Page 86 of Daddy By Design

And I’d already started shuffling money around for the renovations because my bank account was going to be taking a hit. Houses—or mansions—were definitely built to last back in the 1800s. There was very little structurally that I needed to be concerned about.

But all the windows were going to be custom. And the stained glass I wanted would add another level of cost.

It would be worth it, but it wasn’t going to be a quick endeavor.

Gideon wanted to go over the list of things that needed to be done first. The roof and windows were priority, as were the chimneys, which would need a good cleaning and realignment. I could still hear the cash register ca-ching noises in my head as I ducked under the spray in my little bathroom.

The small shower reminded me of the plumbing that would need to be checked over, as well.

My head pounded at the thought of all the work that needed to be done. I was eager to get to it, but it wasn’t going to be as easy as I’d hoped.

No part of moving to Crescent Cove was easy.

Except for Macy. I knew it was going to take more work to get to know her once again, but that was one thing I could be thankful for.

At least the house would keep me busy for a while. I had that as an excuse when Maeve came looking for another sculpture. Not that there was a single idea in my head. It had been scarily devoid of ideas for a good long time now.

I shut the door on that line of thinking.

After I finished my shower, I flopped on my bed to dry off while the air conditioner chugged out a cool breeze over my skin. I grabbed my phone to see if Archer had tagged me back.

Instead, there was a message from Dahlia.

Dahlia:

My afternoon is light if you want to discuss the report. I’ll be at the design studio.

I tossed my phone on the shelf behind my head. Going over there wasn’t a good idea. I should probably make sure I was around other people when I spoke with her.

My dick stirred to life at the thought of her.

Which was exactly why I should steer clear. I’d slept for shit again. Flashes of her skin, the greedy clasp of her body, and the way she’d screamed my name had plagued my dreams all damn week. My big, scarred hands on her hips as I drove into her. As I flipped her over to take her from behind because I didn’t want her to see how she affected me.

I didn’t trust myself not to reach for her again.

Not that she would probably be susceptible to any advances on my part based on how we’d left it.

But for fuck’s sake, arguing was practically foreplay as far as my dick was concerned.

I ignored the semi hard-on I was already sporting and rolled off the bed to tug on a pair of jeans. I’d been avoiding going to Trick or Treat since I’d come to town. It was hard to be around my sculptures. They were the last of the ones I’d made for myself before the accident.

For the pure love of it.

Lyric had it covered, and I didn’t want to run a store, anyway. I’d only bought it to have a place to put my Halloween stamp on the town. I’d had all sorts of plans for how I could find a way to reconnect with my sister. Halloween and the spooky had always been our link.

But then it had gotten harder to get away from Los Angeles and London. Those two areas had been where I’d been hottest. I’d lost myself in the nightlife there. The money and being in demand had been too hard to resist. I’d let fame swallow me whole until there had been nothing but blurry nights and disconnected days.

Until the accident.

I grabbed my phone and slammed out of the Airstream and stalked to my truck. As if it would be so easy to leave the past behind. I directed my truck out to Lakeview Road. I shoved on my sunglasses against the glare of the sunlight off the water.

I flicked on my workout playlist and let the epic rock songs drown out the memories. Of my past, of Dahlia’s skin, of the ripping pain that would never quite fade.

My store was on the outskirts of town. Just far enough that you had to search it out. The plot of land was far larger than what was needed for the actual candy store.

The welded metal letters soldered to the patinaed copper sign gave me a jolt. I’d avoided coming back here since I’d spent the three secretive weeks in the old hangar, creating the initial sculptures.

The macabre scarecrow with rusted scissors for hands that came out of the top of the building lured people in as much as it scared some away. It echoed the old movies and TV shows of my childhood. The campy Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger, movies like Children of the Corn with their creepy atmosphere, as well as Supernatural.

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