The One Who Changed Everything (The Cherry Sisters)

by Darcy, Lilian

  Tucker and Daisy spent another half hour touring the resort, with him doing his best impression of a block of solid wood, holding his body together, holding his expressions in check, holding his voice to a clipped professional sort of growl. Back at the Spruce Bay office, he went through his standard spiel about putting together a package including cost estimate with detailed breakdowns.

  This morning, just as he’d been about to leave the office to come here, he’d taken a phone call from a client postponing a scheduled project roughly the same size as this one, which had been due to start in fewer than two weeks. The four-week gap in his usually tight fall calendar now yawned in front of him, demanding to be filled, but he hadn’t said anything to Daisy about it yet.

  Now was the obvious time, and the Spruce Bay project was the obvious solution to any potential downtime for his crew.

  And yet he didn’t mention it.

  “Can I ask, are you getting estimates from any other companies on this project?” he asked instead.

  “I’m not sure.” She looked down at the desk and folded back the creased corner of a page of her notes. “I’ve done some research. Yours is the name that always comes up.” She looked across at him, serious and intent. “The Mission Point Hotel, Grantham Gardens, the extensions to the theme park...Escapade, or whatever they’re calling it now.”

  “We did all those,” he confirmed.

  “I took a look at them. They were great, really inspiring.”

  In other words, she’d done her research and the Cherry family wasn’t seriously considering any other company for the work they wanted. It was a gesture of faith that he could...should...reward with the offer of an imminent start to the project. Fewer than two weeks. They could start in fewer than two weeks.

  But all the same, he didn’t say it.

  They were done, for now.

  He went through all the right motions, saying he would let her know as soon as the estimate package was ready. She could pick it up from the office, or Jackie could bring it over. He climbed into his vehicle and made what felt like an escape, not simply a departure. He felt as if he was steaming inside his shirt, and it took a twenty-minute journey to the half-finished site he needed to check over before his body got back to normal.

  His head took longer.

  It took until four that afternoon, when he finally realized that he had to call Daisy to tell her about the four-week opening in his schedule or Jackie would be questioning his sanity and his professional judgment.

  Jackie, who’d been working with him since he started Reid Landscaping. Jackie, who was the one who’d said to him after Emma had been in tears about her citizenship complications and Max’s cancer... Hodgkin’s lymphoma, the same thing that had killed Tucker’s father... “Why don’t you marry her, Tucker? Then she can stay here legally, and Max can continue the treatment with no upheaval and no delay.”

  He knew very well that he’d have to answer to Jackie if he didn’t fill the newly opened hole in their schedule with a solid project.

  Back in his office, he picked up the phone and dialed the Spruce Bay number, feeling his heartbeat quicken like a teenager’s when he heard the ring at the other end of the line. “Spruce Bay Resort,” said a female voice.

  “Daisy?”

  “No, it’s Denise.”

  Lee’s mom. She hadn’t said much after the canceled wedding, and that told its own story, because she’d been frothy and talkative with him through the whole engagement, visibly thrilled about her daughter’s choice of groom, welcoming him into the family with an eagerness that would have been almost smothering if Lee hadn’t kept a healthy sense of humor and balance about it. “I’d better ration your face time with my female parental unit, Tucker, or you won’t be able to breathe.”

  He couldn’t breathe now. Denise Cherry was a sweet lady and she terrified him, because he’d already messed things up with one of her daughters, and if there was any risk of him doing it again with a different daughter, the reproach would be more than he could take.

  Words backed up in his throat, and before he could speak and give his name, she said brightly, “I’ll get her for you, just a moment, please.”

  He let out a whoosh of thankful breath that she hadn’t asked who was calling, or recognized his voice.

  * * *

  “He says there’s been an unexpected postponement to another project, which means they can start on Spruce Bay the week after next,” Daisy told her mom and dad.

  “That’s moving very fast,” her dad said. He was reacting with an instinctive suspicion about Tucker that made ten years seem like a few months. “That puts them on site at the same time as the crews doing the interior remodeling.”

  “I told him that, and he says it won’t be a problem, they’ll make sure they don’t block access, or get in each other’s way.”

  “It gives us no time to really think it through. Don’t you think it would be better to wait until spring?”

  “And it’s Tucker Reid we’re talking about,” her mom added. “If I’d known that just now, when I picked up the phone...! Are you sure this is a good idea, Daisy?”

  “You and Mary Jane are both making this too personal, Mom,” she answered. “Isn’t the goal to limit the length of time Spruce Bay is closed? If we could be up and running again by mid-December, or even sooner, so that we have some occupancy over Christmas and during the winter festivals in February, our cash flow will be a lot healthier. Then we can have the planting done in April, during our usual month of spring shutdown—”

  She stopped, hearing that she had run on too long. She’d been gabbling in order to distance the issue of Tucker Reid. Her mom and dad were nodding in dazed agreement.

  Her dad said a little helplessly, “You’ve thought about this more strategically than we have.”

