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She looked at me over the top of her red-framed sunglasses. Bright dark eyes. “Anemone didn’t call to tell you I was coming?” She sighed. “That means you’re not going to want me, but she thinks you need me.”
“There’s no cell reception out here,” I explained. Oh, God, what Anemone thought I needed could be anything. Therapist, acupuncturist, hair stylist, plastic surgeon—
She held out her hand. “I’m Olivia Starr. Anemone called me yesterday afternoon and told me to get my ass out here.”
Olivia. Anemone’s stepdaughter. She was maybe five-three, in red capris that fit her beautifully, with practical and yet shiny black flats on her feet. The sunglasses were a little much, although I would have worn them in a second, but the only thing really wild about her was her hair, black curls going everywhere around her long, pale, pointed little face.
“Anemone’s daughter,” I said.
Olivia looked around and then at me. “I know she told you to keep me out of the autobiography, but that’s because I’m trying to avoid being linked to my dad, not to Anemone. I’m an architect and also a housewarming gift from her. Do not offer to pay me, you can’t afford me.” She surveyed my living room. “Okay, we can do this.”
“Do what?”
Olivia moved past me. “Anemone called me yesterday and said my job was to ‘make the house the sanctuary Liz deserves.’ And trust me, once I’m done with this place, this’ll be the warmest little cottage you’ve ever been in.”
“I’mbroke,” I said. “I can’t afford a big remodeling budget and I will not take money from Anemone. Also, this is my house, so I’ll be deciding what to change.”
Olivia moved into the center of the room. “You know, this is a good space. You just need natural light.”
“Olivia . . .”
She turned to me. “You tell me what you want, I’ll figure out the best way to do that, I’ll keep it under budget, and Anemone will not disown me for not helping you. You know how she is about houses.” She looked around again. “Could you tell me why you bought this place?”
“Let me show you the back porch.” I pointed at the door at the end of the hallway she was standing in, and she went out.
“Oh,” she said from outside. “Yes, this would do it.” She looked down at the couch cushion. “You’re sleeping out here?”
“No,” I said. “A friend dropped by.”
“Ah.” She came back into the house. “Anemone called your realtor and he said most of the expensive stuff is all done, plumbing, electric, HVAC, insulation, roof?”
“Yes,” I said, making a note to tell Anemone to stop managing my life.
“So we can put the money into the last expensive things— windows, kitchen, bath.” Olivia scowled at the little window on the side of the living room. “Single pane is bad enough but these are ridiculously small. Anemone says you have a hunky boyfriend with a sledgehammer.”
“Look, Olivia,” I began.
“A boyfriend who is not happy about you moving out of his . . . diner? . . . so Anemone thinks that making him part of the remodel here might ease the sting.”
“He bought the front door and put it on this morning,” I said. “And theNo Trespassingsign.”
“Oh, I thought the door was new. Very strong. Good. And the sign is probably a good idea. Your boy is Vince Cooper? I saw his name on the sign. He sounds scary. And serious. Anemone says it’s a bad neighborhood.”
“That’s exaggerated. It’s a poor neighborhood, not a bad one.”
Olivia turned those big dark eyes on me. “How much money have you got to put into this?”
I sat down in one of Miss Evans’s squashy chairs. “I don’t know. I’ll have an extra ten thousand from the mortgage. And I have some savings, but my income is really erratic, so I can’t splurge. The important thing is, this is my house, not Anemone’s. I’m not sure—”
“Can we have another ten thousand from your savings?” Olivia said. “Twenty K total?”
“Probably,” I said, giving up.
“So twenty K.” Olivia nodded. “That one K from your savings will be your new windows and doors, minus the most important one which you already have.”
I’d known I’d have to replace the windows but that seemed like a lot. When I said so, she said, “Double pane, much bigger, French doors here in this room out onto that deck so you can have the view inside, too. The French doors will be out over the ravine, so not a security problem unless you get a thief who can rappel.” She must have seen me blink or something because she said, “You know a guy who can rappel?”
“Vince,” I said. “The hunk with the sledge. He also has a winch. He’s spent time in ravines. I’m okay with him rappelling in.”
