Page 9 of Christmas By Design

“And who is this magnificent beast?” she croons, looking up at Mrs. Dash while the thing continues to press its flat tongue against her cheek and neck.

“This is Periwinkle. We call him Perry for short.”

“Periwinkle?” I choke out, my voice higher than I expected it to be. I clear my throat.

Mrs. Dash laughs. It’s a deep, breathy sound. “My son named him a long time ago.” She eyes me carefully. “He’s big, but he’s old and practically blind. He won’t hurt you.”

“Sure,” I mumble under my breath.

Gemma must hear me, though, because she huffs. “Not a fan of dogs?”

I take a moment to straighten my wool coat and brush some lint off the front. “No,” I say with finality.

“The feeling is probably mutual,” she mutters only loud enough for me to hear as she scratches under the dog’s chin. “Dogs are excellent judges of character.”

“Perry, go chase something,” Mrs. Dash commands with a clap. The dog regards her for a moment, then bounds off into the distance. “Don’t worry about him. He won’t be back for hours. He’s an outside dog, that one.” She crosses the distance between us and extends a hand to me as Gemma stands and brushes herself off. “Emelia Dash. Such a pleasure to meet you both.”

I shake her hand firmly. “Beckett Camdon, interior designer,” I introduce myself. “We’ve spoken on the phone.”

She nods and extends her hand to Gemma, who takes it and shakes enthusiastically.

“Gemma Woodard. I’ll be the project manager for your renovation.” She looks up at the house and a smile lights up her entire face. “I have to say, I’m really excited for this.”

Mrs. Dash grins as she turns and walks briskly toward the house. “Well, come on in out of the cold. I imagine you want to see what you’re working with.”

Confidence regained, I lean in slightly as I pass Gemma on my way into the house. “Kiss-ass,” I murmur into her ear.

“At least I’m not afraid of a little dog,” she retorts.

That stops me in my tracks. “Little?” I exclaim.

Gemma just shrugs and continues up the porch steps. “Harmless, anyway.”

“It’s all fun and games until someone gets their head bitten off,” I grumble as I follow her.

“You’re more likely to get your head bitten off by me.” She has the audacity to twist around and snap her teeth at me as we cross the threshold into the house. I have a comeback on the tip of my tongue, but Mrs. Dash claps her hands again like a schoolteacher trying to get her class’s attention.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” She raises her arms and looks around. The space is enormous, with high ceilings and a wrought iron chandelier illuminating the space in warm light. It’s dimmer than I’d expect for such a large fixture, and I make a mental note to figure out why that is.

“This is the foyer, obviously,” Mrs. Dash is saying. “I’d love to continue the yellow from the outside into this space for continuity.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my grimace from showing on my face. “If you’re going for brightness,” I start carefully, “we could do a lot of whites and creams. Keep it clean and neutral.”

“I like color.” Mrs. Dash folds her arms. “White isn’t a color.” She turns and walks further into the house.

“Technically, white is all the colors,” I grumble.

Gemma snorts. “When I asked to work with you on this project, I knew you’d be surly, but this is next level.”

She follows Mrs. Dash down the hall. I hang back under the guise of tapping out some notes in my phone app, but in reality, I’m floored. My heart skips over itself a few times as I process what I just heard. She asked to work with me? Why would she do that?

Her squeal snaps me out of my pondering. “You know what would be perfect in this space?” she exclaims loudly. “A teal retro fridge.”

Oh hell no.

I bound toward them as quickly as I can, but I’m too late. Mrs. Dash has clasped her hands together and pressed them against her lips in a clear display of ecstatic joy. She looks at me with large, pleading, hopeful eyes. “Please, Mr. Camdon. Can we work that into the design?”

I growl softly and glare at Gemma, who is standing slightly behind Mrs. Dash with her arms crossed and a satisfied smirk on her face. “Oh, Bex can absolutely work that in, Mrs. Dash. It shouldn’t be a problem at all.”