It Takes Heart Page 12

  “No, Ma. I haven’t been home because I have work, like the rest of the world. And I’ve been to all these great places!” She infused light into her voice. Because herein was the confusion of her feelings—her life wasn’t all bad either. Not having the tie to home encouraged her to go out into the world. Because of it, she had visited forty out of the fifty states. So many of her boxes were crossed out. “I have my career, I have my friends, and for the next week and a half, I have the Pusos.”

  “And Brandon.”

  And here we are again. And yet, despite her eyeballs rolling upward, she couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, Mom, and Brandon. Because he is part of the family.”

  “You’ll have to tell them that we miss them. That they can come here anytime.”

  “Okay, Mom, I will.” And with that, Geneva detected her mother gearing up for her list of instructions. It usually began with an innocuous request and then tipped headlong into asking when the last time was she’d gone to Mass.

  And Geneva hadn’t yet had her first cup of coffee. “Mom, I have to go.”

  “No, wait.” Lisa’s voice skewed to panic.

  “Yeah?”

  “That was a good picture of you.”

  She slowly sat up in bed, wishing that she could stand and stretch. “What picture?”

  “The one on the Heart Resort Instagram?”

  She stilled. “The Heart Resort Instagram.”

  “Yes. You’re on it. I wasn’t sure who the man was since it was just an outline, though I know now it’s Brandon. I could tell it was you immediately. Geneva, your posture. You really need to work on it. When you were little—”

  Geneva put her mother on speaker and thumbed to Instagram. She wasn’t even following the resort’s socials. Sure enough, the last photo was the faraway view of her and Brandon at the beach, and they looked . . . close. Intimate. The photo was tasteful. Artistic.

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure how I feel about this.”

  “It’s no big deal, right? It doesn’t even show your face.”

  Logically, Geneva knew this. None of her features were distinct. “I guess.”

  “But the chemistry.” She clucked.

  “All right already. I’m going. This is awkward.”

  A laugh filtered through the speaker. “I’ll call you soon.”

  At that moment, Luna’s tail tapped her on the cheek. Geneva turned to encounter her stare. “Luna says hi.”

  “My grandcat! Tell her I love her. I miss her too.”

  “I will. Love you, Mom.” Geneva pressed the button on her phone to hang up, her spirit in a flurry. There used to be a time when all her conversations with her parents, even in college, when she was so busy sowing her oats and making her life, had ended on high notes. Their conversations had brought her to the next level of confidence.

  These days, though . . . she was left with a film of regret all over her.

  And now with these photos . . .

  It wasn’t necessarily photos but social media. At its inception, she’d gathered in online social circles, where she’d relished the camaraderie, the friendships, and the business relationships.

  And then it had gotten to be too much. Her dad’s sickness had kept her from checking in with the same fervor. Soon, she’d slowly opted for cat and dog feeds instead of those posts about milestones in families. Because not every family ascended in stature in the same manner. Then every post had felt like an announcement, an update via a bullhorn into a cavernous space.

  She’d stepped back to recharge. Then, when she’d tried to jump into the fray once more, a truth had emerged. Everyone had moved on. It was like going to a ten-year reunion but with no context, jumping in midlife, into engagement and childbirth announcements without knowing anything about these newest family members.

  With that, her life had narrowed to a tiny group of individuals. Even as her business had grown, which meant playing by online marketing strategies, she’d only taken it as far as posting curated photos and ads. She had enough obligations, enough pressure, to be checked up on and judged upon.

  The phone rang again, but this time instead of her mother’s face, Brandon’s name appeared on the screen. Excitement ran up her spine, and she picked up. “Hi, I was just talking about you.”

  “Yeah?” Brandon was chipper, like he’d drunk three cups of coffee. Behind him was the whir of an engine.

  “My mom says hi.”

  “Aw, tell her I say hi, too, next time. What are you doing right now? Still in bed?”

  “Technically, I’m sitting up in bed. Why?”

