Page 10 of Christmas By Design

“Wonderful!” she exclaims, then moves away from us into the next room.

Is this why Gemma asked to work with me? So she could continuously piss me off? That would admittedly be more than a little disappointing.

And yet, this teasing is such a far cry from her silent nail-biting in the car on the way here. It’s as if she’s in her element, talking about project design and client wish lists. Like her work takes some of that anxiety away.

It’s almost a relief to see her back to her usual self.

But I can’t tell her that. She’d twist it somehow and shoot it back at me or become self-conscious again. So, instead, I say, “You’re recycling nicknames, you know.”

Gemma shakes her head. “I’m not. That one was spelled with an X. The other was an S.”

I reel back, incredulous. “That’s a stretch.”

She just shrugs and follows Mrs. Dash again. I’m getting a little sick of being left behind, so I march after them.

What follows is a tour of the giant house with the owner telling us all of the things she’d love to see changed. The dining room needs a huge table to seat guests and some other updates. The living room needs a cozier feel, though my eyes catch on the giant fireplace that I’m definitely using as a focal point for the room, and a gorgeous grand piano in the sitting area that is definitely staying. Through the sitting area are an office and a bathroom, both in decent shape.

At every turn, though, Mrs. Dash suggests wild color combinations that have no business being in a home. Gemma, to her credit, doesn’t egg her on anymore. Instead, she taps at her phone every once in a while, then asks to see the bedrooms.

Thankfully, Mrs. Dash is open to a more neutral palette for those rooms, as they’ll be mostly for bed and breakfast guests. They have clearly not been used in ages, and they have an earthy smell that will need to get aired out.

I glance at Gemma as we close the door to the last bedroom. She taps her phone a few times, then nods to Mrs. Dash. “Do you have a basement?”

“Oh, yes, but it’s not livable space. It’s completely unfinished,” she responds.

“With the extent of the renovations, we’d like to see it anyway, if that’s okay? Just to take a look.” Gemma smiles reassuringly, and Mrs. Dash nods.

She leads us down two flights of stairs into the basement. It’s mostly concrete. I shine my phone’s flashlight into the crawl space at the back of it. Gemma pulls a marble from her pocket and puts it on the ground. It slowly rolls all the way to the left before it hits the wall.

That’s not good.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Dash says. She must know a thing or two about foundations.

“Not to worry. We’ll have the foundation leveled before we start on the remodel,” Gemma reassures her.

“This will affect our budget,” I say slowly.

Mrs. Dash waves that away. “My late husband left me more money than I know what to do with. Like I told your partner on the phone, there is no budget.”

“I’m sure The Beckinator over here will test that statement,” Gemma says drily as she sends another text. “One of our guys can come take a look tomorrow, Mrs. Dash. It’ll take them about a week, which will likely push our timeline back a little.” She chews on a nail as she considers something. “But I can probably make up at least some of the time. Do you have somewhere you can stay while they work? It’ll go faster if you’re not living in the house with all this going on.”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Dash says. “I was headed to my son’s house for Christmas, anyway, and was going to stay until you’re done here so I could be out of your hair. I’m sure he won’t mind if I come a little early.” She tilts her head, then her face lights up like a Christmas tree as she turns her attention to me. “Do you think we could do one of those reveals like they do on the shows? Where you cover my eyes until I’m inside, and then I open them and am just amazed at the work you’ve done?”

Why on God’s green Earth is she asking me this question? Do I look like the reveal type of guy? My gaze shifts to Gemma, who is trying desperately to hold back a laugh. I attempt to convey with just my expression that she should be the one answering this question. When she just shakes her head as her body shudders with repressed giggles, I flash a stiff smile in Mrs. Dash’s direction. “Sure.”

“Oh, fantastic!” She jumps a little and claps her hands. “Now, let’s get out of this creepy basement.”

Chapter 6

Gemma

We finish up with Mrs. Dash just before lunch. She tries to get us to stay and eat, but I can tell that Beckett is uncomfortable. As much as I love seeing him squirm, I think I’ve instigated enough trouble today. I agree to leave, though I’m going to make him stop for a sandwich on the way home.

We say our goodbyes, and Beckett’s phone rings loudly as we’re getting into the car. It’s the old rotary phone ring, which is so him, it’s almost as if someone scripted it. He slides in behind the steering wheel and answers it without starting the car. I rub my hands together, then slide them under my thighs to ward off the already cold air as I watch Mrs. Dash re-enter her house.

Beckett eyes me sidelong, then says, “Yes. Okay. Great,” and hangs up the phone. His head turns slowly in my direction. Those ice-blue eyes bore into me, and a small part of me basks in his singular focus. But the way he’s staring at me also makes me very, very nervous.

“When was the last time you changed your fuel filter?” he asks.