“Fine. Then I’d suggest an attitude adjustment. Let’s start with number thirty-two. I want to do a complete walk-through and tweak some of my designs.”
“It’s your party.”
She gnashed her teeth and stalked toward the first house. Her folder bulged with notes, Brady’s plans, and various sketches. She strode over remnants of trash and weeds in the front lawn, avoided the broken second step, and unlocked the front door. The rusty squeak scraped at her nerve endings.
“Ever see that horror movie with the guy who lives in a run-down house on an empty block and snatches women to keep in his basement?” he asked casually.
“No.”
“That’s good. ’Cause you would be freaked out right now.”
She shot him a warning glance and climbed the set of stairs leading to the first level. The raised ranch needed the most work out of all of them. With old shag carpeting, gold fixtures, and cheap countertops, the place screamed help me. They walked down the hallway. Each room seemed squeezed into its own private space, giving off the vibe of claustrophobia. The kitchen was a cube with white-finish appliances, peeling paint, and a vinyl floor.
“We need to open this wall,” she murmured, tapping the main one blocking up the view to the kitchen. “Brady said it’s not load bearing, so it’s a possibility.”
Tristan regarded the setup, tapping his index finger against his bottom lip. “Yes, but if you remove this wall, the moment you climb the stairs you’re staring into the kitchen. Sure, it gives you open concept, but it’s not aesthetically pleasing, and that’s the first moment you get to impress a visitor.”
She cocked her head, considering. He’d always been brilliant in his vision for what worked well in a house. He respected each one for its individuality and never tried to force a concept for either ease or stubbornness.
It was so much easier to fight an attraction when the man didn’t have a brain.
She never got tired of learning about the give-and-take of redesigning a home. It was endlessly challenging and creative, with no black-and-white answers. It was strictly a personal preference, yet when flipping, the design needed to appeal to the general consumer. In this case, she needed to have Adam’s goal in mind, yet keep to cost while offering Realtors something unique to sell.
“What would you suggest, then?”
He crossed his arms, leaned against the same wall they discussed, and cocked his head. “What do you think?”
She clenched her fists under her clipboard. It was obvious he didn’t think she could handle this job and was testing her. He wanted to play games? Fine. Maybe it was time to show him what she’d learned while he was away all those years.
Sydney spoke in cold, clipped tones. “I’d suggest removing not only this wall here but this one separating out the living room. We’d do a built-in wall cabinet here so they don’t lose organization space.” Her pink Skechers made no noise as she walked farther into the kitchen. “We keep the appliances on the right wall, upgraded to stainless steel, but on the far wall, we add a small back deck with glass sliding doors. The view is gorgeous with all the trees in the background. Then when you climb the stairs, your first impression is of the deck.”
He kept his face expressionless, but the gleam of interest in his amber eyes gave him away. He followed her in and peeked out the small window hiding the glory of the backyard, now shrouded in overgrowth. “A deck and glass doors is another expense for Adam. It may be well over budget.”
“Not if we keep it average size with basic materials. We keep the luxury items to the finishes in the kitchen and bath. Dalton can build the deck and cabinetry quickly enough, with an incremental increase. It’ll be worth it.”
“Are you going to be the one to tell Dalton he needs to build an average deck and cabinet without getting creative?”
It was hard keeping the small smile from her lips. Dalton was known as the Wood Whisperer, and his projects compared to works of fine art. He had a bit of an artistic temperament and despised cookie-cutter projects that didn’t add to the visual appeal of a home.
“With a plate of brownies, I convinced Brady to deliver plans in twenty-four hours.”
Amusement laced his words. “Brady was always an easy target. Dalton is more temperamental.”
“Not if I deliver the five-layer chocolate cake,” she said with a sigh.
His brow shot up. They both knew about Dalton’s obsession with Hershey’s Kisses and any type of baked goods. “The one with the shavings and cherries in the middle?”
“That’s the one.”
“Damn, you are serious. Will you have time?”
“If I want the damn deck done, I’ll find the time.”
Their gazes met, and they shared a smile. For one second, pure understanding passed between them, bringing her back to the days when they’d meshed perfectly—both in and out of bed. She’d always appreciated his subtle sense of humor. He was more laid-back and reserved than his brothers. Too often it translated to him not being noticed amid his noisy, loud family. How many times had she gazed at him while he stood on the sidelines, wishing he realized how truly special he was?
Her smile faded, and she shoved away the memories. They no longer had a place here, and she needed to stick to work. “I have to do a quick check in the attic. Need to see whether it’s viable space that can be renovated or just enough for storage.”
“I’ll go with you.”
His phone rang. Glancing at the screen, he waved his hand in the air. “Give me a minute. I need to take this.”
He drifted away, talking to a client, and Sydney dropped her purse on the floor. Silly to wait for him when it would only take a minute. She headed down the hall, grabbing the step stool Brady had placed during his last visit, and climbed up. It took her a while to work the rusty lock the past family had installed, which made her wonder what they’d kept up here. A shiver worked down her spine. Creepy stuff.
The door was barely functional, so that would need replacement ASAP. Definitely a safety hazard.
With a quick jump, she managed to wiggle up the last foot, barely making it thanks to her lack of height, and got in. Grabbing a large stick nearby, she propped open the hatch. Damn, she’d forgotten a flashlight. She’d tell Tristan to bring up his cell phone when he was done.
She walked the attic with slow, careful steps, noting the rotted wood, low beams hanging with cobwebs, and the one dirty window. Hmm, definitely not worth restoring for an extra room. They’d need to replace the door and lock, clean it up, and call it a day.
What was that on the window?
She squinted, moving closer, then stopped. Her mouth fell open.
Bars.
Holy hell. Maybe someone had been locked up here!
Not usually spooked, she felt goose bumps pepper her arms. Nope, she was outta here. Enough recon done for now.
She turned, but a low scratching suddenly rose in the air.
What was that?
“Tristan?” she squeaked. His voice rumbled from outside. No, still on the phone. “Hello?”
Another movement. Was that red cloth thing moving? Frozen to the floor, she watched in horror as the bulge shook, and another scratch echoed.
Oh, my God.
She had just managed to unstick one of her feet to run for her life when the red cloth jumped. With a high-pitched squeak, a furry body shot out across the attic, heading right for her.
“Agh! Help!”
The scream exploded from her lips. She jumped up and down, still screaming, as the creature passed her and frantically scuttled around, bumping against the walls in a desperate attempt at escape.
Mouse.
“Sydney!” Her name split the air, and suddenly Tristan was diving upward through the space. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“Mouse! Mouse!” A whimper broke through her lips. “Get it!”
“You gave me a heart attack for a mouse? Woman, I thought you were in real trouble!”
She hissed through gritted teeth, “I am! Get the damn mouse or I’m going to lose it.”
Muttering under his breath, he turned toward the frantic creature and grabbed a wooden stick. “Come on, buddy, out this way.”