Page 18 of Marcus

“Good.”

“I did go back to my maiden name, by the way.”

Marcus instantly felt slightly less guilt about his not-so-innocent thoughts regarding this woman. If she used her maiden name, she hadn’t remarried. He wasn’t overstepping a line in his mind even if he didn’t say those thoughts out loud.

“Did it help?”

Cella shook her head. “Not in the slightest—I thought I wanted to do it so that I wouldn’t have to explain as much about my married name. Turns out having a kid on your hip with no father beside you makes it even more awkward to explain why that is.”

He swore under his breath.

She brushed it off.

“So back to this, yes?”

With a wave at the space around them, she effectively changed the conversation. In a way, he was grateful, but at the same time … he wanted to ask her more. She said she was doing better, and that was great, but part of him just wanted to know everything.

And since he couldn’t explain why, Marcus chose to shut the fuck up.

Seemed like the way to go.

“Did you have an idea you wanted to work with?” he asked.

Cella laughed. “Well, that usually depends on the client, and this is an unusual job for me considering your father intends for this to be a surprise. Makes it a little harder.”

“Why’s that?”

He enjoyed the sight of her admiring the space with a keen eye. He bet if he could see inside her mind that he would find it was an amazing thing to witness. It was almost as if he could see the wheels turning as she spun a circle, her sharp stare not missing one single thing in the room.

He couldn’t imagine that. Looking at a space and changing it in his mind. He wasn’t that good with designs. Didn’t have the eye for it, really.

“I kind of got the impression from your father that this is a place your mother really likes—they hold it dear, don’t they?”

“Absolutely. It’s been her escape for … well, longer than I have been alive.”

Truly.

His mother lived here when he was born.

A long damn time ago.

“So, he probably intends for it to stay the same in that way. A place she can sneak away to, or whatever.”

“She brings the grandkids here, too. Or they stay here with her when one of my brothers that live in the states come home for a visit. It’s got a lot of purpose for her and us.”

“And potential,” Cella murmured, turning back to him with a grin. “See, this would be easier if I knew your mom, I guess. When I design a space for a person, and not the people, then I often incorporate them into it as much as I can.”

“Oh?”

“Try, anyway.”

“And you don’t know my ma, huh?”

“I know of her,” Cella returned, “but not who she is—not what she likes the most or loves the deepest. Those are things I can do something with, you know?”

“And what if I could do that for you?”

Cella’s eyes widened. “Pardon?”