When Julian texted me a few days ago to schedule a walk-through of the Founder’s house, I thought he meant I would be meeting with his team to check out the work that needed to be done and compile a list of all our pending tasks.
Instead, I’m surprised to find Luis Senior’s old pickup truck parked in the driveway and Julian standing on the ornate wraparound porch. He leans against one of the intricately carved beams that support the fish-scale shingled ceiling above his head.
“I thought the McLaren was fixed?” I ask.
“It is, but there is no way I’m driving that car during the winter, especially not after our little incident.” He tucks his hands into the front pockets of his slacks.
I am quickly distracted by the mansion. It looks so much grander in the daylight, with turrets shooting toward the sky and a west-wing tower that is so tall, it casts a large shadow across the lawn. The stained-glass window above the door and the colorful yet faded paint scheme add a personal touch.
The home is stunning, regardless of the obvious neglect and lack of upkeep. I’m overwhelmed by ideas of how I could update the exterior— “Dahlia.”
I look up to find Julian staring at me with a strange expression. “Where’s the rest of the team?”
“Ryder and the crew are dealing with a septic tank that burst at one of our sites.”
My nose twitches. “Gross.”
“For once, I’m glad it’s not me.” His eyes run up the length of my body. “You look…interesting.”
My hands ball up against my sides. “I see why you don’t compliment others often.”
His brows scrunch. “Why?”
“You genuinely suck at it.”
He frowns as a faint blush creeps up his neck. “I was trying to be nice.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m stupid,” he grumbles.
“It only took you thirty years to finally admit what I’ve been trying to prove all along.”
He frowns hard enough to reveal a few wrinkles.
I have an extra bounce in my step as I walk up to the house in my non-industrial booties.
His phone rings before he has a chance to say something. He checks the screen before showing me the caller ID. “Do you mind if I take this?”
“Tell your mom I say hi.”
Julian does what I ask. Whatever his mom says has him turning away from me. I’m nosy, so it kills me to only catch bits and pieces of the conversation, especially when his mom makes him laugh.
Good God. Julian’s laughs don’t come often, but when they do, my whole world stops for a few seconds so I can process the sound.
His affection for his mother is not only genuine but frustratingly endearing. My stomach dips as he laughs and promises to stop by his mom’s place after work because she is having issues with her leaking kitchen faucet.
Julian has more money than he could possibly spend in this lifetime and a roster of people who could fix a faucet in ten minutes flat, yet he offers to help instead.
Are you surprised after he spent an hour fixing your dishwasher because he refused to give up and call for help?
“Bye, Ma. Nos vemos luego.” Julian hangs up before walking down the creaking stairs. “Hey. Sorry about that.”
“Everything okay?”
He tucks his phone into the inside pocket of his gray suit. “Besides the sink, yeah. She couldn’t resist going over a few things about the Harvest Festival too.”
“Oh? Is that coming up soon?” I feign ignorance.
Nos vemos luego: See you later.
His brows pull together. “You’ve been gone for a while, but not that long.”
“Hm.”
Lake Wisteria has four huge events each year to celebrate the different seasons: fall’s Harvest Festival; the Lake Wistmas Holiday Extravaganza; spring’s Food, Wine, and Flowers Weekend; and the famous summer Strawberry Festival. The entire town pitches in to help throw each event, and people from all over the state come and visit.
I’ve tried my hardest to block the upcoming Harvest Festival from my mind, but my days of ignorant bliss will soon come to an end since it’s only a matter of time before my mom asks me to help with the Mu?oz booth.
Everyone so far has been nothing but welcoming.
Doesn’t mean all the visitors from neighboring towns will be.
His gaze narrows.
I move around him and head toward the front steps. Julian unlocks the door, and the hinges groan as it swings open and bangs against the wall, sending dust flying everywhere.
Julian and I break out into a coughing fit.
I wave my hand in the air and gasp. “Do we need masks or something?”
“Let me check to see if I have a couple lying around.” Julian rushes to the truck bed.
Beams of light cut through the dust cloud, drawing my eyes toward the source.
“Oh my God.” I walk inside, ignoring Julian’s protest from behind me.
The dual staircase leading up to the second floor looks like something out of a movie. Intricately carved wood balusters and the elaborate hand-embroidered carpet running up the length of the stairs blow me away with the amount of detail crammed into a single statement piece. Whoever designed the entrance had an eye for detail and luxury.
“What the hell, Dahlia? You should have waited for me.” Julian doesn’t give me a chance to grab the mask from him. Instead, he covers the lower half of my face before fixing the straps in the back so my hair doesn’t poof up.
To think I said romance is dead.
“Are you seeing this?” I wave toward the stairs with a muffled voice.
“I’m sure smelling it.”
“Where’s your mask?”
“I only had one left.” His nose scrunches again before he sneezes.
I reach for my mask, only for Julian to push my hands down. The graze of his fingers against my knuckles sends a pleasant zing down my spine.
Oh Dahlia. You’re a lost cause.
“I’m fine,” he says with a sniffle.
“No need to act chivalrous without an audience.”
He shoots me a look before walking toward the foyer beneath the stairs. “First impression of the place?”
“I’m in love.”
His right brow rises. “Just like that, huh?”
“Just like that,” I repeat as I note the detailed wood moldings throughout the space. “I mean, look at all the details.”
“Whatever carpenter they hired did a great job. Termite damage aside, the craftsmanship is impeccable.” He runs a hand over the baluster.
“Think you could replicate it?” I ask without thinking much of it.
His hand freezes. “I don’t do carpentry anymore.”
“What? Since when?”
With the way he becomes engrossed with a light switch, one might believe he was born before electricity was invented. “A while.”
“Why?” My high-pitched voice echoes around us. Julian had the talent to turn a block of wood into a work of art with nothing but a few tools and a single idea.
To think he stopped…
He shrugs. “I got busy.”
“I refuse to believe this.”
He checks his watch. “I have a meeting in thirty, so let’s keep going.”
My eyes narrow. “We’re not done with this conversation.”
“All right. Make sure to bring it up again when you’re ready to talk about why you and Oliver broke up,” he snaps.