A Heart's Design

by Natalee Cooper

  “I feel awful.”

  “What for?”

  “I should have been there to intercept Natasha. The little sneak snuck right in.”

  He laughed without humor. “Yeah, she did, didn't she? It wasn't your fault.” He stretched his legs and leaned back on his free hand. “So, what’s up?”

  “The mayor called to give us the dates for their Heritage Days celebration. They have a spot set aside to display the future Old Theatre project. He commented on having a large canvas print of what the theatre will look like when completed, as well as information about what people can expect from the surrounding shopping district. Marty says he wants to give his citizens a taste of what’s to come to their great city. His words, not mine.”

  “Whoa, what? This is the first I've heard of it.”

  “I wondered, but he said he’d mentioned it.”

  His head fell back. “I'm pretty sure I would remember canvas prints. When does he want all of this?”

  “Three weeks.”

  “That’ll be a fun conversation with Simon.”

  “Mr. Weston is the main reason I'm calling. I thought I should warn you…”

  That didn’t sound good.

  “The good mayor took it upon himself to call Simon.”

  And that explained all the phone calls. “I thought this day couldn't possibly get worse.”

  Waves continued their constant pull on the shore, the sound more noticeable in the faint static that stretched across the line before Penny spoke.

  “I realize I don't know exactly what happened today between you and Miss Blakeley, but—”

  “Don't worry. It was nothing. And, I’m fine.” He stood slowly, his body and mind tired.

  “That's the thing. You haven't been fine for a long time.”

  Jase climbed the path back to his truck with dusk as his flashlight. “Gee, thanks.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He neither balked nor agreed.

  “Since Madison, there's been something…more. That light I only glimpse in your eyes on small occasions, it's been incredibly bright the past few weeks. That sounds flowery and all, but it's true. And that's in the midst of all the nightmares, the Henrys, and your past you've been dealing with.”

  “It’s better the way it is. Trust me.” A bitter taste coated his words, but he swallowed it back.

  “You really believe that?”

  His toe hit a rock, and he swore, his attention far from his footing. Penny’s insight was usually solid, but what happened between Madison and him wasn’t so easy.

  To his relief, his phone beeped, telling him he had another call. “That's probably Simon again. I'll see you on Monday. Thanks for the heads-up on Marty.” Cutting off her concern made him feel like the bird poop splattering most of the parking lot, but it was easier than opening all those doors at once—the doubts and what-ifs.

  With what was left of the day’s light, he brushed off as much sand as he could, then unlocked his door and slipped inside the cab. To the east, low, gray clouds whispered of a storm, and his chest constricted.

  He focused on his phone and dialed Simon back. “Hey, I noticed I missed a call.”

  “I thought we agreed the mayor was to stay out of the restoration. And when were you going to mention these mockups? There’s no way I can have them done by next week.”

  “Penny told me it was three weeks, and I found out about it five minutes ago. Can you do it?”

  “Before you had your change of heart on the design, I would have said yes. Now, I don’t know. It would have to be strictly conceptual.”

  “I think that’s all he’s looking for, but I'll be clear on what we can deliver,” he said. “We can discuss it more in our meeting before you head home.”

  “Natasha mentioned going back early. If there’s any way we can push the meeting up a day, I’d appreciate it.”

  He stared at the gray interior of the truck’s ceiling before closing his eyes a moment and rubbing his temples. “I’ll check with Madison, but that should be fine.”

  “Good.”

  From his duffel in the backseat, he grabbed a water bottle but didn’t remove the cap right away. “Speaking of your sister, have you talked to her?”

  “Not since this morning.”

  “Well, I have, and I don’t appreciate the stunt she pulled today in my office. It ends now or, believe me, I won’t do Weston Designs any favors.” He ended the call, not giving the guy a chance to respond, nor caring about his own questionably juvenile threat.

  Jase drained the lukewarm water then tossed the bottle onto the passenger seat. He threw the truck into drive but didn’t let off the brake as he recalibrated the restoration’s timeline with this new development. Hopefully, Madison could take the extra work. She was probably the best one for it. A rush charged his veins at the thought of speaking to her again, but that call could wait. Remembering that kiss, hearing her voice, and experiencing the thrill that came with it would only leave him with something too close to heartache.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hot, angry words warred for release as Madison listened to Simon, but she nailed them back. Like she’d been doing for the past twenty minutes as they stood in the lobby of the Old Theatre. Keeping her eye rolls and curled fists guarded proved just as hard. Not that it mattered. The puffed-up architect hadn’t looked her way once since his stiff dip of acknowledgment at the start of the meeting over an hour ago.

  If it weren’t for the couple of shared smirks with Jase at Simon’s flaring hand movements, there’d probably be a hole in her tongue from biting all the words back.

  She peeked sideways at the mogul, and a jolting flutter erupted in her middle, instant and almost painful. Looking away, she shifted her weight and swallowed, but neither kept the rushing heat or heart-aching awareness of the last time they were together from recurring with every glance or brush.

