Necessary Restorations (The Walsh Series) (A) (25 page)

Last winter I’d told this group we were too fucked-up for anything normal, but I was starting to believe that was a choice I could make. Happiness, too. I didn’t have to dig myself out of a hole; I just had to decide I could and should have whatever the fuck I wanted.

Right now, I wanted Tiel.

So she liked being spanked and gagged and God only knew what else, and most importantly, she liked when
I
did those things to her. We were both within throwing range of thirty and yet we’d discovered all manner of new bridges to cross together, and that swelled in my chest like a rebel yell. I was fucking delirious for her.

“You’re saying this is a legitimate thing,” Shannon said. “Dating and the whole normal relationship? Seriously?”

Was that what we’d been doing? All those nights out, the kissing, the touching, the texting each other ‘good night’ and ‘good morning’ as if the continued rotation of the earth depended on it—was that
dating?

Shit. That
was
dating. We’d been dating, sort of, all this time and it took me until this weekend to get my hands on her tits.

“Yeah, Shan. Pretty much.”

“The universe must really fucking hate me if
you’re
in a healthy relationship,” she murmured. “Just wait, RISD will be next, and I’ll start hoarding cats and learning how to knit because what else is there to do with my time? Soon enough, you’ll all have kids but you won’t let me near them because all I’ll want to do is smell their little heads and make them promise not to let you assholes put Auntie Shannon in a home.”

“We already discussed this,” Andy said. “No one is letting you start a cat colony. Cool it with the end of days talk, or I’m cutting off your caffeine supply.”

“Bring her to Thanksgiving,” Matt said.

“Yeah,” Andy said. “Maybe she’ll like Lauren more than she liked me.”

“You can’t hold that against her,” I said. “She’s the friendliest person I know. We did not expect to run into you two. We were on our way out and Patrick was his usual jovial self, and she wasn’t wearing any—” I stopped myself before that thought went any further.

I’d never spared them an intimate detail in the past. If anything, I enjoyed the shock value of announcing I’d fucked another nameless, faceless woman in some questionably private location. But not now.

If Tiel was walking around bare-assed because I shredded her panties, we were the only two who needed to know about it.

“Oh shit, son,” Riley yelled. He clapped me on the back before rolling away from the table, laughing. “I need to meet this girl. Anyone who goes commando at an Arch Society gathering is a keeper.”

“She didn’t—no, I mean, I ripped her—fuck,” I groaned. “Never mind.”

“I’ve never had that much fun at any event put on by the Arch Society,” Matt said. “I might start attending more frequently.”

“Definitely a keeper. At the very least, she should come drinking on Black Friday,” Andy said. “We’ll see if she still hates me then.”

“As entertaining as this has been, we have a business to run and far more important things to discuss this morning,” Patrick said. “And it’s already eight thirty. All of you—shut the fuck up unless I tell you otherwise.”

Standing in the center of the Turlan’s kitchen, I glanced from one wall to another. The flow was all wrong and it wasn’t built to accommodate modern appliances—hence the refrigerator in the mudroom. The original design relegated cooking to the shadows, closing it off from the other living spaces with several small, choppy sections: the butler’s pantry, the dry goods pantry, the laundry, the galley. Bringing order to this room was my current puzzle, the one I’d been poring over all damn week, and I was getting it right this morning. I was convinced I’d make sense of it all if I stared long enough.

“What is this?” Riley asked, gesturing to a small pass-through between the interior and exterior. That, along with a grimy white tile backsplash, was revealed with the top layer of drywall removed. “Other than a respite from the cold for squirrels?”

“Milk door,” I murmured. “It’s where the milk bottles were delivered, and the empties returned.”

Riley shifted his weight and flipped through his notebook. That was one of his new things: keeping track of shit. I was actually impressed with how well he was doing. He snapped a picture and scribbled some notes, and though it was troubling he’d never encountered a milk door, I was more concerned with the kitchen. I was determined to preserve as much of the 1890s materials as possible, and there was no reason to demolish anything when it only required restoration. The cabinetry was in remarkable shape considering its age, and once we repaired the hardware and removed the flaking paint, it would be as good as anything new.

“All right,” I said, my arms outstretched as I held the plan in my mind. “We’re opening up that wall. The lower cabinets stay, and the uppers form this side of the island. Move that block”—I gestured behind me—“to the opposite end, and that’s the space for the refrigerator. Then blow out the dry goods pantry, and we have some clean, parallel flow lines.” I glanced to Riley, and the pencil frozen over his notebook. “Did you get all that?”

“Um . . .” He flipped to a new page and started sketching. “Could you repeat the part about the walls? Which ones are we changing?”

I went through each section of the kitchen again, and tagged every cabinet with blue painter’s tape and a notation about its new home. I trusted Riley, but I also knew he was likely to lose that notebook.

“You two are comedy.” Pivoting, I saw Magnolia in the doorway. “Listening to you bitching and snapping at each other on a dreary Friday morning is better than candy.”

“Gigi,” Riley called, his deep voice booming.

She approached, immediately leaning in for a hug and brushing her lips over my cheek, and though I’d defended this exact behavior a couple of days ago, it felt different now. The embrace she offered Riley was quick, and then she shifted toward me, smiling.

“What about the backsplash? Tearing that out too?” she asked. It was covered in a thick layer of glue and decades of dirt, but there was something pristine under it all.

“No, that just needs some attention,” I said, purposefully stepping away. “It can be cleaned up, and it will look better and last longer than anything we could replace it with.”

She peered at the tile, nodding. “Sounds good. What else are we looking at today?”

“There’s a plumbing issue, a fireplace issue, and a flooring issue. Take your pick,” Riley said.

“I love plumbing,” she said, shooting a wink in my direction. “I always like getting my hands on the pipes.”

