Page 40 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“With a few stray boards?”
He huffs. “I’m not interested in getting sued today.”
“Were you reciting Shakespeare?”
“No,” Mike says.
I thread my way through the debris and walk up the half-finished deck stairs. “Yes, you were. Sonnet 40.”
“You can’t come up here. You’re not even wearing closed-toe shoes.”
He looks genuinely concerned, and then I remember he’s an actor. “Is this place yours, or is there some sort of Miss Havisham character rotting in a wedding dress inside?”
“Come on. By now, I’m sure you’ve pulled the property records and deep-dived into La Jolla’s real estate history.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve been too busy unpacking and catching up on five years of missed sleep.” I part the plastic tarps and step inside the house.
Piles of drywall and framing are gathered in the center of the room.
“How many walls used to be in this place?”
“Too many,” Mike says. “You really shouldn’t be in here.”
“Are you a contractor who only moonlights as a cosplayer?”
“Sure. Go with that. Now get out.”
I step around the construction materials and head into a room that has dark walnut paneling, a fireplace, and a picture window facing the ocean.
“Whoa! Look at that view!” I tap the frame of the window. “But this should be twice the size.”
Mike snorts.
“The paneling should be ditched too.”
“I’m not demoing the only decent walls in the house.”
“Then paint them white.”
Mike folds his arms across his chest, which does really nice things for his biceps. Highlighted poetry about love springs to the front of my mind, and I can feel the heat creep into my cheeks. “Where’s the kitchen going to be?” I skirt the pile of drywall and dart past the front door. “Here?”
“That’s going to be a built-in window seat. An island is going to go here with a stovetop in the center. Stacked washer and dryer right behind it. Sink and dishwasher”—he measures—“here.”
My nose wrinkles. “Next to the washer and dryer? That’ll block the view.”
“But it will save money.”
“And the fridge?” I open the back door and smile at the sight of the privacy fence with the roof of my cottage peeking out from it.
“Right next to the pantry.”
“You should demo the pantry, tuck the washer and dryer there instead, put the stove next to the sink, and keep the island free for buffets and eating. It’ll feel more open. Beachy.”
Mike frowns, but he makes some quick measurements. “I guess I could run the vents through the ceiling.”
“How many bedrooms?” I dart down the hall that’s painted like an ocean wave.
“Two, and one bathroom.”