  We’re professionals. Business colleagues. It’s what I wanted. What he wants…

  Like a slow turned vice, her throat constricted, but oblivious to her internal chaos, Simon rattled on about the benefits of his design and his vision for the Old Theatre. Though, as grating as his voice was, she focused on that. Granted, this was his contract—he had a right to his visions and ideas, and they were good, but he could at least include her in the conversation, instead of treating her like one of the boarded up and graffitied windows everyone ignored on purpose.

  Not that anything else was expected, but his self-righteous monologue still gagged her. Only, her anger and nausea were corner dust compared to the thick, charged air between her and Jase, who stood so close, his arm had brushed hers four times.

  Yes, she’d counted.

  Sensing his gaze on her now, Madison swore he shifted closer. Was he doing it on purpose? Did he know the mix of his cologne with the warmth from his body killed her?

  “Given the interior angles, one grand staircase is the best way to go.” Simon concluded his shameless, glittery presentation by steepling his fingers under his bony chin.

  The smug twist to his thin lips sent her fingernails deeper into her skin.

  “I’m sorry. Can I just…” She uncrossed her arms and looked at the room they stood in—from the tarnished fixtures to the broken, hand-placed tiles beneath their feet. “Do you want to hear something awful?”

  Both men watched her with blank stares, but she only cared about one. “My father brought me here once when I was younger, and I don’t even remember the play. But I do remember this.” She gestured to the large staircase that led to a balcony, the brass railings swirling at the beginnings and ends. Above those ran now-yellowed crown molding with intricate detailing. Even for the boarded windows and cobwebs, the structure had a dominating presence. “It was magical. Seriously. Stepping into this theatre was like stepping into another time.”

  Jase’s head cocked to the side, his eyes bright like they begged for elaboration, and she blinked, almost losing her train of thought.

>   Stupid beautiful eyes.

  The Seattle architect cleared his throat, and she jumped.

  “Simon, your vision really is stunning,” she continued quickly. “And the model is well thought-out.”

  “But,” prompted Jase when she hesitated.

  “I understand, in its simplest form, this theatre is a place to be entertained. It’s also a business. One that needs to turn a profit. Yet, it can be so much more. It needs to be more.”

  Simon snorted, though he did a good job of covering it up with a sniff.

  “What if we go with two sweeping staircases instead of one?”

  The older designer could have been slapped with a dead fish and not looked more appalled. “You want to split the staircase?”

  “It would take the focus, even if for a moment, to that little area right in the center.” She used her hands to help show her thought process as she walked toward the area being discussed. “This spot is precious real estate. Maybe not in the monetary sense but imagine old gilded photos of the Old Theatre in its glory days enchanting the walls.”

  Jase joined her. “And old newspaper clippings. Like those encased in glass?”

  “Yes! Resting on pedestals to match the columns Simon mentioned for this space here.” She pointed to either side of the lobby, stretching her grin wide like his. “And photographs of theatre goers throughout the decades.”

  A thrill filled every part of her creative soul as he followed her steps across the small section of floor, where they both pointed out different spots and heights, finishing each other’s thoughts like they were back on his ranch.

  “Giving a nod to the building’s history is vital.” Her voice grew steadier with each breath. Stronger. A lightness filled her as he searched her eyes.

  “And what better way to frame those memories than to place them right in the heart of the grand lobby,” he concluded.

  The entire room seemed to hold its breath when Simon cleared his throat.

  Jase took a step back, and with his absence by her side, a chill crawled over her skin.

  Training her focus on Simon, she said, “At least consider it.”

  Jase had moved to the railing, his thumb tapping the dusty, dull brass, the rhythm stealing control of her heartbeat. He looked everywhere but her, and she’d never wanted to will something to happen so badly. Just one glance. One connection.

  Madison couldn’t have his kisses, or his arms around hers, or walks under brilliant night skies, but she had this project. And Idaho.

  Even if it’s torture.

  The tapping stopped. “I do have one concern.”

  “I have several.” Simon tugged on the sleeve of his pale pink dress shirt like he’d won a final round of chess.

  “My concern,” Jase continued, flicking a glance to the uppity architect, “is making the changes and still meeting our deadline for the Heritage Days celebration. We’re down to weeks.”

  “Aren’t we only planning on showcasing exterior concepts?” she asked.

  “We were.” Jase pushed away from the railing. “But it would be great to have a sketch of the lobby.”

  Simon’s Italian leather loafers squeaked as he spun to face the mogul. Red blotches colored his high cheekbones, contrasting the deep lines forming around his mouth. “You’re serious?”

  “The community will love Madison’s idea,” he said. “So will Penny. This is the connection we’ve missed in all our planning.”

  “I really didn’t set out to create more work.” She rubbed her arms against Simon’s glare. “But I do think it’s the right direction.”

  “Don’t apologize.” Warmth framed Jase’s smile, but it gravitated back to neutral—not cold, not hot. Just…neutral. Like the color taupe.

  I hate the color taupe.

  He pulled his keys from his pocket, the tink of metal creating a small echo in the abandoned theatre. “Simon, I realize our deadlines are tight, so take what we’ve discussed today and focus on those changes. But keep everyone in the loop. Madison, I’ll leave it to you to decide what to present at the Heritage Days celebration.”

  She nodded.

