going to need a cat,” Faith said.
He’d expected her to scream. Or at least gasp.
She’d done neither.
So, tiny furry things didn’t scare her, only big ones that barked. He’d have to remember that.
“There could be other things lurking beneath the baseboards,” he warned.
“I’ll call an exterminator.” She smiled. “Or Frank.”
The edges of Gabe’s mouth curved. He couldn’t help himself. Her charm drew him in even though that was the last thing he wanted. He would have to watch it. Watch her. She’d already stolen his house. He couldn’t give her a shot at his heart.
Faith stepped into the sitting area on the left. “The fireplace, the exposed beams on the ceiling. It’s absolutely perfect.”
He forced his gaze off her and into the room. At least she had the right enthusiasm about the house. That had to count for something. Maybe he’d misjudged her. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done that.
As much as he liked women he didn’t always have the best judgment of their nature or motives. He’d seen only what he’d wanted to see in his ex-wife. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
“Oh, look. Another seating area—” she hurried back across the entry into the room on the right-hand side of the house “—with another fireplace. This is great. Guests can have their choice of areas to sit and relax.”
Guests. Not a family.
Her enthusiasm wasn’t so appealing after all.
She stood in front of a window, the spot where he had imagined putting up a Christmas tree, and pointed to a corner. “What a perfect place for a Christmas tree.”
“Where you’re standing is better.”
Damn. He hadn’t meant to say that.
She glanced around. “You’re right.”
He didn’t want to be right. Not about the tree, the house or its new owner.
As Faith walked across the room, the air moved around her. She exuded an energy he could almost touch. It made zero sense but he wanted to touch it.
Touch her.
Gabe brushed a cobweb from the ceiling.
“I can’t believe the staircase. The wood is incredible.” Her gaze met his. “Can you match the trim and moldings if they need to be replaced? Arts and Crafts style is popular, but these designs are so old.”
He liked that she cared about the details. Liked it a lot. Stop. Focus on business, the house. Anything but her. “The finishing work can be specially milled to match.”
“But won’t you be able to tell what’s new versus old?”
“When my crew and I are finished, you won’t know the difference.” He ran his hand down one of the wide staircase’s balustrades. The polished wood felt smooth and solid. This house had stood long before he and Faith were born and would be around long after they were gone. “My goal when I remodel an old house is to have the place look as if I’ve never been there and have all the work I’ve done look as if it’s been there forever.”
“That’s a noble goal,” she said. “But is it realistic with all the modern conveniences people expect nowadays? And staying within budget?”
As if money were a concern to a famous movie star…
“Yes to both questions,” Gabe answered anyway. Maybe she would get tired of the house and Berry Patch the way she got tired of her fiancés. “Many people long for the charm and character of an older home, but don’t want to sacrifice a gourmet kitchen or a spa-like bath or closet space. With care and planning, restoration can be achieved without ruining the architectural integrity of the house or costing an arm and a leg.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Good answers.”
He didn’t care what she thought. “It’s my job.”
“The Ornaments of a House Are the Friends that Frequent It.” She touched the inscription over the fireplace. The faded gold letters were raised on an oak plank and inset in the bricks. “Isn’t that just perfect for a B and B?”
Better for a family home. “No.”
“What did you say?” she asked.
Busted. Like it or not, she was the client. If he provoked her enough, Faith could fire him and hire someone else. Someone like Scott Ellis and his crew of imbeciles who would do whatever she wanted as long as she was willing to pay for it. Gabe couldn’t allow that to happen.
Time for damage control. “The quote is from Emerson.”
She arched a brow. “You don’t seem like the poetry type.”
“I’m just a guy from a small town who pounds nails for a living. I’m not much into types.”
“What are you into?” she asked.
The interest in her voice kicked up his desire, aroused him. He clamped it down. Not now. And not with her.
“Poetry?” she suggested.
“Sometimes.” He hooked his thumb through a belt loop. “I’m into houses, architecture, family and friends. My dog.”
You. Like her or not, she was attractive. Sexy. A whole lot of other things that he didn’t want to think about.
“What about you?” Gabe stared at her. He shouldn’t be interested in her, but the question had slipped out. “What are you into?”
“My family. Especially my nieces and nephew. And my privacy.”
If that was supposed to be a hint, he wasn’t taking it. Berry Patch wasn’t her home. She had no family here. Sure she might have some privacy, but not as an innkeeper. Maybe she wasn’t that committed to this project. To this house. Maybe his dream wasn’t completely dead. “How do those things fit into owning a B and B?”
“They’re why I’m here.” She tilted her chin. “Why I bought this house. And why I want the best contractor around to remodel it.”
He couldn’t deny her compliment pleased him, but the determination in her voice surprised him and aroused his curiosity.
Better keep his mind on the house. Gabe didn’t usually mind mixing business with pleasure, but not on this job.
She stepped into the dining room and he followed her.
In the sunlight flooding the room, her hair looked almost auburn. Her lips curled into an easy smile. “The built-ins are beautiful.”
He forced himself not to stare at her. Stay focused. “The French doors lead to a small back porch.”
She
