong to keep at bay.

  Her cover page and executive summary were standard, but it was her Our Approach section that caught his eye. The bulk of the statement was typical business lingo, but it was what he read in the details that made him sit forward and take note.

  …Drawing on our intimate knowledge of the Old Theatre’s original presence, we’ll tailor an approach to your expectations by fusing form and functionality to restore the space with a mind toward its future. With roots in its rich history, we’ll propel the project forward to meet your new vision, crafting something truly inspiring…

  He scratched at his scruff again and sat back. “Impressive.”

  Jase skipped the Project Milestones section until he got to the profile page where her company’s address and website were listed. He clicked on the link like it was the first major league baseball game of the season, hungry to see the talent on the field but anxious, fully aware even the best teams had their weaknesses.

  As the page loaded, he held his breath. Maybe it was the pedestal he’d put her on last night, but he didn’t want to see any glaring drawbacks in her designs or tastes.

  Not that it should matter since I didn’t pick her.

  Blakeley Architecture & Design’s webpage was simple but fluid, and his confidence rose. He brushed at a persistent gnat buzzing next to his ear and then clicked on the tab to see her most recent projects. It didn’t take long to scroll through her portfolio, though, since she was still a relatively new designer, but he craved more.

  Pulling up a new search bar, he typed in her name and waited for it to load. About halfway down the screen was an article on a restored coastal cottage dated a little over a month ago. The news clip was only one page but had a photo collage of the building with a small caption at the bottom. The reporter mentioned the name of its proprietor, a sixty-something California native who ran the shop with her daughter, fulfilling a life-long dream of opening her own heirloom shop.

  He studied the exterior lines of the structure. They were soft and feminine and, though definitely modern, gave off a seventies vibe that, with its bottom swinging shutters, pulled a smile from him. The inside shots drew him in further.

  The cottage wasn’t large, but the space was used well, full of intriguing angles and inviting light from the cleverly placed windows. In the very center of the room, Madison stood smiling with the owner, their cheeks pressed together. She was exactly as he remembered her from last night—refreshing. Beautiful. But the woman next to her? She glowed like ten Edison bulbs. Crow’s feet, gray
hair and all. She beamed.

  He leaned an elbow on the armrest and shook his head. The cottage in the photo wasn’t just a trinket shop. No, what he saw on the screen in front of him was this woman’s dream—a dream Madison brought to life.

  And knocked out of the park by the looks of those faces.

  Chapter Three

  Madison set her watering can down to study the entrance to her firm’s new home on Girard Avenue in the early evening sun. Out of the five businesses squished together in the quaint shopping strip, her place was the smallest and smack in the middle. It oozed charm, though, with its four-panel, beveled glass door, large picture window, and vintage French oak flooring. She adored it. Still, the entrance needed something more. Eric suggested a wood pergola, but she leaned toward a copper awning. Unfortunately, in the end, it would come down to which fit within their tight budget.

  I think you’d love this, Dad. Well, maybe not a certain curmudgeonly neighbor to the south… She side-eyed the plain brick and mortar of the financial firm, her eye twitching, but then she exhaled. I really wish you could see it.

  She slipped a glance to her bare wrist, to where her bracelet didn’t hang, and a familiar sick lurch turned her stomach. Her entire night had been spent retracing and re-retracing her steps at the gala in her head. She checked her phone for any missed calls from the hotel’s front desk, but the only thing lighting her screen were a few new email alerts. At least she had business to distract her from her worry.

  And an almost perfect business entrance.

  She tipped her head to the side, not rubbing her wrist for the hundredth time, and scrutinized the view in front of her again. “Yep. Definitely almost perfect.” Careful not to get her skirt dirty, she nudged her terracotta container with its little tree two inches to the left. “There.”

  She brushed away some freshly watered soil from the pot’s rim, but yelped when something hairy, huge, and with too many legs scurried past her knuckles. Her heart about jumped from her chest as the ugly spawn of Satan disappeared beneath a low-hanging leaf.

  “Why don’t you go next door and terrorize grumpy finance guy’s place.” A shudder tore down her spine as she tip-toed away from the pot, followed by two more involuntary tremors.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen out of love with my gift already?” Cisco, the owner of Casa dei Fiori, the floral shop to her other side, stopped beside her.

  “Never! I love my lemon tree.” The tender green leaves shone in the sunlight, begging for admiration, which she was happy to give. From a distance. “This has to be one of the most charming and unique gifts I’ve ever received.”

  The older man beamed, and she couldn’t help but match his wide smile with one of her own, but she wrinkled her nose when she glanced back at the pot. “It’s the creepy crawly thing trying to make your gift its home that I don’t love.” Another shudder taunted her, despite her laughter as she took another step away from the pot.

  “Ah, but they’re harmless, no? Nothing a broom can’t fix.”

  Cisco’s humor shone in his dark eyes, reminding her strongly of her father, and she wondered if he’d have the same salt-and-pepper hair as the eccentric florist if he’d lived to that age. “All I know is you can’t trust anything with that many legs. Or eyes.”

  His belly bounced as his laughter echoed up and down the sidewalk. When he caught his breath, he wiped the creased corners of his eyes. “It is a blessing, you moving shop next door.”

  “A blessing, huh?”

  He leaned in, his voice lowering as his gaze flicked to Mr. Grumpy’s place. “For once, I get a beautiful smile and cheerful hello when I wave. Not a harrumph.”

  “I figure it takes too much work to be a grouch.”

