Page 10 of The Summer We Made Promises (The Destin Diaries #3)

“I would, thank you.” They finished touring the rooms, discussed some very simple ideas, and headed back downstairs.

A few minutes later, they sat outside at a table under an umbrella, sipping French press coffee with cream.

“This is definitely the best room in the house,” she said, looking around at the potted palms and the sunshine glinting on the large, contemporary pool.

“I work out here a lot,” he said. “Makes the poor schmucks on Wall Street jealous.”

“What do you do, exactly?”

“Investments, mostly,” he said. “I worked for a huge bank for decades, but was able to spin off my own fund a few years ago.” He lifted his coffee cup and gave her a pointed look. “So how did you and your family come to own that house on Gulf Shore Drive?”

She opted for the short version of her long tale, leaving out the part about her father dying in prison while serving time for white-collar crimes. Instead, she explained that they all had homes in Atlanta, but years ago, they’d spent summers in a much smaller cottage on the same property.

“My mother held on to it as a rental until last year, when she decided to rebuild a much bigger house and give it to us.”

“Now that’s a good and generous parent.”

Also demanding and difficult , but she kept Maggie’s shortcomings to herself. “Yes, but we haven’t decided if we’re keeping it or selling.”

“From an investment standpoint? Definitely keep it,” he said. “I mean, if you can.”

“That’s my vote,” she replied. “Now that I’ve lived there for two months, I’d like to stay here in Destin and build my design business.”

“Nothing keeping you in Atlanta?” he asked. “Or…no one?”

She smiled at the sly question. “I’m recently divorced,” she said softly. “Nothing really compelling to keep me there.”

“How recent?” he asked.

“Well…the ink isn’t quite dry.”

“Oh.” He leaned back and studied her, thinking. “How are you feeling, then?”

She appreciated the question. “I’m okay. It wasn’t really my doing,” she added. “My husband had a classic mid-life crisis and woke up one morning wanting…more than I was apparently giving him.”

He winced. “Oof. Sorry, Vivien.”

“It was complicated, since I work for his home building company. Well, I did.”

“Kids? Oh, wait. I met your daughter. Lacey?”

“That’s her. My one and only, also my dearest friend. Currently sharing a room, that’s how close we are.”

He chuckled, but his smile faded. “I don’t have kids,” he said. “Huge miss in my life.”

“Were you ever…”

“Married? Yes. Briefly in my thirties, to another investment banker. We were more married to our jobs than each other.” He looked down at his coffee. “It ended before it got messy.”

“That’s probably rare.”

“It felt like a relief,” he said, meeting her gaze again. “Which told me everything I needed to know.”

“It’s never easy,” she said. “And probably a blessing you didn’t have kids.”

“It doesn’t feel that way now that my friends are all talking about being grandparents,” he said, a surprisingly raw note in his voice.

“Well, I’m not there yet,” she said, taking a sip.

They were quiet for a beat, letting the silence be filled with the splash of the pool waterfall and the hum of a motorboat on the lake.

“So, the ink’s not dry yet, huh?” He lifted a brow. “Is it safe to guess you’re not seeing anyone?”

She looked over the rim of her cup. “I…socialize.”

“But do you date? Or is it too soon?”

“Whoa, pretty smooth transition, Danny,” she teased, purposely not answering the question.

“I’m trying to keep the banter-to-flirting ratio respectable.”

She studied him for just a moment, then chose her words carefully. “It’s not too soon,” she said slowly. “In fact, I’ve had a few dinners with a good friend who…” Who might be more , but she didn’t say that out loud.

“Well, how about this? Next time you’re back here measuring things or sketching layouts, I’d love to cook for you. Blackened grouper, pineapple salsa.”

“Tempting.”

“No pressure. Just an offer. When it feels right.” He inched closer. “Honestly? I’ve been thinking about asking you that ever since I doused you in sprinkler water.”

She gave him a side eye. “Really.”

“I hope I didn’t overstep the client bounds.”

She considered that, holding his mesmerizing gaze, feeling a flutter in her belly that might actually qualify as…butterflies.

Had she ever felt that with Peter?

“Dang, she’s thinking too hard.”

“I’m just wondering if…that means I have your business.”

“My business and my attention,” he said. “Take the one you want. Or both.”

“We’ll start with…that sports bar upstairs. Sans neon.” She pushed back her chair, bringing the chat to an end. “I’ll send you some sketches, a proposal, and we’ll schedule the next meeting very soon. Text me your email address and we’ll get it started.”

He stood, too, quiet as they went back into the house toward the front door. He opened it and stepped outside with her, pausing on the brick pavers.

“Thank you for coming over, Vivien. I look forward to working with you.” He extended his hand, which she took, ready to shake it, but he clasped her fingers and drew her a smidge closer. “I’m not trying to make things complicated,” he added softly. “I hope you know that.”

Despite the sunshine, chills blossomed on her body and the butterflies took flight again.

She smiled up at him, hoping she wasn’t flushed. “Too late.”

That made him laugh and he reluctantly let go of her hand, staying right where he was, watching her with that amused smile as she drove off.

Complicated? Yeah. That was one way of putting it.