“Yes, I’m retired.”
“At thirty-six?” I asked, crossing my arms against my chest. I tried to hide the smile that was already developing on my lips.
“I’ll be thirty-seven in a month or so,” he answered, also attempting to hide a grin. We ended up looking at one another with puckered lips.
“You have no business being retired at thirty-six or thirty-seven,” I muttered.
“Why?” he asked with a shrug, like my point wasn’t a good one. “I have plenty to fill up my time—golfin’, the gym, spendin’ time with friends, with my dogs, and interferin’ in my sister’s life.”
“What sort of dogs do you have?” I asked, suddenly enjoying the image of this man’s man interacting with his dogs. Somehow, it made him even more boyish than his dimpled grin. “Wait, let me guess,” I interrupted myself. “Something small,” I started. “And yippy.”
“Small and yippy?” he spat back, going for offended but not quite getting there.
“Yeah, like a miniature pinscher or a Chihuahua or something.” Then I smiled even more broadly. “You totally dress them up in little outfits, don’t you?”
“Good Lord!” he exhaled loudly as his entire body shook with a baritone laugh. “No, I’m not fond of small dogs.” Then he took a breath, still smiling down at me. “I have two Saint Bernards, Peyton,” he answered, shaking his head. “A brother and sister—Ralphie and Stella.”
“Ralphie as in A Christmas Story?” I asked with a smirk. He simply nodded. “And Stella as in…Steeellllaaa!” I finished, imitating Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire and not doing too bad a job, if I did say so myself.
“Yep, nicely done there, neighbor,” he replied flirtatiously. I felt my heart race at seeing his sly smile and the way his dimples seemed to light up his entire face.
Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, I cleared my throat. “Thanks,” I said, emitting a strange sound that halfway resembled a laugh cut short by a croak. “But, um, getting back to my remodel…”
“Will you please call one of the contractors on that list I gave you?” he continued as I shook my head. “For the love of God, woman!” He fake bellowed as I continued to shake my head. “Hell, I’ll call them for you, if you want.”
“No,” I answered with finality. “If I can’t have you, I’m happy being my own general. I can simply hire people as I need to,” I finished, remembering how he’d already advised me against it. I tipped my chin up into the air to make it known that I wouldn’t be silenced so easily.
“Good God, woman, you are exasperatin’,” Ryan said with a deep, sonorous chuckle. Then he glanced at the house again before running his hand through his wheat-colored, wavy hair. “What you see in this place is beyond me…”
“That is such a lie!” I ground out. He glanced over at me, surprise ricocheting through his eyes, but I didn’t allow him to defend himself. “Ryan Kelly, both you and I are more than aware that you love preserving old things. That’s why you got into the construction business to begin with, isn’t it? Nope, don’t answer,” I said, holding my hand up to silence him when it seemed like he was about to. “Just as you have a passion for the historical, so do I.”
Ryan smirked down at me but exhaled a breath and leaned against the wall like he knew this soliloquy was going to be a long one. “This should be interestin’.”
“I’ll have you know I was a history major in college,” I started.
“You’ve got a history degree?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested.
“No, I never finished,” I answered with a sigh. “I got married instead to an asshole who thought a history degree was a waste of time.”
Ryan’s mouth became tight and his eyes took on an angry glow. “I’m sorry to hear that, Peyton.”
I shook my head and waved away his concern. “It was a mistake that is now in the past and I don’t think about it at all so neither should you.”
He smiled and nodded. “You’re a smart, strong woman. I like that.”
I cocked a self-impressed eyebrow in his direction and continued my monologue. “Going back to my love for history, which echoes yours…”
“Ah, yes,” Ryan said with a quick nod. “I apologize for interruptin’.”
“Where was I?” I asked in mock irritation.
Ryan glanced up at the sky as if he were remembering. “Um, somethin’ about me havin’ a passion for the historical and you havin’ that same passion.”
“Right!” I answered with a melodramatic nod. “Just as you found your niche in restoring old, dilapidated, unloved, and unsightly hovels into the mansions they once were, I want to find my niche. I want to experience the satisfaction of seeing this,” I glanced around me and sighed. “This…”
“Dump?” Ryan asked with a spark in his eyes.
I frowned at him. “This ghost of its former self—”
“Wow, nice one, Pey,” he interrupted me.
I shot him a cross look but continued. “I want to breathe life back into this old house not only for myself but for my family too, Ryan. Like I said, I never met my Great-Aunt Myra, and unfortunately, I can’t ask my mom about her because she died a long time ago.”
I watched Ryan swallow, and with the sadness that suddenly descended into his eyes, I realized he was coming my way. And while part of me felt like maybe I was manipulating him with my sad but true story, I figured it was for his own good anyway—well, at least that’s what Trina seemed to think, and I had decided to throw my lot in with hers.
“I’m sorry,” he said genuinely.
“Ryan, this house is all I have left of my family. I never knew my father and now that I’m divorced, I have no more connections in the world. It’s just me.” Yes, it was a bit melodramatic, but it seemed to be working so I was going to go for it. “That’s why this house means so much to me and why I can’t and won’t sell it.” I swallowed hard as I realized the truth in my words. “I think of the renovations on this house as the project that’s going to get me through the difficulty of my divorce. I know it seems like a huge undertaking to you and the truth is that, yes, it is a huge undertaking, but it’s exactly what I need right now.”
Ryan was quiet for a few seconds before he finally nodded and exhaled. “I’ll make you a deal…”
“I’m all ears,” I answered with a genuine smile, wondering if he was finally coming around.
“Because I can tell you aren’t gonna to stop until I give you an inch,” he started and then laughed, “and because you did get me with your sob story, I’m willin’ to give you an inch.”
“And what exactly would this inch entail?” I asked with an expression of absolute interest, because I was beginning to feel like there might just be a light at the end of the tunnel.
“I’ll renovate one bedroom and one bathroom so you can comfortably live in your house while the rest of it is bein’ remodeled…by someone else.”
I frowned and propped my hands on my hips. I thought we’d come so far, but apparently we hadn’t. “What, do you think I’m only going to use a bedroom and a bathroom?” I demanded, not meaning to sound so put out, but I was disappointed. “I have to eat, man!” I finished with a laugh. It suddenly dawned on me that I was very comfortable around Ryan. I felt like I could be myself and, even better, he seemed to enjoy me being me. Well, judging from the smile on his face anyway, and the way he laughed so much during the course of our conversation. “I thought you said my story meant something to you!”
“It did!” he exclaimed, holding his hands up in mock surrender before dropping them and shaking his head as he exhaled a pent-up breath. “I swear you will drive me to the nuthouse, Peyton Clark!” he finished with a hefty chuckle and a dramatic sigh. “The kitchen is the most work of any room!”