Page 42 of Book Club Confidential

Tessa scanned the scene before her, mentally tallying the time and expense needed to rejuvenate the space.

Grant wedged his hands on his hips and paced, probably making similar notes.

Filthy vinyl flooring curled away from the walls at the baseboards, yellowed and cracked from age and wear. Brittle, sun-bleached newspapers covered most of the windows, attached by lengths of crumbling tape. Clouds of silver dust motes spiraled in shafts of light streaming through holes where the tape had failed.

Grant swatted a cobweb stretched from drop-ceiling tiles to a light bulb on a string at the room’s center. He tugged the string, and the bulb made a buzzing sound and flickered. He turned the bulb a little, unbothered, and the light stabilized. “What do you think?”

“The photos online did not do the place justice,” she said. In fact, the photographer who’d taken them must’ve been part wizard, because the space was in far worse shape than it appeared online.

“True.” Grant rocked on his heels, looking suddenly ten years younger. “I still love it. The history here is great too.”

Tessa’s brows rose. “You know about the history?”

His smile widened. “Of course you do too,” he said. “A woman after my own heart.” He turned away, arms splayed once more. “How can I pass up the opportunity to own one of the first commercial buildings in town? The first Harbor Heights grocer, then the first five-and-dime.” He spun back to look at her, eyes dancing with delight. “This was even a boutique hotel for a year, until the Great Depression put an end to that.”

Tessa crossed her arms, indulgent and impressed. “Until the money that once flowed freely down the river via textile factories and a top-tier grain mill went dry.”

“According to my realtor, the new owner is a business major at University of Virginia. He inherited the property when his grandmama died, and he’s hoping he can offset his education costs by selling or securing a long-term lease. How’s that for luck?” Grant asked.

Her heart skipped foolishly, and heat seemed to spark and curl on the silver clouds of dust between them. She stood close enough to reach for him. Or him for me, she thought, imagining the heat of his palm on her arm, her hip, her thigh.

Tessa looked away, feigning critical interest in the cracked plaster walls.

Grant cleared his throat and moved in the opposite direction. “The other two spaces are in much better shape. The place closest to the suburbs is relatively new with no real need for improvement.”

“The one on the other side of the river needs improvements,” she said. “But the work won’t be nearly as extensive or expensive as the updates needed here, and it’s listed at a much lower price point, making it less of a financial investment, if you want to stay near downtown.” She waited, and when he didn’t reply, she offered a verbal nudge. “Thoughts?”

“This one is closer to your office,” he said. The sound of his voice was much closer now.

Tessa turned to find him only a few feet away. Her cheeks heated, and her heart rate doubled. “I hadn’t noticed.”

The quirk of his lips said he knew that was a lie. She’d just made the trip here by foot in only a few minutes, after all.

She’d never understood the expression lost in their eyes before, but suddenly she wondered if it meant looking at someone and feeling as if her feet might magically leave the ground.

“I want this,” he said. “I just need you to tell me I’m making the right decision.”

“Mm-hmm,” she said.

Was his heavily nuanced word choice intentional? Or was she just overly hopeful?

Doesn’t matter. She told herself to stop mixing her personal interests with professional ones before things blew up in her face.

“Do you want to grab dinner and talk?” Grant asked.

Tessa nodded. “Yes.”

She’d take her own advice tomorrow.

Thirty minutes later, Tessa sat across from Grant at Chez Margot, the French restaurant Millie had gushed over, which was within walking distance of the historic office space.

“You’ve been here before,” he said after the young server took their orders.

“I have,” Tessa admitted. “I represent this place and the owner’s wife’s bakery in town.”

“You know The Visible Baker,” he said. “It really is a small town.”

Tessa relaxed against her seat back. “In all the best ways.”