  “Sal fixed your ride. I’m headed your way to drop it off.”

  “Oh.” Urgency sped up her heart. She looked down at her bare legs. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Last night she had barely crawled into bed after staying up another couple of hours to look through the Foster’s Group inquiry, research their flagship hotel, sketch out some ideas, and add to her and Brandon’s shared calendar. Game planning wasn’t necessarily doing new work, but it always set her up for a more successful day after. “Do you mean right now?”

  “Yes. But no need to get up. I can drop it off and walk over to Pag-asa. We’re partway done with the renovation.”

  Pag-asa was one of two beach houses on the southeastern part of the resort. Its roof and windows needed repair.

  “Oh, really? I’ll go with you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I wanted to get a feel for the place again, for its personality.” She put him on speaker as she dug through her duffel. Finding a simple summer dress, she climbed down the ladder, the phone in her hand.

  “You sound like my sister.”

  “It’s why we get along.” She smiled as she gathered her iPad and stuffed it into her messenger bag. “But I’ve got to talk to you about something else too.”

  “Okayyyy.” He lengthened the word.

  “I’ll be outside in ten minutes, fifteen max.”

  Geneva took a quick shower, brushed her teeth, and slathered on sunscreen. She coiled her hair up into a bun. She needed coffee, still; Brandon would have to be all right with a detour.

  With Converse on her feet and a messenger bag across her body, Geneva opened the front door. The sight of the water took her aback and added to the rush of anticipation of getting in the water after work.

  Of seeing Brandon again.

  She must have been standing there for a while, because the next thing she heard was Brandon’s voice. He was holding two to-go cups of coffee in his hand. “Geneva. You ready?”

  She nodded, heart bursting at his thoughtfulness.

  They were going to Pag-asa. Hope.

  Three minutes in the golf cart took them to the house’s turnoff. A flatbed truck had taken up most of the road, and a group of workers wearing Day-Glo-yellow vests assisted in unloading replacement windows and shingles for the roof. A construction site was always worse before it got better, and right then, Pag-asa’s status, if it had one, would be in chaos.

  It was exactly the kind of chaos Geneva loved—it meant that soon, new would replace old.

  “I love construction,” she said as she disembarked from the golf cart. Someone passed her a hard hat, though most of the workers weren’t wearing one.

  She would protect her noggin, thank you very much.

  “Same.” Brandon popped the hard hat on his head. “So this is the same company who’s bringing up our new homes—Tiny House Specialists. Chris managed a deal with them that they would reinforce some of the homes to withstand another storm. Since we’re dealing with roof and windows for Pag-asa, they were better prepared versus Mike and the crew. But did you know what I just found out?”

  Brandon was vibrating with giddiness. Geneva laughed. “What did you just find out?”

  “The project manager working with us was previously a restaurant consultant.”

  “Brandon? Are you . . .”

  He shrugged. “I’m going to ask a few questions. Research, right?”
>
  She tugged back on his shirt, and he turned. “Just . . . try not to be pushy.” Geneva knew that it was an imposition to lob a new request on a job already negotiated.

  “I promise,” he said with his boyish grin. “C’mon.”

  A woman emerged from the swarm of people. She was taller than Geneva by a few inches, fair skinned, with a light touch of pink gloss on her lips. Wisps of brown hair peeked out from under her hat.

  “Morning, Brandon.” The woman offered a hand.

  Brandon shook it. “Morning. Lainey Mills, this is Geneva Harris. She’s with interiors.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Geneva nodded.

  “Great to meet you. I know it’s a great big mess right now, but give it a few hours and you’ll see a new structure emerge.” She gestured them closer to the site and pointed out a few features in the new windows. They veered down the path toward the water. Then she turned around to face the front of the home. “You’ll notice we’re nixing the gabled roof. Instead, we’re popping it up a little higher to get more headspace in that loft. The roof itself will be made of metal that will withstand the wind.”

  “So impressive. So while you’re not adding square footage, you’re adding area.”