  “We’ve all agreed it’s time for you two to step back.”

  “We’ve been focused too much on the interiors. But you’re right, the landscaping is important, and so is the timing.”

  “It’s vital. Tucker has some great ideas. I really don’t think we can afford to lose his input just because—” She didn’t want to put the reasons into words.

  Because of Lee.

  Because of me.

  And that was crazy, since there was no reason that Tucker should be an issue for her.

  Her mom and dad nodded again. Her mom sighed. “I’m glad you’re here, Daisy. I can’t help but make it personal.”

  “Well, it isn’t,” Daisy said briskly. “And I’m not having a problem about it.”

  “Go ahead, then. You said the scheduling window won’t be open for long.”

  “His work is in heavy demand.”

  Denise sighed again, and Daisy went to call Tucker back. “We want to go ahead, Tucker. We’ll take advantage of the time frame that’s opened up.”

  “Great,” he said gruffly. “Thanks for making a quick decision. I couldn’t have held that window open for you for very long.”

  “No problem. It was obvious that we needed to think quickly.”

  They had a start date locked in before they even had a costing or a plan.

  For some reason, it seemed appropriate to be doing this in a backward kind of way, and for it all to be happening very fast. While Mary Jane climbed Mount Kilimanjaro and took pictures of lions and elephants on her phone, Daisy immersed herself completely in paving samples, pool-tile colors, bench options, stonework options, decking options...until even her dreams were filled with it all.

  Over the next ten days, she saw Tucker or spoke to him on the phone at least once a day, sometimes twice, and during one memorable four-hour stretch while they went back and forth over the availability and cost of a certain kind of paver for the new pool surround, eleven times.

  They faxed each other. They emailed.
They texted. They remained utterly professional and almost embarrassingly impersonal through the whole thing, and there was something about it that Daisy seriously didn’t trust.

  Work on the landscaping began exactly two weeks after she’d first brought up Tucker’s name to Mary Jane.

  Chapter Seven

  Work on the landscaping began with a crash. Or several.

  In California, Daisy had been accustomed to getting out of bed in the morning at eight or nine o’clock, after her working day at the restaurant ended late in the evening. With construction crews on site at Spruce Bay at seven in the morning to work on the interiors starting at the beginning of the previous week, she’d reluctantly decided it was best not to still be in her pajamas at seven-thirty.

  Last night, though, she’d slept badly, so she fumbled a sleepy hand to turn off the alarm when it sounded at six-thirty, and was still in bed, now, at seven forty-five.

  Crash!

  Crash, with a background engine rumble. Okay, now she was awake. Confused about what was going on, she scrambled out of bed and went to the window, swiping open the drapes. Nothing problematic visible at first glance. She dragged up the sash and the screen and leaned out because that crashing sound had come from somewhere to the left.

  It came again, and she leaned more, blinking in the morning light and stretching to see.

  It was some kind of Bobcat or dozer, and it was pushing the old pool fence down so that it crashed onto the concrete that would soon also be disappearing.

  She saw Tucker yelling to one of his workers above the noise of the Bobcat, but couldn’t hear what he was saying. Then he saw her. He stopped speaking and seemed to freeze for a moment, then gave a slow wave, with no smile on the side. She waved back and called to him, “Everything okay?”

  But he couldn’t hear her. He shrugged, still unsmiling.

  She cupped her hands around her mouth and called louder, “Is everything okay? Do I need to come down?”

  He heard this time, and yelled back, “Everything’s fine. Come down if you want.” Not exactly the most enthusiastic invitation.

  She nodded and leaned back into her room, then realized what the outward lean had treated him to. A very personal view down the front of her V-necked pink-and-white-patterned pajama top. Not that far. Not really very far at all, she reassured herself. She just hoped he wouldn’t think she’d done it on purpose.

  But why would I do that? And why would he think it?

  For some reason, she didn’t want to examine either of these questions too closely. She raced into the shower, stood under hot needles of water and soaped herself for a barely useful length of time, then dived into some clothes, which stuck to her limbs due to her twenty seconds of inadequate toweling.

  She was downstairs and outside in about four minutes, tops.

  The pool fence was already flattened and in the process of being piled into a skip. A machine had begun plowing up the lawn. Tucker was in consultation with the subcontractor who was extending the restaurant deck and building a set of wide wooden steps all along one side, to improve the flow between the restaurant and the grounds.

  “We can order the extra wood today and have it delivered with the original shipment tomorrow, as scheduled,” the subcontractor was saying.

  “Can you, John?” Tucker looked pleased. “That makes the idea even more attractive.”

  “The width of the steps would easily accommodate them.”

  Tucker turned to her. “Daisy, we’re talking about having some built-in wooden planter boxes coming down the steps to soften the transition from the deck to the ground.”

  “Oh, I like that!” She could picture it, and since it was a much more comfortable picture than the one she’d recently had in her head—the view down her pajama top, from Tucker’s position—she kept it. “How much extra seating will we have?”

