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The sun has barely gone down. “It’s Fate. Population 1,000. No, population 1,001—Izzy who works at city hall just had her third baby. And I’ve lived here all my life. There’s not any crime to worry about. Nothing happens here except the occasional teenage dare of breaking into the Hall of History and letting the big ball of yarn roll down the street…oh gosh. I’m babbling. I’m sorry.”
Somehow, I missed that Buck closing in on me, so close I can smell his clean shirt. He chuckles. “Don’t apologize for talking. I like the way you talk. Shall we?”
He gestures toward his truck, but I hesitate. “Want to walk instead? It’s just up the street on the next block.”
“Sure, I’d love to walk with you. Let’s go.”
Buck offers me his arm and I flush red. He smiles and waits for me to decide whether to take his arm. This is going to feel awkward. Finally, I slip my hand inside the crook of his elbow, and I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Walking and talking with Buck is as natural as anything.
“So, tell me about some of your former rehab projects? I think what you do is fascinating,” I ask, hoping to fish for clues about historic restoration that can further perpetuate this charade.
“This is our first one,” he says.
“Really? That’s a big project to pick as your first one,” I say.
“Yeah. We have an established business in Gold Hill and wanted to expand across the river. But not just slap our names on a new neighborhood of cookie-cutter houses, you know?”
I know exactly what he means. I’ve always wanted to get into historic renovations, but my pockets aren’t deep enough for it.
“So when my brothers and I completed our service in the military, we went back home to Gold Hill and took over our dad’s construction business so he could retire.
“When I saw a post on social media about the Paget Mansion in desperate need of a buyer to restore it to its original glory, I knew that Wood Brothers had to jump at the chance. I could not stomach the idea of that place ending up as rubble.”
Chill bumps rise on my arms when I hear Buck speak passionately about old houses like this.
“I wish someone like you would come along and rescue the house I live in. I love it on the outside but it’s falling apart on the inside. And it’s been divided up into five units without much thought put into preserving its history. It’s a shame, really.”
Buck catches me off guard by replying, “You should buy it.”
I almost forget that he thinks I’m an established decorator and real estate stager—or at least one who is up and coming and has probably enough to put down on a house like this.
“Oh! Right, well, um,” I say, stalling for time to think of something to say. “I have lots of ideas on decorating it.” That part is true. I may have fudged my résumé, but I have a vision of what that place could look like. “But it would be a huge undertaking, and I wouldn’t want to put anybody out of their rentals.”
Buck winces. “Sorry, I must sound completely out of touch.”
I reach my hand over to pat him on the bicep. “You’re not out of touch.”
We’re standing in front of the restaurant and brewery now, and I wonder if we’ve left anything light and fun to talk about now that the date is just beginning.
But it’s not a date. This is a business meeting.
Buck blows out a breath. “The last thing I want to do is offend you.”
I roll my eyes. “Please. The only offensive thing is how hungry I am right now.”
“Then by all means, order the biggest thing on the menu.” His smile warms me to my toes.
If this is only a business meeting, I’m in big trouble because I am already falling for my client, who believes a whopper of a lie about me.
CHAPTERTHREE
Buck
Grace thinks this is strictly a business meeting, and I’ve screwed this up entirely.
While we wait for our steaks, we go over the sketches of the house’s interior, papers spread over the six-top table.
