On The Rocks

“So… you made a few suggested changes to the design plans. I’ve been thinking about them and wanted to hear more about your ideas.”


I stare at him just a moment, trying to determine if he’s just humoring me or really wants to know, but I can’t figure him out… apparently never could… so I get up, grab my leather satchel briefcase that’s laying in the living room, and take out the plans.

Spreading them out on the table, I point to the area that comes off the back of the restaurant. Hunter pushes away from the counter and comes up to stand beside me. His nearness is disconcerting, and I have to concentrate so that my words come out with assurance.

“The architect wants to build a completely enclosed area on your deck. This will require new sub-flooring, frame, and sheetrock, not to mention you’re losing your deck. I mean… come on. We’ve lived our entire life on the beach. Everyone wants to sit out on the deck and enjoy the ocean view, right?”

“Agreed,” Hunter says. “But I need more room. More tables means more customers, which means more money.”

“I agree with that,” I concur. “But I think you should build out your existing deck, and then just cover a portion of it with a roof. Leave the walls open with retractable walls that you can open up during the warm months, and close off during the cool. You can put out portable heaters rather than installing an HVAC system. Those changes will give you more space than originally planned, as well as cheaper building costs.”

“Do you have those numbers broken down?”

I nod and grab my binder, flipping to the cost-comparison spreadsheet I worked up. I show him the figures of what it would cost to build out as proposed by the architect, and the savings doing it my way. Flipping to the next page, I show him my calculations for the increased capacity it will seat, so he can get an idea of the growth in potential revenue my design will bring him. Hunter bends over and starts reviewing the numbers, so I busy myself by pouring two cups of coffee, bringing them over to the table.

He studies the numbers thoughtfully, rubbing his finger across his chin in concentration. It draws my attention to the scruffy beard on his face. It’s not quite a full-grown beard, but it’s a bit more than a five o’clock shadow. For as long as I can remember, Hunter has always kept some sort of scruffy facial hair. It’s a surfer thing for sure, and also a lazy thing. He once told Casey when she teased him about it that he hated to shave. I hate to admit, but it’s part of what makes him incredibly sexy, that he looks just so windblown and raw all the time.

Hunter turns his gaze to me, and I have to quickly move my eyes to his so he doesn’t know I was carefully studying his face. “This is really impressive, Gabby. Your dad would be really proud.”

Oh, fuck, the man knows how to hit me below the belt. He gave me a one-two punch, first by calling me Gabby and not Gabs, which told me he was not joking. Second, he used my kryptonite against me… my love for my dad and the sincere need to make the business he started successful.

I swallow hard to get past the lump of emotion sitting in my throat, but my voice is still raspy when I say, “Thanks. That means a lot.”

Hunter just stares at me. I return it, and for a second… we’re having a moment. It’s personal, electric, and for one crazy, fleeting second, I feel like we are back five years ago in that time just before we kissed. If Hunter even leans toward me slightly, I’m afraid I might just accidentally topple onto his lips.

Instead, Hunter pulls me back to reality when he says, “The job is yours if you want it. And I want to implement your changes.”

Shaking my head slightly from the shock, I ask with disbelief, “It’s mine?”

His smile is warm. “Yup. If you want it.”

I can’t even think of words to say at first, but then I snap out of it. “I do… I want it, of course. Thank you.”