“Well?” she said when I finished my appraisal.
“Christy’s working on a project now,” I said, “a series about time and beauty.”
She frowned at the non sequitur, but she trusted me to make sense eventually.
“She’s sculpting a girl in the flower of youth, a woman in her prime, and an older woman in her golden years. She’s done a good job with it. The girl is beautiful and innocent. The woman knows she’s attractive but still has doubts. The older woman has an inner beauty. Her outer one has faded, but she radiates confidence.” I paused to let my words sink in.
“I don’t understand,” Susan admitted. “I’m the older woman, clearly, but—”
“The older woman is the most interesting. Not just in general,” I stressed, “but the way Christy’s sculpted them.”
“How?”
I had a sudden inspiration. “The girl is cotton candy. She’s sweet but doesn’t last. The woman is a full meal. She’s enjoyable for a while but then you’re done.”
“And the older woman?”
“A banquet. You can’t take your eyes off her. You don’t know where to start, and you don’t ever want it to end. I know I’m not saying it right, but—”
“No,” Susan laughed tearfully, “you’re saying it just fine.”
“Oh, thank God! I thought I’d—”
She leaned forward and kissed me.
I froze in surprise but recovered quickly.
“Thank you,” she said as she sat back. “I needed that. You reminded me that beauty isn’t always physical.”
“No. And neither is love.”
She smiled.
“Well, sometimes it is.” I gestured at my dick. “Any chance you could…?”
“Leave it to a man to spoil a beautiful moment.” She wasn’t really upset, though. She wiped her eyes and decided to tease me. “Your equipment isn’t ready.”
“And yours is?”
“Well, no,” she admitted.
I put my hands on her hips and drew her toward me. My cock had already begun to stiffen at the first sign of action, and it grazed her pussy as she moved into position.
“Much better,” I said. “We’ll start slow. Then I wanna watch you ride me until you come.”
* * *
We caught up with Trip at the Retreat a couple of hours later. He didn’t seem the least bit annoyed that he’d been working while we were having fun. Of course, Susan was in a good mood, which counted for a lot.
“Fluids all topped up?” he said.
“Oh, yes. I’m very happy with the service so far. I still want regular updates from you, though.”
“Any time.” He shot me a roguish grin. “It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.”
“Speaking of jobs…,” I said. “Where are we with the real one?”
“You’re no fun.”
“All play and no work makes Trip a poor boy.”
“Ha! You’re right about that.” He turned serious and gestured at the site. “I’ve looked at everything here. You wanna go over it?”
We took a quick tour, and he reviewed his list for Susan’s benefit. Then we hopped in her car and drove back to the main camp, where we did the same at the RV and camping area.
“We’ll need to hire an engineer or geologist to do a soil analysis,” Trip finished. “They’ll tell us how much ballast we need for the heavier RVs, but an ordinary paving company should be able to do the work.”
“Paving?” Susan said. “I thought we agreed, no asphalt.”
“Gravel, not asphalt,” he explained, “but it’s the same company. And we may be able to use soil for the top layer, but I’ll have to check. It depends on the drainage. I made a note.”
“Ah, okay.”
“And we’ll have to do some research on campgrounds in general,” he added. “Well, Paul will.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because you’ll need to design the layout. Heavier RVs are bigger, and they need more room to maneuver.”
“Oh, yeah. I hadn’t thought of that.”
Trip had, but he was too polite to rub my nose in it.
We took a break at that point. Susan had brought sandwiches, and we sat on her station wagon’s tailgate to eat them. She and Trip talked about phases and cost estimates, while I ignored them almost completely. I was already designing the RV and camping bathhouse in my head. I decided to add a small community room, and the others were happy to leave me to it.
We started with the motel buildings after lunch. Susan followed along and nodded as I described our plans for the wet wall and other renovations.
“I like the idea to make them more homey,” she said, “but I don’t like window units for the air conditioners. Can we install normal ones instead? Or the kind they use in hotel rooms these days?”
“Probably,” Trip said as he made a note, “but it’ll drive the cost up.”
“I don’t really care.”
“Hold on, what?” I said. “Are you the same woman who turns down her thermostat because it costs a fortune to heat her house?”
“That’s personal,” she said defensively. “This is business. Besides, the budget’s already over a million. Another few thousand won’t make a difference.”
“A few thousand here, a few thousand there,” Trip cautioned. “It adds up.”
“I want nicer air conditioners.”
“You’re the boss.” He made another note and underlined it. “Okay. Are we ready to look at the vacant houses?”
We were, and we spent several hours going over four of them. They were all typical postwar construction, solid, dependable, and utterly boring. We couldn’t do much with the exteriors, but we could update the interiors and make them more attractive to modern visitors.
“I wish you’d let us renovate your house as well,” I said when we finished.
“He’s right,” Trip added. “We could make small changes or gut it completely and start fresh.”
“No!” Susan cried. “That was my parents’ house. I grew up there.”
“Okay,” he said judiciously, “start small and work our way up.”
“Small how?” Susan asked.
“New water heater,” I said immediately.
“Mmm,” Trip agreed, “something more energy efficient. And you were complaining about heating costs?”
“Yes, I—”
“She needs a new heat pump,” I said.
“New windows would help.” He made a note. “We can blow more insulation in the attic. That’d help too.”
“What would all this cost?” Susan asked.
I threw up my hands. “Now she cares about cost?”
“Dude, chill out,” Trip said reasonably. Then he continued to Susan, “We can keep the initial costs down, but you’ll start seeing savings almost immediately. Lower electric bills, for sure, especially with the heat pump Paul mentioned.” He made a couple of notes. “We’ll do everything with an eye toward efficiency and cost savings. I’ll run some numbers and show you.”
“Better,” she said, although she added a reproachful look for me.
“He’s great at design,” Trip said, “but not so good at sales.”
I muttered resentfully, “I’m good at customer service.”
“You are,” Susan said, “and I’m sorry. You only want what’s best—”
“We both do,” Trip agreed.
“—but you need to convince me instead of giving orders.”
“Yeah, sorry,” I said.
“You’re a very good architect,” she assured me, “but Trip could sell ice to an Eskimo.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said confidently.
* * *
Christy and Wren were sitting in the living room when we came home. They stood and waited for us to drop our backpacks.
“Welcome home,” Wren said. She waited half a heartbeat before she added, “How’d it go?”
“How d’you think?” Trip said.
Christy rolled her eyes at his bravado.
“We got the job,” I said.
Her expression changed immediately. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Congratulations!”