Page 10 of Falling for a Grumpy Hero

I smiled. “That’s seems fair. What’s its name? What kind of dog is it?”

He groaned. “Do you ever stop talking or asking questions?”

“Yeah, I stop the moment you start.”

He sighed. “Great.”

“Can I see a picture?”

“I’m driving,” he said in a tone that made me think he felt like he needed to remind me of that fact. But then, surprisingly, he sighed again and handed me his phone. “There are pictures in there. His name is Rook and he’s a German Shepherd, black Labrador mix.”

I held the device in my hand, feeling a frown furrowing my brow. “You’re going to let me look for the pictures on your phone by myself? As in, you’re letting me scroll through your gallery?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Seriously taken aback, I wondered if I should take him up on it or just give the phone back, but he didn’t seem like the type who’d have offered if he wasn’t okay with it. My ex had never let me touch his phone, let alone open it, so this was entirely new to me. “I, uh, I need the code, but I could also wait until we get there.”

He shrugged. “Well, if you want to look now, the code is 2015,06,11. We’re going to have to work when we get there.”

He gave me the pass code as if he had nothing to hide. I keyed them in, realizing that those numbers could easily be a date. November 6, 2015.

I didn’t ask, though. Instead, I glanced down, surprised when the screen actually unlocked and I found myself staring at a picture of a very blockish building on his home screen. “Are you a fan of brutalist architecture?”

“Uh, no. I just haven’t changed that image. It’s the one that was on there when I bought the phone. Why?”

“Oh.” I scrolled to the gallery icon and clicked into it, but when I glanced at him to make sure this really was okay, I noticed a gleam of curiosity in his eyes. Forgetting about pictures of his dog for a moment, I focused on him, curious to know what he was curious about. “What is it?”

“Nothing. You mentioned brutalism, that’s all.”

I chuckled. “Is there something wrong with mentioning brutalism?”

“No, it’s just not something people bring up in everyday conversation.” That strong jawline clenched for some reason, but it released when he started slowing in front of a gate to a mansion that took my breath away.

I hadn’t even realized that we were near Heritage House—or that we’d reached a residential area again yet at all. On the other hand, as I looked out my window, I could understand why. The properties in this wooded paradise were huge.

From our vantage point, I couldn’t see a single neighboring home. The only sign that other people lived along this lane was a signpost outside another gate halfway to the next bend in the road, which was pretty far away from us.

As I turned my attention back to the mansion we were parked outside of, I practically felt my eyes bulge. The longer I looked at it, the more breathtaking it became. From Ford’s notes, I knew the house was over two hundred years old, but knowing that and seeing it were two completely different things.

Built in the colonial era, the double-story home had a gray, gabled roof and at least twelve symmetrical, multi-paneled windows. It had red-brick siding and a central, grand front door.

A long, gravel drive led up to it from the ornate gates and Virginia pine trees towered along either side of it. I sucked in an involuntary, sharp breath and Ford glanced at me as he pressed the button to open his window.

Our gazes connected and I felt a bolt of desire slam through me, so powerful that I was a little shocked by it, but I didn’t break eye contact. I could look into those dark, stormy blue eyes all day.

Unfortunately, Ford didn’t seem to feel the same way. He finally turned his entire upper body away from me and leaned out the window to punch in the code to the gate. Without looking at me again, he let the window slide back up, then started inching forward when the gates swung open.

Gravel crunched under his tires as we rolled onto the property and I tried to calm my racing heart by staring at the stunning home we’d come to see. As we neared it, however, I realized that what had appeared perfect from the road actually seemed a little down.

The once-grand home rose into clearer view as we drove and my insides gave a pang when I saw that several windows had been boarded up and about half the roof was starting to cave. I didn’t know if he’d read my mind or if he was simply saying it out loud to remind himself, but Ford suddenly started explaining our presence here.

“There have been several additions over the centuries,” he said quietly, as if his voice was being hushed by the grandeur we were approaching. “All of those have added to the structural issues, which is why an engineering firm is being brought in. I’ll be honest with you though, the issues it has are almost damning. It’s going to be a huge challenge, and that’s why so many engineers have wanted a crack at it that there’s been a bidding war over who gets the job.”

Glad that he was driving slowly enough that I could get a really good view of the place, I leaned forward and stared up at it through the windshield. I already knew that Ford hired subcontractors for general construction, but this sure looked like a lot of work.

Years of work, actually.

But I’d looked through his company’s portfolio, and it was obvious to me that he was the best in the business. I just needed to convince the clients of that now, too.