  “Yes, and in these tiny homes, it makes such a difference. Comfort is paramount, even to those who choose small spaces.”

  “On that topic”—Brandon crossed his arms in a casual stance—“customizations—can you do them?”

  Lainey barked a laugh. “Customization is our business. There’s nothing too specific we can’t do. People might have their misconceptions about folks who live the tiny house lifestyle, but one thing is true: they are very particular about space management.”

  “Hmm . . .” Geneva avoided Brandon’s eyes. “So how easy is it to plan a kitchen?”

  Lainey looked from Geneva to Brandon, a grin appearing on her face. “Um . . . easy.”

  “How about a restaurant kitchen?” Brandon asked.

  “This sounds like a question not pertaining to the current job.”

  “Research,” Geneva said at the same time as Brandon. She stifled a giggle. “For our resort restaurant.”

  “I see. Very, very curious. We’ll have to sit down and chat specifics—”

  “Great!” Brandon’s answer was swift, though he backtracked. “At your convenience, of course.”

  “My priority is to install the new homes coming in today and tomorrow.”

  “Oh yeah, of course,” Geneva said. She tugged Brandon’s elbow out of instinct, feeling the teamwork between them, and to hold him back. He looked like he was about to give Lainey a hug. “Priority always goes to the current build.”

  “But I’m sure I can arrange a little side consult.” Lainey dug a buzzing phone out of her back pocket. “Sorry, I have to take this. How about I text you when we’re about done here. Is that good?”

  When she was out of earshot, Geneva raised a hand for a high five. “Oh my God, did you just do that?”

  “We did that.” Brandon slapped her hand. “And we are going to be in deep crap with my brother, you understand. But it’s research, right?”

  “We?”

  “Was that only me who heard you jump in with questions? You can’t back out on me now, Harris.”

  Geneva spun around to face the water, taken in by the moment. “Wow, this house is going to have an amazing sunrise and sunset view.”

  “That’s right.”

  “It makes sense that it’s named Pag-asa.” Already, her thoughts moved to what colors should be in the space, what could be accentuated in the evening as the sun’s rays beamed through the windows. Her mind wandered to the current set of furnishings in the warehouse. “I’m going to have to head out and find different things for this home. Everything I have thus far is rustic, and too cozy. We need something a little more modern. With this house, the view is going to be everything.”

  “And how about that one? That’s Yakap.” He pointed to a tiny house so exactly like its name, peeking out from behind a barrier of sea oats that seemed to be hugging it. “It’s on the docket for Mike’s crew today.”

  “I haven’t gotten a chance to visit Yakap, since it’s the least damaged on my list—just some cosmetic changes, right? I didn’t realize that it was going to be done so quickly.”

  He nodded. “Staining the floors and replacing cabinet-front doors. A new toilet and sink. Otherwise, it will be ready to go soon. Hurricane Oscar’s off the coast of southeast Florida, so there’s a bit of a rush to get things done.”

  Geneva didn’t like the sound of that. “Then there’s no time to lose. Let’s go.”

  She trekked through the sand, unsuccessfully at first, and then bent down to take off her shoes. Sand crabs peeked out and scuttled across her path. The sand was warm against the pads of her feet, a tickle at first, before she steadied her legs and stomped through.

  It was a massage from the toes on up. Had it always felt this good to walk on the beach, with the smell of the ocean in the air? Of course she’d partaken and enjoyed since she’d arrived, but at times it felt like a renewal.

  In her excitement, her legs tangled. But just as she thought she was going to get a face full of sand, she was held up by the waist. Cackling, she gained her bearings and turned to a grinning Brandon. His smile was beautiful, contagious, and, if even possible, made Geneva’s smile bigger. Sweat bloomed on her forehead, and she wiped strands of hair away from her face. “Oh my God, thank you.”

  “What is this, a race?” He was still holding her, their bottom halves pressed together, and she felt every bit of support in his arms.

