Page 9 of The Focal Point

“Have you always been into interior design?” the chipper questions continued.

“Umm, pretty much. It’s always been a passion of mine,” I replied, my gaze slipping to the article I was quoting. “Which is why I would love to squeeze you in for a meeting. Maybe Wednesday, around 4:30?”

“I can do that.” The reply came back so quickly that I didn’t think he had checked his calendar. Who was this guy, anyway? The name Liam Bradford sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

“Great, I will put you into my calendar. This is just an initial meeting, so we’ll go over what you’re looking for and a few ideas so you know whether you’ll want to continue with the design process or not.”

“Oh, I know I’ll love it.”

As with the other answers, the reply and speed caught me off guard. We had met for all of five minutes—how did he know he would like my ideas? Was he that big of a fan of the work I’d done at his friend's house?

“This meeting is free, but if you like the designs, I’ll send over a contract for you to sign before I start on the design.”

“Whatever works.” Liam sounded entirely sure, far more assured than any other client. Any other typical client. But something told me this wouldn’t be an altogether normal experience.

“Okay then, Mr. Bradford. I will meet you on Wednesday at 4:30. Just send my assistant your address.”

“Liam,” came the reply.

“Liam,” I corrected myself.

“I’m looking forward to it, Bailey. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

The line disconnected, and I took it away from my ear to look at the screen for a long moment, wondering what had just happened. Liam had been upbeat, laissez-faire, and the opposite of professional. Not that he needed to be—I just wasn’t used to my clients being so... cheerful.

This definitely wasn’t going to be a normal job.

Chapter 4

Bailey

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DESPITE MY RESERVATIONS, I found myself looking forward to seeing this new house. I had also looked up the address, and it was in a neighborhood known for its beautiful old Victorian homes. I had never worked with an old house before, and the prospect practically had me drooling. If it was one of the Victorians, I truly hoped Liam would like my design enough to hire me.

The guy seemed confident he would, but he hadn’t heard my ideas yet.

I couldn’t quite get a handle on Liam Bradford. He was an odd duck, to say the least, bright and sunny but also slightly awkward.

“In 500 feet, turn right at the stop sign.”

The GPS pulled me from my thoughts, and I stopped at the stop sign before turning onto a long residential street. It was beautiful, lined with graceful old trees with leaves yellowing in preparation for fall. But the real stars were the homes, beautifully restored with their characteristic peaks, gables, and leaded windows.

“Stay straight for 50 feet, and your destination will be on your left.”

Excitement squirmed through me, and I could barely contain myself—this would be amazing.

As long as Liam Bradford wasn’t too strange.

Bradford. Bradford. Where had I heard that name before?

I signaled and pulled up to the curb of a graceful Victorian, the wooden siding painted a soft gray with white trim. The lawn was neat, the flowers well-kept, and the wraparound porch had a porch swing that looked like the perfect place to sit on a summer evening, sipping something cold.

The front door opened as I shut my car door, my bag bumping against my hip. Liam stepped onto the porch, and I almost tripped over my shoes. He might seem odd, but there was nothing strange about his appearance—I had forgotten the way he made the long-dormant butterflies in my stomach flutter to life.

He stopped at the steps, and his mouth curved into a large grin.

“Welcome to my house,” he called out in grand tones, gesturing like I was an important visitor to the Taj Mahal, and I couldn’t help the giggle I tried to hide behind my hand. By the way Liam’s smile grew, lighting his eyes, I hadn’t been successful.