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“Uh, well.” I hesitate. I don’t want to lie, especially after he was honest about his past. So, here goes. “I was engaged after high school, actually.”
“Really?” He doesn’t hide his surprise.
“I wasn’t pregnant if that’s what you’re thinking. I thought I was in love. How you do at eighteen. We were too young. And then Mama got sick and I—” The words stick in my throat. Whenever I remember Estevan, the grief of losing my mom feels new and fresh. It’s a cut that never heals. “I called it off,” I manage after clearing my throat. “It never would have worked out.”
His hand squeezes mine, a show of support without saying a word.
“I’ve met your sister. Tell me about Papa Richards.” It’s a kind gesture to change the subject, and I let him.
“He worries about Calista and me, but he took to single parenthood like a champ. He’d prefer Lis and I were both settled down with husbands and babies, but only because he worries about us being alone.”
“Sounds like a good man. What’s he do for a living?”
“He worked for years as a foreman, but now he specializes in decorative concrete for the Miami elite.” I automatically tense, awaiting Archer’s censure. When I told Brandon what my dad did for a living, he said Papa was “a glorified laborer” and then added, “I hate working outside.”
“An entrepreneur. It’s a gift to make something as impersonal as concrete into art.”
My chest warms at his approval. “I’m proud of him. He works too hard, but at least he’s able to call the shots now.”
“That comes with its own set of problems, but it’s a hell of a lot better than asking for time off.”
I hum in the back of my throat, remembering all the time off I didn’t ask for when I worked at Lotus Leaf. I was too busy proving myself to Dumb and Dumber. Fat lot of good it did me. I mentally shake off my bruised pride.
“You ever think about branching out on your own? You’re an artist too, you know. Design, aesthetics, having an eye for what looks good and feels good in an establishment… People with deep pockets pay well for that sort of work.”
I’m flattered by the compliment. There is a lot of vision and creativity in the work I do, but I never thought about doing it for myself. Likely because Papa would freak out if I did. As he’s said in the past, he wouldn’t wish the long hours and stress he experiences day after day on Lis or me. He’s always advised us to “get a good-paying job and stay put.”
“We’re here.” Archer turns into a parking lot.
The building is not what I expect. When he said dentist’s office, I pictured a brick house and a little stoop with an overhang. This structure is tall and square, with floor-to-ceiling windows lining the front. The glass is frosted halfway up to grant privacy to whoever’s inside. The surrounding bushes and trees are weathering the chill nicely, their evergreen branches lush in winter.
“This is… Wow.” I seem to be using that word a lot today. “Did it come this way?”
“Not exactly. We knocked out a few walls, installed the new glass. And added the pool around back.” He reminds me to wear my coat since the interior of the building isn’t being heated.
I grab my notebook and pen from my purse, ideas already kicking up dust, and I haven’t seen the inside yet. A blank canvas. I’ve never had one. At Lotus Leaf, I was barely a decorator. They had specs, and I was charged with following them to the letter.
I replay Archer’s question about branching out on my own. I don’t know if I’m capable of pulling off entrepreneurship, but if I could…
The decadent idea shimmers like a mirage in the distance. For the first time in years, my entire being grasps for it. Working for myself would be risky, but the risk would come with a reward. Freedom. No more asking for days off. No more being overlooked for raises, no more performance reviews. I realize I’m probably simplifying something very complicated, but the second I’m inside, and before I take the first look around, I scribble down everything I’m thinking into my notebook.
Archer
Talia’s enthusiasm is catching. I follow her through the building, hands in my coat pockets, a smile on my face. For the last week, I haven’t felt like smiling. Not until I saw her standing on the balcony opposite mine. Then I took what felt like my first full breath in a week. And when I touched her—forget it. I could have breathed her instead of oxygen.
I held back. For the reasons I explained to her before we left. I wasn’t sure how she’d feel about me—technically, her “boss”—coming on to her the second she walked through the door. Finding out she wanted me was good news, but we have time. And despite her eagerness to have me, I’m going to let her settle in. Get comfortable. See the possibilities.
She mutters the words “good bones,” and I have to fight not to make a snarky comment. I don’t want to pull her out of the zone. Plus, her excitement over this building that’s not much more than “good bones” justifies my instincts when I purchased it. I knew the idea of a night spa was a solid one, but when it comes to setting it up, I wasn’t as confident.
With Talia onboard, I can envision opening night spas all over the damn country. We could give Ed Lambert a run for his money. But I’m getting ahead of myself. First, I have to open this one.
The pool area isn’t much more than a concrete hole in the ground, but she remarks about its “potential” anyway. One curved glass wall resembling a lanai looks out onto a gathering of trees. The house behind it belonged to the dentist who owned this place, so he had a very short commute to work each day. I bought the house too, intending to make it an offsite apartment for whoever manages the spa.
She falls quiet while standing in front of the curved glass, choosing to do most of her talking via pen to notebook. Her excitement is palpable as she scribbles furiously. She looks up as if she senses my staring.
“Well? Is there any hope?” I ask.
Her arms drop to her sides, the pen in one hand, notebook in the other. “You know this place is awesome. Shut up.”
