by Laura Briggs
“Errands, huh?” he said. “That’s, uh, not your usual look.” He motioned toward her overall appearance. “Did your car break down by the road or something?”
“No,” she said. “I’m going casual today. I can’t wear high heels and dresses every time I go out. There’s lots of times I wear jeans and broken-in sneakers. You don’t see me every day, right?”
“Fair enough,” said Blake. “Looks good. You in casual clothes, I mean.” He made a note about something else on his pad, which spared him from seeing the quick blush on Tessa’s face. “Maybe you should wear it around the office sometimes,” he suggested. “Have a casual Friday.”
“We’ll think about it,” said Tessa. “I’ll take it up with my committee.” She smiled at him when he looked up again, and managed not to blush while his eyes were on her. That would give him a very definite wrong impression about his compliment.
“So you came to see the place in person,” he said, glancing around. “Not bad, is it?”
“I could live here,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “If I wasn’t planning on owning a castle someday, that is.”
“Then this place runs a little small for your tastes,” said Blake.
“I’d take it. I live in two rooms now, after all,” she said. “My old apartment wasn’t much bigger than that. I don’t know the technical terms for half this stuff, but I know it’s all amazing.” Her eyes traveled their surroundings, noting that the very elegant wallpaper was a shade between mint and jade. “It looks great. Did you—?”
“No.” He shook his head. “We’re just doing some touch-up stuff. It’ll be a show home on the historic tour by Christmas, which is why we’re rushing this place. Hey, Connor, have the paint crew check on that color for the dining room mantel, will you?”
“Sure thing, Blake.”
“Is the furniture in the back of your truck for this place?” she asked. “Or is it salvage stuff?” Not that this looked like the kind of place where the wrong light fixtures or corbels abounded. Not like the Wedding Belles’ headquarters, where plenty of architectural anomalies were present after a century or so.
Blake laughed. “If that kind of stuff was salvage, I’d be a pretty lucky contractor,” he said. “No, that’s the original buffet from the house. I was putting a new coat of finish on it in my workshop. Too much dust around here while they’re cleaning the lights, and the fumes don’t mix well with fresh paint.”
“Oh. I see.” Tessa looked around. “You seem… really happy,” she said. “This really is what you love, isn’t it? More than just fixing things, it’s fixing them back the way they were supposed to be, I guess. Which is something we’re not exactly giving you at Wedding Belles, are we?” A wry smile crossed her lips, receiving a matching one from Blake in return. “Us girls, who defend the interloper metal staircase, and paint walls ‘Romantic Blue.’”
“All right, I admit it. I like things done right,” he said. “There’s a kind of charm in turning back the clock in a place like this. In your building, too—which is what I’m trying to do by getting you to keep things like that transom grate in your office.”
“As per our agreement, we’re only paying to fix the really essential things and the really big ones for now, remember?” said Tessa. “We’re paying you a share of our partnership too.”
“Which I didn’t ask for—”
“—but was fair,” Tessa countered firmly. “But we probably can’t afford whatever budget this place has to fix tiny pieces of hardware and wall lamps.”
“A quarter of a million,” said Blake.
Tessa’s jaw almost dropped. “A quarter of a million dollars?” she echoed.
“People take historic homes very seriously in this city.” Blake whistled as he made another note about the width between the banisters.
“Hey, Blake, Mac’s here to see you.” A man carrying two paint cans passed through the foyer, informing the contractor of this fact as he climbed the stairs to the upper story.
“Thanks, Tim.” Blake snapped his measuring tape onto his tool belt. “We’re finishing up the main rooms this week, so the furniture is coming sometime next week.”
“Authentic furniture?” asked Tessa.
“Of course,” he said. “Mac’s tracked down some pretty incredible period furnishings for the parlor and the library. It’ll all be festooned with big garlands right before Christmas.”
“Need any help decorating?” Tessa teased.
“I think Mac’s got it pretty well covered,” said Blake with a smile.
“Good news—the paint crew has promised to vacate the dining room early, so we can have the table and chairs delivered by Wednesday,” said a female voice behind Tessa. “Plus, I just got off the phone with the sandblasting service, and the hearth’s surround is finally in the works, so all that gold paint will be gone in no time.” She passed Tessa, a stylish wool coat draped over her arm, a professional leather satchel in hand. A polite glance of greeting registered Tessa’s presence as she joined Blake at the foot of the stairs.
Stunning beauty. Those were the appropriate two words to describe the woman in question, from the toes of her high-heeled leather boots to the cut of her tailored business skirt and jacket, and the waterfall of dark hair that framed a face which might as well be that of an iconic fashion model. Tessa suddenly felt short, frazzled, and dingy by comparison. She drew her coat more tightly around herself, as if to hide any stains she might have missed.
“That’s good news,” said Blake, sounding eager. “I can’t wait to get that thing put back in place. The whole face of the fireplace is bare without it.”
“Can’t have that, can we?” she said, and they both laughed. When Blake recovered himself, he gestured toward the woman by way of introduction.
“Tessa, this is Mac, our project’s interior designer. Mac, this is Tessa.”
