Page 10 of The Focal Point

I stuck my hand out as he stepped down the three steps to meet me. “Liam, thanks for having me. I’m excited to see what I can do for you.”

“Thank you for coming out to see it.”

Liam’s hand closed around mine, and I realized I hadn’t imagined the way it felt from the last time we had shaken—it felt just as warm, just as enveloping, just as thrilling as before. It was all I could do to keep my voice steady as I pulled my hand back, the feel of his still sparking across my skin.

“Well, why don’t you come and see what you can do?” Liam gestured for me to precede him into the house, and I did, the spark becoming a shiver of anticipation.

The shiver grew into a bright spark as I entered the house and looked around. It was exactly as I had imagined—wooden flooring and beams, low ceilings, a leaded window leaking diffuse, multi-colored light onto the floor in a swath of the living room.

“Wow,” I breathed, hungrily taking in every element I could see. “This is amazing.”

“Most of it is original.” Liam followed behind me, hands in the pockets of his slacks. “I had the floors refinished about two years ago, and most of the wood in the house. I updated the kitchen, made it larger, and took out a back room to open up the living room. But everything else I tried to keep the same. Oh, and some of the windows were so old they weren’t keeping anything out anymore, so I had to replace them.”

The home was incredible, like something from one of the historical romance novels I had devoured as a teenager. But he was right—the decorations and furnishings needed some work. It was all eclectic and functional—very little went together aside from the thoroughly modern kitchen, which was a home chef’s dream. Even so, Liam, or his contractor, had managed to keep the Victorian charm in the design, lines, and color of the wood.

“From the looks of it, you’re already thinking about all the ways you can make this place look better.” Liam watched me with a slight smile, hands still in his pockets.

I felt my eyebrows beetle until Liam pointed to me. “You have an enormous smile on your face.”

Suddenly self-conscious, I reached up automatically to try to cover it, but Liam only chuckled.

“It’s adorable. I can tell you love what you do.”

I flushed, and my gaze dropped to the floor, aware of the millions of thoughts already racing in my head—colors, patterns, layouts, furniture, possibilities.

I did love interior design—I always had. I was the kid constantly changing her room, switching from paint color to paint color, moving my furniture around and playing with the placement of things. Eventually, my friends wanted help with their rooms, and even my mom asked me to help her redesign the dining and living rooms. It was no surprise to anyone, then, that I had decided to attend design school after high school.

Had I been the best student there? No. There had been others who were far better than I was, whose designs had won award after award. Many worked for the big design houses on the coasts, even in Europe. A few I knew had opened their own companies in LA and San Francisco.

I had elected to stay here in my hometown, but I didn’t feel I was missing out on anything. Even if it weren’t as glamorous as the coasts, I got to go to work every day and do what excited me, designing beautiful spaces my clients would love for years to come.

Liam heard none of this going on inside my head, of course. But even so, he was still standing there, smiling at me like he understood, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

“Yeah, I do. I guess if you believe in callings, this is as close as I’ll ever come. I can’t imagine doing anything else. Ever.”

“Hey, that’s rare. Most people work because they have to or because they’re good at their job, not because it’s what they love with their entire being. I think it’s awesome—don’t ever feel bad about that.” Liam’s arm lifted, and for a moment, I thought he would put his hand on my shoulder. But he stopped and stuffed it back into his pocket before turning and gesturing for me to follow with a jerk of his head.

“We can work at the table in the kitchen if that’s okay. My office is a complete mess.”

For a moment, I was frozen, not sure where the strange sense of disappointment had come from when he hadn’t touched my shoulder. Was I that desperate for the kind of touch I’d missed out on for the past few years that some random guy whose handshake gave me butterflies could reduce me to this state?

Liam stopped, tilting his head slightly as he looked over his shoulder. “You coming?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.”

I hoped the flush heating my neck and ears didn’t give away just what I had been thinking.

We settled at the small dining nook in the kitchen that looked out over an expansive, lush backyard. Unlike the front yard, it was overgrown, but instead of giving off an abandoned air, it reminded me of an enchanted English garden. It wasn’t difficult to dream about having a leisurely breakfast or tea out there among the roses, climbing vines, and shade trees, or lounging by the lap pool I could see in the corner of the yard.

“Do you want anything? I have coffee, tea, beer, or wine.” He indicated the wine cooler, an entire unit beside the built-in fridge that looked like it could be used by a catering company in an emergency.

“Just water is fine,” I replied, taking out my tablet and a notebook.

Liam settled across from me, eyeing my notebook as he slid the glass of water over to me.

“I prefer taking notes on paper. Just a quirk of mine.” I tried not to sound like I was apologizing, but he wouldn’t be the first person to make fun of such an “old school” method.

But then a grin split his face. “Me, too. It’s just not the same on a computer. I think better with a pen in my hand.”