  Brandon would never let her go—it was something she never had a question over. But it was exactly the thing that made her stiffen. Because Geneva had to be let go.

  She had things to do.

  Brandon eased his hold around her. After a beat, he took a step back and let his arms fall. His eyes darted to the left, and he bent down. “Oh, look.”

  “What is it?”

  “Coquinas.” With his thumb and pointer finger, he held up a shell, cute and sparkly with hints of pink.

  “It looks like a butterfly.”

  “And it’s not broken. Usually the ones here aren’t intact.” He held it out to her. “Want it? I have a couple that are close enough to perfect, but this one’s definitely a keeper.”

  “Thank you.” She held out a palm, and Brandon set it in her grasp. “You’ve been beachcombing?”

  “When I can. It helps me think.” His gaze strayed. “I used to beachcomb while my mom took a quick beach run, though at some point she roped me into it.”

  “You don’t run anymore?” she said, forcing the moment forward.

  “That’s history. I’m a gym rat these days, or before these days. But if I’m running around here, that means someone’s chasing me.”

  She cackled, marching on by his side, and this time, with focus to keep herself from falling.

  Yakap was well set behind the sea oats on a cement foundation. The house was right out of a travel magazine, bright though unassuming with large windows. Instantly, this house became Geneva’s favorite of them all. She squealed at the potential; it evoked innocence and a simple joy. “This is so adorable. I can’t believe it made it through the storm without too much damage. This is it. I love this the best.”

  Brandon beamed.

  “What?” Now her cheeks were burning, though it could have been from the sun and especially their walk over.

  “I love your enthusiasm. You lit up talking about it. You were saying?”

  She turned away from him, steadying herself from his unflinching, amused gaze. They were there to do a job, and she couldn’t forget that. Last night had been comfortable, but it didn’t mean they should take it to flirtation. She cleared her throat and started again. “This house is just a pleasant surprise.”

  He peeked into its windows. “I don’t have the keys with me, but you can get a good view of the living area from here.”
He gestured to his side.

  She sidled up next to him and propped her hand on the glass. Leaning closer, she squinted into the darkness, into the empty shell. “Hold the phone. This is a one-floor home?”

  “Ah, that’s my bad. I forgot to mention it. The resort needed an accessible home, and since this house is built on a foundation, it was the chosen one.” He pressed a finger against the windowpane. “So if you can make it out . . . the loft was removed, and instead, a skylight added. The bedroom is toward the back.”

  “Excellent . . .” She backed up from the window and stepped into the space between the front door and the sea oats. “It’s so private. This can be super romantic.” A vision emerged, of hanging lights that set the mood, the sound of the water as the backdrop. The couple lying back on lounge chairs. Instead of Netflix and chill, it would be waves and chill. Solitude and chill. Serenity and chill, like Brandon’s town house backyard in Annapolis, its periphery bordered by rosebushes, courtesy of Tito Joe and Chris. There, they’d lain back in Adirondack chairs, hands clasped in between, and they’d chatted about everything. At times they’d forget they were in public, ensconced in the backyard’s seeming protection, and she’d climb on his lap, and . . .

  Brandon stepped up next to her, halting her running thoughts. She willed her body to cool down, hoping he couldn’t see her goose pimples and how her mind veered toward the proverbial gutter.

  He gestured to the empty area behind the sea oats. “We shouldn’t waste this space.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. Is there room in the budget for a wooden deck, with posts on four sides?”

  “And some lights, maybe?”

  “Yes!” she said a little too loudly. “And a love seat deck chair.”

  “Agreed. I see it.”

  “I feel it,” she whispered, looking out onto the water.

  “I do too.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Great minds.”

  She nodded. They always had thought alike. In design, at work, that was perfect. But in love and relationships?

  The air between them became heavy. She cleared her throat and infused levity. “We’re geniuses.”

  “Tiny house geniuses.” He laughed. “Anyway, I don’t think it will bust the budget adding the deck. I’ll need to run it by Kuya Chris.”