The woman extended her hand. “Samantha MacNeil,” she said. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Mac? This was Mac? Blake’s favorite interior designer in the whole city? “Likewise,” said Tessa. Something was wrong with her voice again, and her hand was holding closed the flaps of her coat tightly, now remembering an old cocoa stain on it from a winter hike two years ago.
“I’m fixing up a building Tessa owns downtown. One of the old brick and limestone ones,” said Blake. Mac smiled.
“You own one of those buildings?” she said. “What a beautiful architectural period that is—honestly, I would love to do your office decor, if you’re looking for an interior designer.” She produced a card from her jacket pocket and gave it to Tessa.
“Mac is definitely the best,” said Blake. “Although she would probably tell you to pull out that spiral staircase and have the old banisters put back.”
“There’s a metal staircase in one of them?” said Mac, clearly amazed. “No way. You know, those vintage salvage models fetch a terrific price these days. People redoing old libraries, fixing up loft spaces…”
“I saw one sell for two thousand last week at the salvage auction for that old mansion that burned in Belleview,” said Blake.
“And that’s—what? Half the cost of restoring the original banister and stair rails?” suggested Mac.
Four thousand dollars for carved banisters. That sounded about as essential as the corbels that Blake had suggested when he first viewed their old fireplace. “Thanks, but that’s okay,” said Tessa. “I’m afraid decorating isn’t currently on our horizon. Plus, we’re event planners. We decorate people’s big events for a living… so we do our own interior decorating. Mostly.” She smiled. After all, they had painted their offices themselves. And found some creative pillows and throws to dress up the old secondhand furniture Tessa had salvaged.
“If you change your mind, I’m free for a few weeks after I finish here,” said Mac. “Of course, that’s if I’m not doing the Canton property’s Christmas open house. Did I tell you they want four trees in the main hall?” she asked Blake. “Twelve foot apiec
e.”
“Twelve foot?” he echoed. “I mean, the room can definitely hold them, but—”
“—it’s going to completely overwhelm visitors, what with the big tree decorated in the parlor, right?” said Mac. “I can’t talk the committee out of it. They want everything in silver, pearl, and mint green.”
“It’ll be gorgeous, though,” said Blake. “You can do it, Mac. You should see the pictures of last year’s holiday open house,” he added to Tessa. “Mac had this whole thing going with a copper and royal blue look. You have to see it to believe it.”
“So… Mac,” said Tessa. “Are you working here for long?” As in, the whole time Blake’s here? Not that it matters, or I’m curious or anything… Because she wasn’t curious about this, right?
“Until the place looks finished and festive,” said Mac with a smile. “Which should be another two weeks or so. Maybe less. This guy works like a racehorse when there’s a deadline pushing him. I don’t think we’ve ever worked together when you haven’t finished at least a week early,” she added to Blake. “Except for maybe the Thompson job.”
“Ah. The floor varnish debacle,” said Blake, one hand against his forehead at this memory.
“I guess you two must work together a lot,” said Tessa. “The whole ‘historic preservation’ thing. You probably cross paths all the time.”
“Lots of people who fix up old properties call on me to put the finishing touches in place,” admitted Mac. “And, of course, they call on Blake first, because he just has an amazing instinct for what to keep and what to replace when it comes to any building.” She touched his arm briefly, and flashed an open smile in his direction with these words.
“That’s a little exaggeration. I’m no better than any other contractor in the city.” Blake smiled back, a quick blush of modesty crossing his cheeks at the same time.
“He’s definitely very good at his job,” said Tessa, who forced a bright smile to her face. “I’ve seen lots of proof in what he’s done for our building. Not that it’s really anything he would brag about. The building, not the work—I’m sure Blake knows his work is great, because it is.” Tessa shut up abruptly after this.
“Blake always says that no job is too small if a place needs a carpenter’s touch,” said Mac.
The light shone on Mac’s hair like a flattering spotlight. Tessa was now wondering if there were little bits of plastic in her own from the T-Rex head. Its lining was beginning to slough off, something which hadn’t seemed like a big deal until now.
“Hey, did you see the new wallpaper in the parlor?” Blake asked Tessa. “The crew was leaving just as you came in. If you didn’t, you should take a look at it. It’s from the same company that made the paper in that little sitting room at your place. Here, let me show you.”
The paper had green parrots with coral-pink roses and tiny yellow buttercups, or something like them—Tessa barely noticed it as she followed Blake on his tour to show off the newest touches made to the majestic home.
“…and we replaced the big mirror over the mantel, because the original one was clearly bigger than what the restoration team found when they assessed this place,” he said, then paused. “Are you okay? You look a little glazed over in the eyes. I’ve been talking too much about boring stuff like moldings and wood floors, haven’t I?”
“What? No. Not at all,” said Tessa. “I heard every word you said about fixing this place up. I mean, the work you’ve done is really, really gorgeous. It’s just I have a lot on my mind right now, what with Nadia and Lyle’s wedding and the advertising campaign for the business.”
“How’s that going?” he asked.
