HE HADN’T BEEN EXAGGERATING. However, from what he and Kylee had told her, Brianna had expected the cobwebs, mouse droppings and graffiti she remembered from those youthful days of breaking in. The graffiti was still there on the unfortunately ugly wallpapered foyer walls, but the only thing covering the floors was taped-down paper, sawdust and a few scattered nails. Scaffolding and sawhorses supporting long pieces of Sheetrock as tabletops took up much of the covered floors.
“The interior walls are all gone.” That had been a spooky, but in a weird way, fun thing about the house. Going from parlor to parlor, never knowing what lurked around a corner. Pipes and wires between studs were all that remained.
Broad shoulders lifted and fell in what appeared to be a resigned shrug. “They thought open concept on the first floor would make for a communal experience.”
“I can’t argue with that. Especially when you’re hosting a group that wants to spend time together. But they seem to have overdone the concept.”
“Again, we’re in full agreement.”
“Could you put some walls back in?”
“Sure. We’ll have to move some electrical and plumbing, and you’ll probably need to change the HVAC, but it’s doable. Were you thinking of going more back to the original layout?”
“A combination would be good.” She’d decided that on the long drive home. “Some small parlor rooms for more intimate conversations, and even private meals. But I want a wide-open kitchen with plenty of room to serve breakfast.”
Attacking her research the same way she had in her previous occupation, she’d bought two audiobooks about the business of establishing and running a B and B that she’d listened to along the drive, pulling off at exits every so often to write down notes in the three-ring binder she’d bought before leaving Las Vegas. She also had three more books on her Kindle waiting to be read.
She looked a long way up. “The mural is still there.”
Rather than depicting the mythological figures popular at the time the house was built, these were scenes of the peninsula—from the cliffs and crashing waves, to the glaciers of Mount Olympus, standing tall over Hurricane Ridge, to the towering hemlock and Douglas firs, the fields of lavender farms, the strait leading to the Puget Sound cities of Seattle, Tacoma and Olympia, the dazzling blue bay that Honeymoon Harbor had been built on.
Scattered throughout the quadrants were the Native American original settlers, the ships, including Captain Vancouver’s Discovery, fishermen and builders like Seth’s family. Unsurprising, given that the house had been contracted by a timber baron, loggers claimed the center.
“I had to fight to keep that,” he revealed. “The doctors wanted to paint over it and hang a massive chandelier they were bringing in from some old Italian chateau. Fortunately, the historical preservation folks stepped in to back me up since it turned out to have been painted by Whistler.”
“The Whistler? As in James McNeill Whistler?”
“The very same. The original owner of this place had seen one he’d painted on the dining room in the home of some wealthy Liverpool shipowner and wanted something like it for this house. The fact that he was an American pulled a lot of weight with the historical committee.”
“That makes it even more special. If I make a separate page for it on the website, it might even bring in historical art lovers wanting to stay here. Whistler’s got to have a following, right?”
“Could be,” Seth agreed. “The same way people go around the country searching out certain architects’ work.”
“Though, of course, that alone might not cause them to stay more than a single night. Fortunately, with the National Park and the proximity to the coast, and Victoria, BC, we’ve lots of other local things for visitors to do that will keep them here for at least a weekend, or longer. I’m going to make a list and put together packages on the site.”
“You’ve thought this through if you’ve gotten to planning a website.”
“It’s a nineteen-hour drive and a two-hour ferry ride from Las Vegas to Honeymoon Harbor. That gave me a lot of time to think. And I can tell from the expression on your face that you think it’s just a whim, but it’s not. Maybe the idea sounds impulsive, but it’s been percolating in the back of my mind for a long time. It just took an inciting incident to bring it to the surface.”
Seth thought about asking what incident that might be, wondered if it had anything to do with a guy, then decided the less he knew about Brianna’s personal life, the better.
“Except for updating all the wiring in the place to keep the house from being a fire hazard, the second floor hasn’t been touched,” he said as they walked toward the back stairs.
Bandit usually took the opportunity to patrol the perimeter for renegade squirrels if no worker was around to mooch from, but today he seemed to have decided to tag along with the pretty new lady.
“The circular stairway in the front entry is a showcase, but if it were the only one, the owners—who I guess would now be you—would have to keep running into guests.” Which he personally wouldn’t enjoy. Then again, ever since his wife got blown up, no one would refer to him as Mr. Hospitality on his best day.
“Good point,” she said.
“The third story attic’s been turned into a penthouse with its own kitchen. The previous owners intended to live there.”
She shuddered. “I remember bats.”
“They’re all gone. Though there is a bat house at the far end of the property, not far from the pond. Not only are they good for pollinating plants, one little brown guy can eat a thousand mosquitoes a night.”
“That’s a plus,” she allowed.
“All the windows, including those in the attic dormers, have been reglazed,” he assured her. “That wavy glass was a better insulator back then and, hell, it just looks better.”
Brianna paused on the landing leading up to what was once an attic crowded with junk. And mice. And, yes, bats. She’d gotten one tangled up in her hair one night, he recalled. He’d managed to free her, but not before she’d practically blown out his eardrums with her screeching.
While Zoe had long dark curls, Brianna’s hair was the color of caramel streaked with gold. As he got a whiff of its citrusy scent, he wondered if the streaks had been created by the blazing desert sun, or if she’d paid for them in some chichi salon. Not that he cared. It was just a random thought.
“I can tell why you deserved to win that award,” she said, thankfully unaware of his thoughts. “You really care.”
“Harpers built most of these old buildings,” he said. “It only makes sense that I’d want them to stay true to the original vision.”
“Yet with your credentials, you could work anywhere. You’d undoubtedly be in demand in lots of big cities where you could make more money.”
“I have all the money I need. And I like it here just fine. Though I have done a couple jobs, for cost, in Portland and Seattle for preservationists wanting to save them from the wrecking ball.”
She gave him another slanted-head look, as if working for free hadn’t been a concept in her high-flying world. Which, he figured, it probably hadn’t been.
“Let me show you the penthouse.” As he followed her up the stairs, it would have been impossible not to notice that she had a very fine ass filling out the back of those skinny jeans.
Off-limits, he reminded himself firmly.