I led the way to the second floor, taking two steps at a time while Magnolia and Riley recounted last night’s football game. They were both New England sports fanatics, yet held very different views on players, coaches, and game strategy.

“Here’s the issue,” I said, interrupting their playoff prediction debate. “The pipes throughout the property need to be replaced; we knew that. At every other junction, we have rotted or missing floors and it’s very easy to install new supply lines. But we have immaculate penny-drop tile in here, and we’re not disturbing it.”

“Now we’re trying to find a magician plumber,” Riley said.

“Yeah,” she said, squatting to trace the black-and-white tile pattern. “You’d never match these, not unless you found a box in the attic or something. These were custom.”

“I want to go in through the first floor ceiling,” I said, ignoring Riley’s shuddering groan behind me. This wasn’t his preferred plan. “It’s a standard flat ceiling, and cutting into it is the only way to retrofit the plumbing and preserve these floors. I don’t care if it’s a pain in the ass or really fucking expensive; it’s the best solution.”

Magnolia leaned back on her haunches, her lips pursed as she considered this. “I never would have thought of ripping out a ceiling to save a floor, however . . .” She wrapped her hand around my forearm to pull herself up, but she didn’t retreat. “It sounds like your best bet. What’s left? Fireplaces and flooring?”

“It’s fine,” I stammered, backing out into the hallway. “The fireplaces just need servicing, and maybe some new flashing before we get a heavy snowstorm.”

Magnolia paced the hallway, her fingers running over the bird’s-eye oak walls. “Flooring?”

“The genius here wants to cannibalize the planks from one room to make up for the ones we’re missing in the dining room and main parlor,” Riley said.

She sidled up beside me, elbowing my bicep. “Which room?”

“Fourth floor. The maid’s room,” I said. She was close, well into my personal space with her body angled toward mine in a manner that spoke of intimacy and heat. I didn’t know how I’d missed this before but I was seeing it now. “We can’t replicate the original flooring on the first floor, and I’d rather repurpose the wood upstairs and replace it with a near-match, unless you see an alternative.”

We traipsed all over the property, examining the floors, debating solutions, and eventually prying a plank from the fourth floor to confirm that it matched. Magnolia was always nearby, her fingers brushing mine as we climbed the stairs, her hand on my shoulder for balance when she studied a delicate sconce, her body crowded against mine to inspect a section of wood.

“I have some appointments on the North Shore this afternoon, but I’m going to be back in town around seven.” Magnolia lifted her brows, the question obvious in her eyes. “Up for dinner? Drinks?”

Oh, holy fuck.

Riley was right. She might not be planning the wedding, but at the minimum, she was under the impression we were flirting. And I
did
like her—not in the “I’m tearing your panties off now” way, but as a friend and colleague, the “let me pick your brain about some design challenges” way.

“Not tonight,” I said. I should have mentioned that I was seeing someone but I was more concerned with finishing this visit. Soon enough, she’d notice I wasn’t reciprocating, and there was no sense making it awkward for her.

Magnolia accepted this without discussion, and departed after another hug and cheek-kiss. When I glanced up from shuffling the bluelines into their proper order of disciplines, Riley was leaning against the kitchen sink, a smug grin stretched across his face.

“Believe me now?” he asked. “About Gigi?”

He played the part of the barely-reformed stoner man-child, but the kid was insightful. He understood people and situations, and he knew how to boil it all down to its most essential pieces. He didn’t put much of this wisdom to good use, of course.

“Don’t we have other properties to see today? If you have time to be pompous, I’m not giving you enough work.”

“In other words,” he said under his breath. “Yes, you are aware that she’s already named your children and decided where you’ll live out your golden years.”

“And what?” I asked, my arm flailing in his direction. “It would have killed you to jump in and help me out?”

“Sure, I could have done that.” He shrugged and reshuffled the bluelines. “But ask yourself this—why didn’t
you?
Not ready to let Gigi off the hook?”

“She was never
on
the hook,” I yelled.

I wasn’t doing that. No, that was like having my finger on the self-destruct button, and pressing it just to see what happened. I’d been finding creative ways to destroy myself for years, but I wasn’t there anymore. Well, not in the past eleven days. Longer if we excused the momentary lapse in judgment at Alibi.

“You’re blind if you think the girl who wants to
handle some pipe
isn’t on your hook,” he said.

“She’s a nice girl and I don’t want to embarrass her.” I grabbed the designs from him, again placing them in the correct order. I didn’t know what the hell he was thinking, putting the civil page above hazmat, or mechanical behind electrical. “Do me a favor next time and intercept,” I said.

My day couldn’t end fast enough. I needed to go to Tiel and get lost in her, and fuck away every shadow that developed around the edges.

Nothing I did made the time move more quickly. I raced through my late afternoon meetings and delegated some walk-throughs to Riley with the hope he wouldn’t fuck things up, and worked myself into a good fit of fury while I inched through traffic on the Longfellow Bridge.

The only benefit to this misery was I had plenty of time to plan what I intended to do when I reached Tiel’s apartment.

Unfortunately, I forgot all of it when she opened the door.

“Hey,” she said. Grinning, she looked me up and down as she leaned against the door. I knew my hair was a fucking disaster from dragging my hands through it in traffic, my tie and collar were wrenched open, my glasses were off kilter, and I probably looked a little wild.

I felt a little wild.

I stepped toward her and said, “I have been thinking about you. All. Day.”

“Sounds unproductive.” She gave me a displeased look but moved closer. Her fingers walked down my tie, stopping to study the tiny blue shells against the pink background. She played at being unhurried but her wide, eager eyes gave it all away.

“Get over here,” I said. Her hands were in my hair and my lips were on her before the words were out of my mouth, and somehow I managed to kick the door shut behind us in the process. “Bedroom.”