“Great,” she said, as convincingly as possible. “It’s all great.” She put on her brightest smile once again as she brushed back her hair. Fantastic—she felt gummy bits of latex snagged in it from the disintegrating T-Rex’s liner. Whereas Mac’s looked like a Pert Plus Wash ’n’ Go shampoo ad from Tessa’s childhood. Not that it was in any way important since if she, Tessa, were in her usual clothes and her usual workplace setting, she would clearly feel less intimidated by someone who looked that perfect. They were practically equals, even if Tessa was still having to work odd jobs to pay her business bills.
“Are you looking at the lawn? ’Cause I promise it will be fixed back the way it was in the photo you saw after we’re done here. That was its first public showcase, the Fourth of July opening. The old mantel still had its original paint on it then.”
“The lawn? Looks great to me. I can’t tell anything’s happened to it.” Tessa snapped back to her current surroundings. She realized now, however, that he was talking about the churned mud and tire tracks marring its grass. “I was just thinking about my errands from earlier.”
“Blake, I need a quick opinion on the windows in the dining room, if you’ve got a minute,” said Mac.
“Sure.” He touched Tessa’s arm in a farewell gesture. “Feel free to look around some more,” he said to her. “There’s a great view from upstairs—just watch out for the painting crew.”
“Sure. Can do,” said Tessa. But when Blake and Mac had disappeared to discuss renovations, Tessa didn’t move from the front windows. The disheartened feeling from before had returned, when she’d slid behind the wheel of the hotdog truck once again. It grew stronger as she gazed at the parrot wallpaper, biting her lip as she listened to the sound of Mac and Blake’s voices carrying from the next room.
So Mac wasn’t a guy, as she had previously assumed. Big deal. It’s not like Blake’s life outside of the Wedding Belles was any of her business. She had far more important things to focus on than the details of Blake’s other life and other coworkers. And by ‘other,’ she meant ‘real,’ because obviously Blake didn’t think of his role as their firm’s fourth partner as anything important.
With a final morose glare at the parrot wallpaper, Tessa made her way toward the open front door of the historic house. At least her building had real character in its eclectic nature, not some dime-a-dozen walnut banister that any historic home could boast. Someone like Mac couldn’t appreciate that, probably.
Thirteen
For his date with Natalie, Chad had chosen a little restaurant with a casual atmosphere and special hand-sculpted clay serving bowls for its steaming pepper beef and rice. He liked to talk about nature and the outdoors, as well as his travels in Ecuador. He had been there several times in the past and seemed enamored with the culture and its native cuisine.
“Of course, my coworkers freaked out when they heard it was basically glacial volcanoes I would be climbing over there, but come on—it’s the Andes. How could I pass that up? It’s every climber’s dream.”
“Right,” said Natalie. Although her experience with rock climbing to date had been limited to once at an indoor climbing wall with friends, far from matching the level of passion that Chad clearly harbored for it.
“You would love it in Ecuador,” Chad continued, switching back to his second favorite topic so far. “The culture is way laid back compared to the kind of atmosphere you and I know.”
He smiled and took a sip of wine before asking, “So what about you? Do you travel? I love South American culture. I guess it’s like my home away from home, when I’m not doing the nine to five thing. When I’m not climbing the walls. Literally,” he added, with a tiny outward movement of his lips.
Ecuador mustn’t have any openings in shoe retail that would allow him to relocate, Natalie was tempted to joke. Instead, she answered his question. “Not much. See, until recently, I worked a pretty deadbeat job as a designer’s assistant. Long hours, little pay, no vacation… it was about the prestige of working for a designer. Or paying your dues. Something like that.”
“What happened?” he asked. “You quit and took life by the horns?”
“Exactly,” she said. “A friend of mine wanted to start her own business, so she asked if I wanted to join her. Soon after—Natalie Grenaldi, wedding fashion consultant and independen
t designer, was born. Except when she’s Natalie Grenaldi, part-time caterer and baker for her family’s food emporiums.”
Her fork cut neatly through the fish filet on her plate, ignoring the tradition of eating by hand that some of the restaurant’s other patrons were attempting. Even chopsticks were not for Natalie, who had squished way too many calamari rings between them while onlookers giggled.
“Freelance, huh?” he said. “Is that what you want?”
“It’s what everybody wants, isn’t it?” said Natalie. “Nobody telling them what to do, somebody finding their work and appreciating it just because they want to. That’s the secret dream that most of us never get to live.”
“I get it. That’s why I climb, whenever I get the chance,” said Chad. “Having something to conquer personally is the only way to live life. My mom used to say, ‘You’re alone all the time because you’re so obsessed with your goals, at least get a dog or something,’ but I would always say, ‘And who’s going to feed him when I take off for two weeks just because I need to see the sun rise in Cotacachi? You know?”
“I do,” said Natalie. “Pursuing something not everyone can do is half the reward of a big dream. For me, it’s the challenge of being part of a career field that changes constantly with the times—that’s something my family doesn’t get. Why not pick something steady, that you learn once and you’re done?” This was the advice from Uncle Guido two Thanksgivings ago.
“I so know how that feels,” said Chad sympathetically. “Everybody in my world can define their life goals by calendars, milestones, and schedules, right? That’s why they don’t get why I spend so much time climbing and get such a kick out of what’s basically a sport to them.”
