Page 22 of The Focal Point

It was a beautiful home, well-kept, and I was excited about the prospect of decorating it. The timeline didn’t seem to bother Liam, either. In fact, he seemed thrilled by it, which I found odd. But it wasn’t odd enough that I couldn’t appreciate the time to breathe. Those damn home renovation shows gave clients entirely unrealistic timeline expectations, and I’d had a run of them lately—Thomas excluded—who had demanded a faster turnaround than I could manage.

But I also couldn’t deny that the idea of spending more time with Liam was also appealing. He was fun to be around, and I hoped his text from the other night hadn’t been simply a polite gesture. I wasn’t sure I should wish to become friends with two of my clients, but I was trying hard not to be opposed to the idea.

Or afraid of it.

I spent the rest of the afternoon drawing basic sketches based on the ideas running and bashing each other like bumper cars around my brain since I had set foot in the house. Liam left me alone to do my thing, citing work to do in his office.

And yet, he would reappear at regular intervals. One time it was for coffee, another for water, and another because he had forgotten his phone charging cord downstairs.

Which was funny because I had seen the cord on his desk when he had shown me around earlier.

After a while, I had the sneaking suspicion the guy was finding excuses to be around me because every time he came down, he would make small talk and ask me questions about myself. They weren’t invasive, rude, or creepy—just standard, everyday, getting-to-know-you questions.

Except this wasn’t every day because I was supposed to be working. I hadn’t had a client interrupt me this way before. But though I should have been annoyed, I wasn’t. I enjoyed talking to Liam. He was easygoing and funny, and I found myself listening for his footsteps after a while. So much so that I almost felt disappointed when it was time to finish up for the day.

Liam’s face fell, too, when he came down the stairs to find me stuffing my notebooks into my bag.

“Leaving?” he asked, and I was certain I heard faint disappointment this time.

“Almost,” I admitted. “First, though, I need to go over a few things so I can create the preliminary designs and get them to you.”

I followed Liam to the kitchen. The sun slanted through the back windows and door, warming the kitchen and throwing a soft golden filter on the garden. I paused before I sat down, staring out the scene and wondering yet again what it would be like to sit out there in the early evening with a glass of tea or even wine and simply read. Or do nothing at all.

“It’s nice out there, isn’t it?”

Liam’s voice was at my shoulder, and I turned with a start.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” The curve of his lips was abashed, and he scratched at his head as he took a step away.

“No, it’s okay,” I assured him with a little laugh that sounded breathless to my ears. “I guess I got lost in my imagination for a moment.”

I didn’t want to tell him that, yes, he had startled me. But what made me breathless was the sense of him so close to me, his voice in my ear, his words across my skin, and the scent of his soap or body wash or cologne or whatever it was in my nose.

“It’s just such a beautiful garden.”

Liam’s smile brightened his eyes. “It’s my mom’s. She planted everything you see out there. There’s even a tree for each of my siblings and me.”

“Wow.” My gaze returned out the window, the sun-drenched beauty taking on a far more meaningful aspect in light of Liam’s revelation. “And you’ve maintained it?”

I would have to add master gardener to Liam’s list of accomplishments.

Except that he let out an expressive snort as he dropped his lanky frame into a chair. “Not me. No way. My thumb is so brown it’s almost black. I hire someone to take care of it.”

Laughing at his candidness, I sat across from Liam and opened my notebook. “Here are a few of my preliminary sketches. Please keep in mind they’re rough, and I can easily make changes.”

I had the same conversation with every client because, invariably, they would demand I change things as though this was the final product. It never ceased to amaze me.

Liam, though, as with everything else, proved different. He slid the sketches closer and devoured each one, his gaze flitting from one point to another as he turned the pages slowly.

“Bailey, this is amazing,” he breathed. There was such wonder in his words, such appreciation, I felt my ears and cheeks grow hot.

“You like them?”

His gaze flicked up to mine, that unnamed emotion returning to his eyes. “I love them.”

I pointed out a few features I thought he would particularly like, and he had a few ideas of his own that were really rather good. We continued chatting about possibilities as I stowed my last notebook into my bag and stood up to leave.

“I should have the proposal to you in about a week, though I always say a week and a half just in case something comes up. From there, you can approve it or not, and I’ll start the design process.”