Brothers of Paradise Series

My mom used to say that sometimes, the only thing a person can do is take it day by day, and that’s what I’m going to do.

Blueprints… a large room with a fireplace. Dining room. Yes. I need to work on a staging theme for the new development over in Restwick. We have less than three weeks before it hits the market, and it’s bound to cause a bidding war. This area of New England attracts a lot of buyers, and Harris Property is sure to take advantage of that.

As I look through our files later, my gaze gets caught on a small, abandoned storefront here in Paradise Shores. It’s a tiny place, really, but it’s still on the market. The location is good. As is the natural light.

It’s easy to imagine paintings on the wall and the soft artificial lighting of a gallery. Or an art studio, for kids in the region. Maybe both.

Could I combine them? Showcase up-and-coming artists during the days and have classes in the evening?

Before I can stop myself, I’m pulling up all the stats I can find about the property. The year it was built, the square-footage. It’s doable. The space is good, and I have the money for it. It could possibly even be discounted, having been for sale for so long. I’ll basically be doing them a favor by taking it off the market.

My heart is beating fast, and for the first time in a long while, it’s because of art. I’d given up even trying to combine it with my life in Paradise Shores-I’d thrown myself into family life and work and reconnecting with this place. But now, I’m realizing maybe I don’t have to leave that life behind. Maybe I can have both.

I photocopy the listing and slip it into my purse.

Turner comes into my office after lunch, his trademark smile in place. “Did you get my email on the Craft house?”

“I did, yes. I’ve looked over it. I agree with your comments.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. I usually have full faith in the architectural design team, but this time, it just seems…”

“It’s too art nouveau. We’re never going to get it sold with those plans.”

“Exactly. I understand the virtues of design and all, but very few people want a perfectly round living room.”

I chuckle. “Or a concrete shower.”

“Send me any notes you might have, and I’ll forward it together with my own.” He stops by the door to my office, hand tapping against the frame. “Thanks for last week, by the way. For the Maze Party. It was fun.”

“Yeah, it was,” I say, with a smile. “And you were right. It’s important to me, our friendship and our work together.”

He nods. “I completely agree.”

“And I don’t want to jeopardize that.”

“Me neither. And for the record, it wouldn’t. I wouldn’t.” He shrugs, looking a bit uncomfortable, before shooting me another big smile. “Anything is at your pace, Lily.”

“Thank you.”

“Now back to work.”

I smile. “Sure, sure. I’ll send you the email as soon as possible.”

“Fantastic.”

He leaves and I’m left with my work and my thoughts. I know Turner wants more from me, but it’s not fair to him to suggest another attempt at a date. Not after what happened at my parents’ dinner-not knowing that what I feel toward him is nothing compared to the tangled jumble of emotions that Hayden evokes.

And there’s no denying I’m excited about tonight.

The butterflies multiply in my stomach until I have a veritable garden by the time I have to leave work. For so many years, I’d missed having him in my life, and here he is now. I’ll be damned if I don’t take advantage of that.This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

I pack up work and head home with my thoughts swirling. It doesn’t take me long to change into the casual dress I’d already picked out that morning, to brush my hair out and put on a bit of lip gloss. I put on upbeat music in the background, trying and failing to still my nerves.

I park outside Hayden’s house on Elm Street. I wonder, not for the first time, how he affords what must be a significant rent. He’s been here for nearly two weeks by now, and it can’t be cheap. But his financial situation has always been a sore topic. I remember that from childhood, from asking about college prospects and jobs and getting monosyllabic answers. It used to kill me that he didn’t want me to help. Now I understand that it came from pride.

I walk up the steps with a wine bottle in hand. I raise my hand to press the doorbell, but the door opens before I can ring.

Hayden is so handsome it hurts. A plain white button-down makes his dark hair stand out in contrast, the cut of his shoulders wide and imposing. It never stops hitting me just how different adult Hayden is from the teenager I once loved.

His eyes, though. He looks at me like I’m late-like he’s been waiting forever, like he can’t look away-even though I’m bang on time.

“I saw the car.”

“I brought wine.”

The house smells delicious, like something rich and cheesy. I can’t stop myself from taking a deep whiff. “This smells amazing. Are you cooking?”

“I haven’t changed that much, Lils.”

“Take-out?”

“Yeah, I got food from Michelangelo’s. Risotto and pizza. Figured we could share?”

“Yes. Yes, absolutely.”

We grab the food as he leads me through the house and out to his backyard. It’s a beautiful little place, with green grass and a deck for dining.

We take a seat opposite each other, the food in between us. For a while we do nothing but look at each other.

I smile, just a little. “So, how do we do this?”

“Dating?”

“Yes.”

“I have no idea.”

My smile grows bigger. “We never did, in the past.”

“No. We were just… together.”

“But you must have been on dates since then.” I make sure to keep my voice light and ignore my unease at the idea. “The concept is fairly standard. Eat, talk, flirt. Repeat.”

His smile is replaced by a faint frown. It makes him more handsome somehow, set against the square jaw and the dark hair falling across his brow. “I haven’t dated a lot. It’s not exactly a possibility in the military.”

The answer makes me unreasonably pleased. “That’s understandable.”

“What about you? The Yale men must have been lining up, not to mention New York.”