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“Correct.” He holds something out to her and pins her with a grin.
I’m so fixated on his second genuine smile of the day I don’t notice what he’s doing until it’s too late.
“I believe this is for you.” He dips his head, hands her the folder—myfolder, thenfixes me with an encouraging nod. “I’ll leave you to it.”
I almost reach for it. But I can’t, it’s too late. She’s already unwinding the string of the catch. She flicks me a curious eyebrow quirk. “What’s this?”
My heart lodges itself in my throat when she picks up the drawing of the restaurant.
She glances up from the sketch. “Either your drawing skills have improved or I’m missing something.”
“I… I…” I fumble for the pitch I’d carefully planned and repeated over and over all morning but come up with nothing.
“Is this a business plan?” She lays the drawing down on her lap and picks up my proposal, her keen eyes scanning the ideas I’ve printed out. Ideas I came here to sell her on.
My shoulders drop and I have to fight not to hang my head. “I had no idea you’d been sick. I’d never have come if I’d known...”
“Hush, child.” She picks up the sketch again, the side of her mouth curving up. “This is lovely.”
I glance around for Mylo. He’s already wandered off towards where Mrs. Devon is sitting with a couple of old ladies enjoying the sun on one of the benches by the fountain. When I return my attention to Lola, she’s still scanning the sketch.
“It’s a restaurant.”
“I can see that. What I can’t see is where I fit in.” She shifts in her chair to look at me, her half smile encouraging.
“The property at the end of Talamanca Beach.” I swallow down the tightness in my throat and clasp my hands in my lap. “I’d like to know if it’s for sale.”
“I see.” A sigh leaves her, making me wonder how many people must have come before asking the same question. The fact that it’s still sitting untouched and unsold sinks heavily in my stomach.
“I’m not sure what I was thinking. I’m sorry.” I go to reach for the folder in her lap.
The twisted fingers of her bad hand cover mine. “My husband and I built that house before we were even married.” Her eyes flutter wistfully, that little half smile still lingering. “It holds many special memories. I’d always planned on going back, even after he passed.”
I nod mutely. “I understand. I shouldn’t have—”
Wistfulness gone, she holds up her hand. “Tell me your plans. And while you’re at it, tell me who that man is.”
“Mylo is—he’s just a friend.” My gaze strays over to where he has the old ladies clucking over him. His hugeness next to their frailness pulls a smile to my lips. He looks over before I manage to tear my gaze away.
His chin lifts, a little nudge from afar that warms me way more that I’m comfortable with.
“A friend.” She says the word with a distinctwhateverring to it.
My shrug is woefully unconvincing. “It’s complicated.”
“The ones worth our time generally are.” Whatever she reads on my face has her picking up my proposal, but her knowing smirk lingers. “Okay, explain this restaurant to me.”
The next hour passes in a blur of fresh lemonade and stories. We talk about everything. My plans for the restaurant. Her life. My life. Memories of Rosa. Memories of her husband. The house. The retreat.Mylo. I even find myself telling her how things went down with my mom. It’s after twelve when I finally hug her goodbye and promise to visit again next week. She won’t sell me the house. I didn’t ask again. But her enthusiasm and praise over my plans and ideas have left me positive I have what it takes to find a way to make the restaurant a reality. A Plan C.
Mylo’s hanging a massive canvas when I step into the air-conditioned reception area. I pause by the door. His T-shirt is clinging to his back, his shoulders straining with the weight of the painting.
“A little to the left,” Mrs. Devon directs from where she’s standing behind him, flanked by the two old ladies from the bench, neither of which seem remotely interested in the straightness of the artwork. With a choked giggle I follow their mesmerized stares—right to where the thin material of Mylo’s board shorts hugs his ass.
He glances over his shoulder, gray eyes sparking when they find me, his concentration-face stretching into a smile.
My insides do something dangerously close to fluttering. It’s not good. Not good at all.
“So…” Both hands on the wheel, Mylo glances at me from the side of his eyes. “A restaurant?”
