“The weatherman said we’re in for another five days of rain, Peyton, and that was as of, oh, two hours ago…”
“Blah—” I started, but he interrupted me.
“I, quite frankly, am convinced you won’t survive another two days in that disaster which you call a house.” He paused for a second or two after laughing at his own joke. “An’ is that the fire hazard I hear in the background?”
I figured he was referring to my space heater. In response, I turned the heat up higher and smiled smugly. “Yep, you do.”
He heaved a sigh as I felt a laugh tugging at my lips. “You do know that weather forecasters are usually…wrong?” I asked, just itching to spar with him. “Truth be told, it will probably rain for another five minutes, not days.”
“In your case, I would say it’s better to err on the side of assumin’ they’re right,” he replied, wasting no time in responding. There was a slight pause before he added, “You have mornin’ voice. What are you still doin’ asleep?”
“Um, it’s like the crack of dawn,” I answered with a yawn for dramatic effect.
He chuckled again and it was such a charming sound, I felt another smile pulling my lips up. “Peyton, it’s eight in the mornin’. I’ve already had two cups of coffee and I worked out. There’s no reason for you to be lollygaggin’ about.”
“Okay, Dad,” I answered with a heartfelt grin.
“Early to bed and early to rise makes a man, or in your case, a woman, healthy, wealthy, and wise,” he pedantically quoted Ben Franklin, sounding completely self-satisfied.
“And boring,” I added. I didn’t intend to sound so put out, but it wasn’t like I’d slept well. Not while enduring the Chinese water torture of numerous leaks throughout the house, or worrying that maybe my electric heater would short circuit and burn the place down. “I’m not a morning person.”
“Regardless,” he admonished, “you made me a promise, and therefore, you have a promise to keep. So get yourself up and try not ta trip over all the pools and puddles in your livin’ room. My sister’s waitin’ for you at the Omni. Her name is Trina.”
“You already talked to her?!” I asked, unable to conceal my shock because it seemed like no time had gone by at all. I sat upright and stretched the hand that wasn’t holding my phone high above my head. My eyes were still puffy, a tacit testimony of my restless night, and my eyelashes pulled my lids down like burdensome weights.
“Like I said, I’ve been up since six a.m. and already accomplished most everythin’ I set out to do today.”
“Well, good for you,” I muttered with irritation. So what if Ryan had basically conquered the world in two hours and I was still having a hell of a time just trying to keep my eyes open…
“Time’s a wastin’, Peyton,” he rhymed back at me, with the hint of a chuckle in his tone.
“I should never have given you my phone number,” I murmured even though I had to admit I enjoyed talking with him and even more, I liked him taking it upon himself to serve as my wake-up call. Even though I really didn’t want to admit it, I liked Ryan Kelly. I couldn’t help it.
“Givin’ me your number was the neighborly thing to do.” He paused. “I mean, what if I ever need to borrow a cup of sugar?”
“Isn’t there a grocery store nearby?”
“Don’t think you’re gonna get out o’ your promise with a little verbal sparrin’, Peyton Clark,” he reprimanded me. Honestly, it was the sexiest scolding I’d ever had the good fortune to deserve. The flirtatious tone to his voice combined with how he said my name made me catch my breath for a second. I nearly forgot what the hell we were talking about. Oh yeah…giving him my phone number the evening before.
“Well, let’s just say that if I realized you were such a drill sergeant, I would’ve pretended not to have a phone,” I finished, sounding haughty despite my amusement.
“No more excuses, Ms. Grumpy-Pants.”
“Okay, okay,” I said and attempted to stifle a yawn as I stretched my legs out before me. Standing up, I lumbered over to the electric heater, which began making a zapping sort of sound it hadn’t been making yesterday. Maybe Ryan was right about it being a fire hazard. Surprisingly, I hadn’t electrocuted myself or burned my house down yet, considering a portable heater and ancient electrical outlets weren’t exactly ideal bedfellows when mixed with water.
“I’ll meet you in the hotel lobby at noon with a list of some reliable general contractors in the area, should you need one.” He said the last part without even trying to conceal the smile in his tone—making it more than obvious that Ryan thought I needed a general contractor or two. Or maybe even three.
“Thanks,” I answered, feeling somehow deflated that our conversation switched from heated flirtation to mere business so quickly. I reminded myself that first and foremost I had a mission to see to fruition—remodeling my house. Flirting with Ryan Kelly didn’t fit into my plans. That’s all there was to it.
“And another thing, Peyton, I know the contractors on this list personally, so I’ll make sure they give you a good deal,” he added.
“The neighborly rate?” I asked with a laugh. Luckily for me, my divorce settlement was a decent one, which would allow me to rebuild my dream home. Granted, it wasn’t going to see me through the rest of my life, but I figured the settlement would last me a good year. By that time, I’d very happily be ready to work again. Actually, the idea of getting a job didn’t depress me at all. During the stint of my marriage, Jonathon forbade me from working. I was convinced he didn’t want anything to detract from him being the center of my world.
Because I didn’t work during my marriage, I never felt as if anything surrounding me was mine. I’d had zero say in the purchase of our home—Jonathon had just shown up one afternoon with the news that he’d bought a house. My car appeared one day just as mysteriously as the house; even the clothes in my closet bore Jonathon’s stamp.
A successful Los Angeles attorney, my ex-husband had more money than he could spend. And despite the fun of never having to worry about anything financial, I would have traded the Bel Air mansion, sports cars, fair-weather friends, and all the rest of it for real love—for a husband who loved me for the true me, not the woman he wanted to me to be. And, even if I could’ve changed myself into that Stepford wife, I still doubted Jonathon would really have loved me. Nope, the only person Jonathon could love was Jonathon.
Thankfully, I wouldn’t have to worry about finding a job for a little while but when the time came, I would welcome it because it would be another example of how I was now living for myself. And what was more, I was excited about the prospect of actually being able to put my flare for history to use. Maybe I’d take up a position as a museum docent or a librarian at the historical society. Whatever job I ended up with was really beside the point at this stage. What mattered to me most was that every decision I made would be just that—a decision I made.
“No,” Ryan chuckled. “It’s not the neighbor rate. It’s the ‘I better get someone to lowball the job so this girl will hire someone to renovate her deathtrap so I can sleep at night’ rate.”
The Omni Royal hotel was a nineteenth-century marvel of vastly high ceilings, ornate crown molding, vanilla-colored walls, expansive white marble floors, and elegant crystal-prismed chandeliers. True to his word, Ryan hooked me up with a room, and his sister, Trina, was kind enough to comp the entire thing. A free room at the Omni Royal was beyond generous in its own right, but I was more than shocked to find that my “room” was actually a suite, complete with a living room separated from the bedroom by double doors. With a wrought iron balcony overlooking the very fashionable Royal Street, I swallowed a large gulp and took in the plushness of a velvet gold sofa and mahogany table with two dark-brown velvet club chairs. All faced a flat-screen TV that was at least sixty inches wide. Rich coppery drapes trimmed the sides of the French doors, which opened to the wrought iron balcony. The room was stylish with the essence of ornate finery.