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“As in, you buy and sell buildings?”
“Buy, sell, flip, break up, manage.”
“Break up?” She popped the last piece of croissant in her mouth and I reached for another, this time going a little heavier on the jam.
“Yes. If a building is in the right location and the market demands it, I will break it up into smaller dwellings, then sell or rent them out.”
She stilled for a few seconds. “But, what about the character? If you break up a beautiful six storey town house into apartments, it takes away the building’s character.”
“Not the way I do it.” I cut the second croissant into pieces then handed it to her.
“So, how do you do it?”
I narrowed my eyes. “You really want to know?”
She nodded quickly. “I want to be an architect someday, so forgive me for wanting to geek out on this stuff.”
My heart stuttered. “You want to be an architect?”
“Yes. Eventually. I love interior design too, so I’m hoping to get some part time work doing that while I study.”
My whole torso stiffened, bracing around my heart. This woman was becoming more and more perfect with every damn breath. Not only was she scarred like me, but she was also sharp, gorgeous and shared the same passion I had for buildings.
“If things were different, I’d be using my architecture degrees too.”
“You’re qualified?” Her eyelids popped open. “Why don’t you practice?”
I shook my head lightly, enamoured at the sight of her eating food I’d prepared for her. “In my family, art is deemed somewhat… frivolous. Why spend my days drawing pretty pictures of houses when I could be charging barely affordable rents to people who want to live in those we already own?” I glanced at the table, not even able to smile off the bitterness in my tone. “We have something of a portfolio, let’s say, that needs managing. So, that’s what I do. I manage property.”
She thinned her lips in a sympathetic smile and I mentally shook the vision away. There was no way anyone could feel pityfor my professional situation – not when they’d probably used up all their pity credit on the right side of my face.
“So, architecture. Where do you hope to study?”
She picked up a napkin and wrung it in her hands while looking off to the side. I studied her profile. She had wide-set eyes and a small nose that curved up slightly at the tip. Her lips were full but petite, leading down to a dainty chin and long, swan-like neck. I had to focus on hearing the words that came out of her mouth.
“I’ve got a place in Edinburgh.”
“That’s a good college. Your mum must be proud.”
“She might be, if she knew. But I’m not so sure anymore.”
She hung her head and every part of me wanted to reach out to her. I only permitted my hand. I let it slide along the table, slow and trepid, until the tips of my fingers touched hers. They instantly warmed. Not just a hint of warmth, or a slight glow. It was a heat that took me by surprise. It made me want to both snatch my hand back and eclipse it beneath hers. She slowly raised her head and shone wide eyes at me, her lips parted.
Thankfully, I remembered what I was planning to say. “Then you should be proud of yourself. I’ve seen your CV, Rose. It’s beyond impeccable. You deserve a place at Edinburgh.”
“You really think so?”
Her question threw me. She didn’t truly care what I thought. Usually, I would have waved off a comment like that – yeah, sure, whatever. But this time, I cared less that she couldn’t possibly be genuine; I just wanted her to believe in herself.
“Yes, Rose. And I’ve been in this business long enough to know talent when I see it.”
A dusky blush crept along her skin. “Thank you. That really means a lot, Dalziel.”
Her fingers crept along mine and dipped beneath the knuckles, seeking cover. The warmth spread up my arm, across my shoulders and down my back.
“You can call me Dax,” I said, breaking another of my rules.
She blinked. “I’m sorry?”
