Page 40 of To Have and to Scold

“Maybe you should stop chronicling what happens to all the couples you work with after the wedding,” I tell her.

She laughs, but I gently push against her shoulder with my own. “I’m serious. That just seems depressing.”

“Not all my couples end up divorced. There’s a lot who are doing great, and I love seeing that.” She pauses. “I don’t know. For me, wedding planning is less about the romance and more about the beauty of it all, the colors and themes and aesthetics. Having it all come together is what excites me. I try not to get too invested in the emotions of it all. Iamhappy for my couples and their families. It’s just…I make sure I’m keeping it professional at all times. I have to.” She hesitates. “Except for my need to know if they make it or not.”

“Come here.” Suddenly, I’m holding her hand again, walking her to the ensuite bathroom. I’ve got to stop dragging her around by the hand, but it’s dark up here and I want to keep her safe. “You’ll be happy to see this ensuite is larger than a closet—unlike the bedrooms downstairs.”

“Yes! Finally!”

It’s been gutted and cleaned out, so there’s little in here that will resemble the finished product. “None of the finishes have been selected for the bathroom yet. Maybe you could offer some suggestions if you want.”

Her eyes grow large. “I want. I want.”

I’m still chuckling over her excitement as we exit the bathroom and re-enter the bedroom. I pull open a door in the back. “The balcony.” I make a flourish with my arm, and she gasps again.

“I didn’t even know this existed.”

Funny how I was just thinking that the bedroom we painted was too intimate. And that was a bad thing. Now I’m on the balcony with her and we’re smelling the evening ocean air and suddenly it feels like a good thing?

“It’s perfect,” she says. “This part of the house alone is worth a lot. You’re going to get so many people reserving this.”

I step away from the railing. “If I remember right, it’s a little wobbly.”

“Oh. Okay.” She raises her elbows off the railing and takes a step back. And that seems to have done the trick that my mind needed. There. We can reestablish a sense of propriety.

We’re back through the bathroom and owner’s suite and into the hallway in no time.

“What’s on the other side of the stairs?” she asks. Is her voice a little higher pitched than normal? Is she as affected by our close proximity and the night air as I am?

“Two more bedrooms. And then on the mirroring side of the honeymoon suite is the library.”

She starts a slow jog, and I have to angle my phone so that I can light the way for her.

“Please tell me there are old books here still.”

“Sorry. The books were relocated to the county library last year during demo. They were just boring old county histories and stuff like that.”

“Doesn’t sound boring to me.” She pushes through the door and murmurs in delight at the bookshelves, built-ins that are solid, heavy, and stained a dark walnut.

“Tell me your vision for this place.” She tosses a look behind her and then runs a finger along one of the shelves. “Please don’t say you’re going to rip out these built-ins.”

“Of course not. The mayor doesn’t want to do much. Just sand the floors down a bit. Maybe add in a few coffee tables, some sofas, and overstuffed chairs. I don’t know. We haven’t thought about it much.”

She wheels around. “I have a better idea. What if this room were used as a bridal suite where the bride and her wedding party can get ready? We could put in a few vanities and mirrors with lights around them. And the shelves could house little basketsthe brides could store things in.” Excitement overtakes her face. “People would go nuts over it.”

“Skylights? Vanities and mirrors?” I clear my throat and step out of the room. “I’m sure you’re right. But that would have to happen later on. I’m not about to ask the mayor to increase the budget.”

Another loud bark and a scampering sound jolts me into action, back up the hall and down the stairs, with Dallas close behind.

I hear a thunk, followed by aglurk, glurk. And as I step off the last step, I see Ace, with paint on his legs and feet and splatters over the rest of him, bounding towards me, all smiles and a wagging tail, painting milky white footprints all over the floor with every step.

Chapter Fourteen

Beck

It’s the best of times. It’s the worst of times.

Besides the obvious, that Ace somehow got out of his crate last night—yeah, I probably didn’t latch it tight—and knocked over the bucket of paint, leaving wreckage everywhere he stepped.

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