  “At least three tables of four. Right, John?” He turned to the other man.

  “And I think we’ll fill them, once word gets out,” Daisy said. “It’ll be a gorgeous place to sit. Yes, definitely go for the planter boxes.”

  “Thanks, bud.”

  “I’ll show you the revised plan when it’s done,” John told him.

  “Send it to my phone, could you?”

  “No problem.”

  “Daisy, let me show you those pavers for the pool surround.” Tucker began walking toward one of the trucks and she followed him.

  “Oh, they’ve arrived?” She added quickly, “I’m sorry I slept in this morning, of all days.”

  “Not important.” He sounded gruff and a little reluctant.

  She risked a sideways glance, struggling to keep up with his brisk pace. He had his eyes fixed ahead, unreadable as ever, and she was hit suddenly with a flood of awareness and need and frustration that took her breath away.

  This was desire.

  This was physical.

  And it was sudden.

  He was pulling on her like a magnet, despite every moment of impersonal distance and every closed expression and every instance when he should have smiled at her and didn’t.

  And she was frustrated about it because she wanted more.

  She wanted to touch him. She wanted to look at him, and she gave in to it, because it was just too impossible not to. He really was walking too fast for her, which meant she was treated to a back view—the sight of the jeans that clung to his strong legs and tight male backside, the broad shoulders in their hardworking shirt, the dark hair he’d had cut since last week, so that it skimmed the curved line of his neck and showed the beautiful shape of his head.

  “The color is a bit different from the samples I had on hand,” he was saying. “It’s a different batch. That happens sometimes.”

  “Is it a problem?”

  “I think this tone is better, actually. It’s a little lighter and warmer. Since you’re going for the darker pool tile, you’ll get a nice contrast. But take a look. We can send them back if you’re not happy.”

  They reached the truck and he pulled the top paver off a piled wooden pallet. She couldn’t help looking at the way his muscled forearms framed the smooth stone square and it distracted her, until his prompting “So?” reminded her that she had to give a response.

  “Can I see it lying flat, by the pool? You have it in shadow, and it looks grayer than I was expecting.”

  “Sure.” He set off back toward the pool and she wondered if he thought she was being difficult, finicky.

  He was so polite, so hard to read. She kept expecting something to soften, for him to get a little lighter and more personal in their interactions, drop a joke occasionally or say something about his private life, mention a wife or a girlfriend or a new baby so that she would know he was out of bounds, but if anything, the distance in him had increased through their frequent communications these past ten days.

  After a few steps, he turned back on his tracks. “Need more than one, I think.” He took three more from the truck. “And I’ll grab a couple from this other pallet, the ones with the curve.”

  “Let me get them, Tucker. You have your arms full already.”

  “You sure?”

  But she’d already darted forward and taken hold of them, suddenly eager to see how they would look.

  They were heavier than she’d expected, and she could only carry two with comfort, while Tucker held his four under one arm with no visible effort. Over by the pool, he laid them flat on the cracked concrete, dropping easily to ground level and lining them up with practiced hands. “Here, give me yours.” He slid them from her grasp and they came close to touching.

  Close, but not quite.

  She felt the brush of his shirtsleeve against the sleeve of her top and caught the scent of him, a mix of musk and wood and fresh earth. For a long and helpl
ess moment, she just wanted to close her eyes and breathe, and breathe, and breathe.

  “Picture them with the darker tile beneath,” he suggested, and it broke the moment just in time.

  Or I would have given something away, I know it. Her whole body had begun a slow throb, and the nerve endings in her skin were skittish and fluttering. “You’re right,” she said not quite steadily. “They’re beautiful.”

  “Are your mom and dad around to take a look?”

  “They’re in South Carolina this week. They didn’t want to get in the way.”

  “The crew’s way?” He gave her a sideways glance that almost had a smile in it. “Or yours?”

  It was the most personal thing he’d said to her in days, and it sent arrows of...something—heat? happiness?—darting through her. She laughed before she could stop herself. “Oh, both! Mom would be second-guessing these, worrying about glare. Dad would be trying his darndest to break one, to see whether they’re too fragile.”

  “They’re not, and the matte finish should deal with any glare.”

  “Be thankful they’re in South Carolina, or Dad would be asking you about this stuff twenty times a day.” She smiled at him in the hopes of coaxing an answering smile back, but nope, nothing happened.

  She might have put it down to his having no sense of humor, except that she’d heard him joshing with Jackie and cheerfully teasing another staff member last week while she was in his showroom looking through the Spruce Bay plans. He smiled and laughed with other people often and easily, just not with her.

  Let it go, Daisy, she coached herself. You fancy him a little bit...more than a little bit...but he doesn’t feel the same about you, so let it go. It’s safer that way.

  “We’d better put these back,” he said after a moment. “You’ve seen enough?”

  “Yes, I’m really happy.” She watched him stack the four pavers, and then lay the two with the curved rims on top. “You can’t carry all that!”