  “Sí.” Chuckling, he rocked back on his heels, his hands clasping behind his back. “So?” He nodded toward her entrance. “Tell me, are you all settled?”

  “You know? I think we are.”

  “Fantastico! We must celebrate.” He clapped his hands together, the sound as big as his Sicilian smile.

  The gesture was so full of spark and excitement it was hard for her to tell him he’d already done enough. “You’ve made our welcome amazing. You don’t have to do anything else.” She glanced to her lemon tree, its deep green foliage and bright yellow fruit contrasting perfectly against her firm’s white stucco. “Really, it’s fantastic.”

  He held up both hands. “Di niente. It’s nothing. The success of a family business is something to celebrate.”

  His mention of family pinched her heart, and she resisted touching her wrist again. “How did you know it was a family business?”

  “Your eyes. They are full of love when you look at your new place. That kind of passion usually has roots that run deep.”

  “So, you’re a florist and a wise man.” He didn’t deny it, endearing him to her even more. She began to tell him it was now only her, but something in his eyes told her he already knew.

  I do have Eric. He’s practically family.

  “If ever you need a thing, Casa dei Fiori is always open to you.”

  He took her hand and gave it a squeeze, which she returned with one of her own. “Thank you.”

  Cisco waved goodbye, and she watched as he entered his shop, whistling an unfamiliar but happy tune. She shook her head, laughing softly as she tucked her watering can away.

  Back inside the office, Sarah, her receptionist, was on the phone and typing at her computer, her mass of golden curls gathered into a messy ponytail that somehow looked front cover worthy. Besides the soft cadence of her voice, and the clack of her keyboard, the small, open space was quiet as they wound down for the night.

  Madison turned a full circle, letting it all sink in, then came to a stop in front of the long wall adjacent to the picture window. Staring back were a dozen or more black and white photos of her father’s designs. Snapshots of his beloved and too short career.

  The lightness in her heart from her encounter with Cisco diffused to a dull ache as she took in the frames of various shapes and styles, some thick and scrolled, others simple cuts of wood. She brushed a fleck of dust from the frame directly in front of her, studying the southern colonial home—her dad’s favorite.

  She fought the sting of tears and let her fingers encircle her bare wrist, the ache of missing her father spilling into every recess of her heart. Cisco was right. This was a family business, and she loved it. But that didn’t change how alone she felt at times—like last night when she learned she didn’t get the contract. Then losing her bracelet. The experience was something she’d not only felt but apparently looked.

  Haggard. That was how Eric described her when she’d arrived at work earlier that morning. He was supposed to be a nice employee and keep those little observations to himself, as she’d pointed out. Not that he could do it. He had no filter—a trait both endearing and frustrating. She reminded him often she’d make him a permanent beach loafer at the age of twenty-seven if he wasn’t so great with numbers, or her dad hadn’t loved him so much.

  Of course, she could never make good on her threat. Not because he’d be out of a job—Eric had access to buckets of family money if he wanted it. But because you couldn’t be around someone for the better part of eight years and toss them out like it was nothing.

  Sarah, on the other hand, had chalked her drained appearance up to a long night at the gala and losing her most treasured piece of jewelry, and she was right. Mostly.

  “What are you doing?”

  Madison jumped at the sound of Eric’s voice next to her and slapped his arm. “Don't do that.”

  “Hey.” He rubbed his bicep and stepped back. “I came to tell you I'm heading home. It’s not my fault you were zoned out.”

  “I do look haggard, don't I?” she asked.

  He must have seen her shoulders slump because his expression softened. “Man, I knew that would come back to bite me.”

  Behind him, Sarah snorted as she hung up the phone, and he started
pleading, “You know I didn't mean it like that, right? Besides, like you could ever look haggard. All I meant was you look tired.” Another snicker from the firm’s receptionist and he held up his hands. “I mean, I probably have bags under my eyes, too—not that you have bags…just, uh…”

  Madison pinned him with a steely stare. “Are you finished?”

  “That depends…are you still mad?” A dimple appeared in his left cheek as he flashed his boyish grin.

  She scowled because he deserved it. “Last night wasn’t exactly a good time.”

  “It wasn’t all bad. You got to meet Mr. Money like you wanted to.”

  More like ran him over.

  “I’m sure I was just another face in the crowd to him. And he has a name.” Her heart missed a beat at the memory of Jase’s hands around her waist when he’d caught her from falling.

  “Yes. He does. But I don’t have to use it since he didn’t pick us for the restoration. And you could never be just another face.” He caught and held her gaze. “Yours is one a guy doesn’t forget.”

  She forced a half-eye roll, half-smile, though her nerves tipped uncomfortably at his soft, almost intimate tone. “I already forgave you for the haggard comment.”

  He cleared his throat and laughed at the same time, the odd sound echoing between the walls to fade into the background hum of machine noise. “Phew. I was worried I’d have to get on my knees and beg.” He threw Sarah a look of challenge before returning his attention her way. “Which I would if you asked.”

  She scolded herself for reading more into his tone than she should have. He was still the same Eric. The same stubborn, determined, sarcastic college freshman her father had hired to do Blakeley A&D’s books when she was only a high school senior. Only, they were both college graduates now, of course, and no longer teens. “Thank you for making last night possible. I know how much you loathe parties and being in the same room as your parents.”

  “Don’t let his shabby shoes and untucked shirts fool you,” Sarah said. “He loves getting all fancied up.”

  Eric pulled out his favorite death glare. “I don’t loathe parties. I loathe snobby people who attend them.”