Page 14 of Restored By You

I pull my phone out.

Shea: Still noon?

Then, thirty seconds later:

Shea: Are you okay with being on camera? I want to get some b-roll footage during the planning stage.

Shea: Tyler says hi. (He didn’t. But morally he would have if he knew I was texting you.)

Something pulls at my chest so fast, I wish I’d missed it. But I don’t.

I’m eager to see her again. Itching for it, really. Since our run-in at Cup O’ Joe this morning, I haven’t gotten her out of my mind. Hell, even that’s a lie. Since eleven o’clock last night all I’ve been picturing is her—frantic, wet, fucking grateful at the very sight of me…

“Who’s that?” Levi asks, reading my face the way only someone who’s shared a bathroom with you for thirty-plus years can.

“Nobody,” I say, tucking the phone away.

He lets the silence breathe for exactly three seconds. “California Girl was cute. You get her number?”

I glare at him. “Drop it, Levi.”

He grins, slow and satisfied, gathering up his copy of the blueprints. “You know,” he says casually, “I’m starting to think this job just got a lot more complicated.”

My brow furrows. “What are you talking about? The resort project is ours. We’ve got this in the bag.”

“Mm.” He heads for the door, tossing back over his shoulder, “That’s not the job I was talking about.”

I grit my teeth, following him out of the conference room without a comeback.

It’s my own fault. I told him this morning about last night, Callie’s plea to help her friend, then the run in with a goddamn supermodel of a fuckin’ woman, and how I got to play Superman in her dark, captivating eyes.

I may have left out the supermodel and the captivating eyes part, but hell if I wasn’t feeling every drag of her gaze, every touch of attention she deemed me worthy of.

My brother, however obnoxious and dumb as he may be sometimes, put the full scene together the moment we walked into Cup O’ Joe this morning.

It’s not long before Jenn is leading us off the elevator, her two managers trailing behind with clipboards. The hallway up here is narrow by resort standards—wide enough for housekeeping carts, but not much else. Dark wood paneling that was probably cutting edge in the 80s lines the walls, and the carpet underfoot is a deep burgundy that’s seen better decades.

“Suite A is at the east end,” Jenn says, producing a keycard. “That’s your largest footprint. B and C run west.”

She swipes us in and I follow her through the door. The suite opens into a small entry before spilling into a living area with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the surrounding mountains of Whitetail.

I’ll give the resort one thing, even as a resident of the greatest state, the views are extraordinary up here. Snow already dusts the upper peaks even this early in the season, the tree line sharp and dark against a pale October sky.

Levi lets out a low whistle beside me. “Now that’s a selling point.”

“That view alone justifies the renovation cost,” I agree, moving to the far wall and pulling out my measuring tape. “We keep these windows. Expand them if anything.” I make a note. “The living area opens nicely into the dining space but the kitchen is the problem.”

“Too small?” Jenn asks.

“Too closed off.” I step into it, turn around once. “Presidential suite guests aren’t cooking, they’re entertaining. We open this wall—” I tap the partition between the kitchen and dining room, “—install a proper wet bar here, integrated appliances, clean lines. Makes the whole space feel intentional instead of retrofitted.”

Jenn is nodding, making notes of her own.

Levi drifts toward the master bedroom, hands in his pockets. “Bathroom’s going to be the money shot,” he calls back. “Freestanding tub, heated floors, double vanity minimum.”

“Steam shower,” I add.

We spend forty minutes moving through all three suites, me measuring and noting while Levi charms Jenn’s managers into agreeing with every suggestion. It’s our rhythm, honed over twenty years. I see the project; he sells it.