“It doesn’t feel that way now that my friends are all talking about being grandparents,” he said, a surprisingly raw note in his voice.
“Well, I’m not there yet,” she said, taking a sip.
They were quiet for a beat, letting the silence be filled with the splash of the pool waterfall and the hum of a motorboat on the lake.
“So, the ink’s not dry yet, huh?” He lifted a brow. “Is it safe to guess you’re not seeing anyone?”
She looked over the rim of her cup. “I…socialize.”
“But do you date? Or is it too soon?”
“Whoa, pretty smooth transition, Danny,” she teased, purposely not answering the question.
“I’m trying to keep the banter-to-flirting ratio respectable.”
She studied him for just a moment, then chose her words carefully. “It’s not too soon,” she said slowly. “In fact, I’ve had a few dinners with a good friend who…”Who might be more, but she didn’t say that out loud.
“Well, how about this? Next time you’re back here measuring things or sketching layouts, I’d love to cook for you. Blackened grouper, pineapple salsa.”
“Tempting.”
“No pressure. Just an offer. When it feels right.” He inched closer. “Honestly? I’ve been thinking about asking you that ever since I doused you in sprinkler water.”
She gave him a side eye. “Really.”
“I hope I didn’t overstep the client bounds.”
She considered that, holding his mesmerizing gaze, feeling a flutter in her belly that might actually qualify as…butterflies.
Had she ever felt that with Peter?
“Dang, she’s thinking too hard.”
“I’m just wondering if…that means I have your business.”
“My business and my attention,” he said. “Take the one you want. Or both.”
“We’ll start with…that sports bar upstairs.Sansneon.” She pushed back her chair, bringing the chat to an end. “I’ll send you some sketches, a proposal, and we’ll schedule the next meeting very soon. Text me your email address and we’ll get it started.”
He stood, too, quiet as they went back into the house toward the front door. He opened it and stepped outside with her, pausing on the brick pavers.
“Thank you for coming over, Vivien. I look forward to working with you.” He extended his hand, which she took, ready to shake it, but he clasped her fingers and drew her a smidge closer. “I’m not trying to make things complicated,” he added softly. “I hope you know that.”
Despite the sunshine, chills blossomed on her body and the butterflies took flight again.
She smiled up at him, hoping she wasn’t flushed. “Too late.”
That made him laugh and he reluctantly let go of her hand, staying right where he was, watching her with that amused smile as she drove off.
Complicated? Yeah. That was one way of putting it.
June 20, 1991
We went to Cavallaris this morning—me, Tessa, Dad, and Uncle Artie. It’s the little Italian deli-shop that always smells like garlic and olives and fresh bread, all rolled into one big hug.
Even though Frank and Betty Cavallari are the owners, they’re also our friends because they go out every week with our ’rents. Ever since we’ve been coming to Destin, the six of them take off to “dinner” and come back pretty, uh, happy. It’s kind of cute and weird.
Anyhoo, Dad disappeared instantly into the back room with Frank to talk about who knows what. So Uncle Artie handled the shopping because Mom and Aunt Jo Ellen are making something that sounds disgusting…bologna-ayze? With spaghetti? No idea, but Betty has convinced them that they can be the next Julia Child, so whatever.
