“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry,” I mutter, before my hand flies to my mouth briefly. “Shit. Fuck. Sorry.”
He laughs, and his face softens, the corners of his eyes crinkling as a relaxed warmth spreads across his features. There’s something easygoing in his expression—and I realize, in that moment, I instantly like him.
“It’s okay,” Malakai says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I like it when people don’t filter themselves. Keeps things… real.” His eyes glint with something mischievous as they flick briefly over me, and then back to my face. My cheeks heat slightly when I realize I’m only wearing spandex shorts and an old, too tight T-shirt—the paint in my hair and all over my face notwithstanding. “Besides, I think the more honest someone is, the more fun it gets.”
I raise an eyebrow, matching his playful tone. “I’ll be the judge of that. Are you good at planting trees or does your specialty lie in charming unsuspecting homeowners? Because I really am expecting a delivery from the garden center and I just picked up some baked goods from downtown, and if you’re good with a shovel, there might just be a warm cinnamon roll in it for you. I’m also completely in over my head with the renovations.”
He chuckles and the sound is low and smooth. “Now that’s an offer I’d be a fool to pass up.” His grin widens, and for a second, the air feels lighter between us. I bite back a laugh, my pulse quickening at the easy way he’s bantering. His eyes flick overthe exterior of the house in all of its half-painted glory. “Really, though. I’m more than happy to help out. I spent a few summers building houses in college.”
Relief washes through me. “Oh my God, that would be incredible. And I’m sure Julian would appreciate the help, too.”
Malakai’s expression tightens for a fraction of a second, and then one of his hands comes to the back of his neck.
“Yeah, we’ll see about that. We sort of got into an argument last weekend.”
My brows pull together. I’d asked Julian about the coffee date with the infamous Ravage brother, and all he’d said was that Malakai hadn’t changed one bit in the seventeen years they’d gone without speaking. I’d assumed that meant they’d drifted apart naturally, not that there was any lingering bad blood between them.
“Oh, well, I’m sure if you offer your services, he’ll be quick to forgive,” I say quickly. Holding the door open, I gesture for him to come in. “He’s just painting the games room.”
Malakai whistles as he steps inside and does one full circle as he looks around. “Wow.”
I sigh as my eyes take in the plastic sheeting that could fill a football field at this point. That’s not even including all of the dust and grit from the drywall and plastic sheeting over the original stained glass window we’ve decided to restore.
“I know. It’s a work in progress. Trust me, I stay up late in bed just tossing and turning about if it’ll ever be done?—”
“It’s fucking fantastic,” he says, walking through the foyer before turning around to face me. “This is a great house. I’m kind of jealous,” he says, walking until he reaches the grand staircase. Running a hand over the smooth wood, he turns to face me. “Sebastian Hale Whitlock?”
My mouth drops open at how easily he names the architect who built the newly renamedAshford Palace—a name my husband chose, obviously.
“How on earth do you know who Sebastian Hale Whitlock is?”
Malakai chuckles. “Because he built the house I grew up in, too.”
A smirk plays on my lips. “Right. Ravage Castle. Did you know he only built the two houses before dying in a plane crash?”
Malakai nods. “I did. It’s kind of a grim thought. Two masterpieces and thenbam.”
Sebastian Hale Whitlock was known for his grand yet intimate designs that blended European influences with California’s natural beauty. His designs were a hallmark of luxury in the late 1800s. Not a lot of people know about him, and the fact that Malakai does pleases me.
“He was really ahead of his time?—”
“Malakai.”
My husband’s voice resounds through the large, empty hallway, and Malakai and I both turn to face him as he walks over to us.
My eyes flick between my husband and Malakai, and both of them seem to size the other up immediately. Malakai, for example, pushes off the banister and places his hands in the pockets of his jeans. All hints of the smile that was just on his face is gone, instead replaced with scrunched brows and an apprehensive expression.
I glance at Julian as he approaches, noting the sweat still glistening on his skin and the way his eyes immediately flick toward Malakai like he’s scrutinizing him.
Huh.
“Julian,” Malakai says.
“I see you’ve met Sophie,” Julian says, stopping next to me and placing a sweaty arm around me.
“I have,” Malakai replies, eyes twinkling. He looks right at me as he delivers his next line. “And she’s even more beautiful than you described.”
My neck flushes as I grin up at Julian. “Aww. You told him I’m beautiful?”