  “Good.” His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. “I’d like to set up a conference call for the beginning of next week, which will be the halfway point to the Heritage Days celebration.” When his phone interrupted again, he frowned. “You two discuss a day that will work for you both. I need to step out and take this call, and then we can wrap up.”

  Madison watched him slip out the front entrance, her gaze lingering where his hair curled at the collar of his shirt. Her fingertips tingled, knowing how heavenly it felt to weave her hands through its softness.

  “Natasha was right,” Simon muttered, gathering his designs. “He finds himself a new fling, and now I’m stuck with you until he moves on to the next one.”

  Her eyelids stretched wide at his statement. One she had no trouble understanding—every twitch, blink, and crease sold the architect out as to exactly what he thought of her.

  “What do you have against me?”

  His messenger bag hit the floor, clouding the air with a burst of dust as he pointed at her. “I got this contract because I have the experience for this restoration. And I’ve worked hard for that experience. You?” He stopped in front of her, his lips spreading over his too white, too straight teeth. “You got it by flirting and pretending to be something you’re not.”

  “You don’t even know me.” She spoke over the brutal beating in her chest, her hand shaking from restraint as she kept it from slapping the side of his pale, narrow face. “You’re afraid. I can see it in your eyes. Hear it in your words. You’re afraid, because what I’m doing at twenty-six, you could only achieve in almost twice that time.”

  Simon’s face settled within inches of hers. “All I’ve seen you do lately is lose clients.”

  Madison stood motionless. “And how would you know that?” She narrowed her eyes when a triumphant snarl took over his face.

  “Losing the Royce Charter Club isn’t something you can sweep under the rug."

  Picking up her purse and brushing past him was the only smart move. Slinging mud had never been her style. But at the door, she found her path blocked by Jase’s tall frame where it filled the exit. His brows creased downward, his mouth pressed together, and she wondered how much of the exchange he’d heard.

  “Mr. Cutter.” She almost sent up a prayer right there when her voice didn’t shake. “If you’ll let me know when you and Mr. Weston would like to have that conference call, I’ll schedule it in.”

  His nod came a beat late. “Of course.”

  Sleeves rolled, tie slightly off-center—his whole appearance had her wanting to reach out to touch him, to straighten the red and navy silk knot of his tie and forget all about the vipery twit behind them…

  Instead, she took half a step back.

  The muscles in his jaw flexed as he tipped his head and studied her. “Is everything okay—”

  “Like I said, let me know what you decide.” Hardly breathing, she forced a smile and stepped past him through the doorway.

  “Your idea is good, Madison. Solid.”

  His warm, almost reverent tone froze her on the bottom step, the opposite of the validation that surged inside of her. “It feels right. I think you’ll both be amazed how it all comes together. Both past and present.”

  “And future.”

  A slinking, miserable ache melted her voice to a whisper as a realization that architecture would only ever be their future mocked her in his words. “Right.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jase texted Madison with the date and time for their conference call, his mint gum souring at the stony, business-like words as he hit send. But a girl who had suffered so much loss already didn’t need a broken man like him muddying up her life. He’d been foolish for taking it as far as he had.

  No, selfish.

  Stepping off the elevator, he loosened his tie with a hard tug, not thin
king of their last meeting together at the theatre. And definitely not thinking of how they’d gotten caught up in each other’s words about the grand lobby. Or how she tasted of cool summer nights or glowed with that soft natural tan. Not how she settled his demons or calmed his fears…

  “Well, hello.” Penny barely glanced up before giving her attention back to her computer screen.

  He returned her greeting, his voice sounding like it had been through a grater.

  “I've always liked that color on you.” She nodded toward her screen. “You look very handsome. Not sure the feathers in Missy Oldman’s hair are all too flattering, though, I suppose her choice in clothing usually isn’t.”

  Frowning, he peered over her shoulder. “Pretty sure Missy’s goal isn’t to conform, and I still think I should get a medal for not shoving the guy’s phone down his throat.” He pulled open the door to his office. “I can’t believe that picture is still floating around.”

  With notebook and pen in hand, she followed him for their usual Monday meeting. “I never did ask how that night went.” She paused next to her usual chair. “There’d been a pretty bad storm, if I remember right…”

  He yanked on the cuff of his sleeve, wanting to undo the buttons and roll them up, but at that moment the action felt like admitting weakness. Just like admitting the lightning storm had chased him home that night showed how far he hadn’t come with his past. Or with himself. But unlike Natasha’s unabashed assessment, Penny didn’t badger him to answer, not verbally or with a sympathetic look, and he could have hugged her for it.

  “From the photo, I can see Missy made the most of that evening,” she said.

  “It was definitely an event.”

  “Anything to do with the Oldman family usually is.”

  Jase folded himself into his chair and rested his head against the back of it. Something in the corner of his mind murmured that glossing over his lightning problem would never fix things, but he ignored it. “Only Missy could turn a simple sale into an all-night party.”

  She sat and faced him. “At least she agreed to the deal.”

  “Finally.” His calendar was angled toward him with a red circle over the weekend. “Did the bank finalize the paperwork for the Henrys’ property?”