The One That Got Away Read Free

of his Lone Star before he answers, and when he raises the bottle to his mouth I notice it: peeking out from the sleeve of his shirt, a tattoo of the Olympic rings along the inside of his right wrist. I’m not generally much of a tattoo girl, but that, on him, is mind-bendingly attractive. “I’ve got a few things to wrap up in Berkeley, but I should be done around the end of the month. I need to find a temporary place to rent while I’m here this weekend. Then as soon as I get back for good, I start house hunting.”
    My eyes water as Nicole nails me with her foot again. I will have to notify her later that causing me sudden physical pain is a poor way to remind me to look nonchalant about a piece of disconcerting news.
    “You looking to buy?” asks Danny, and Eamon nods.
    Shit
. I know exactly where this is about to go. And I do not want it to go there. But before I can think of a way to stop him, Danny goes leaping into the breach. “Well, if you need an architect, there’s your woman,” he says, jerking his chin toward me.
    Eamon turns to me, eyebrows hiked. “That’s right—you did the renovation on Danny’s house, didn’t you? I’d forgotten that.”
    Ah. Well, then. If he’d forgotten I designed Danny’s house, then he certainly didn’t remember about the Lone Star. I should not feel surprised and I absolutely,
definitely
, should not feel sad.
    “And she designed this place,” Danny continues, “and our new bar, Clementine.
And
she designed that new spa, Balm, that just opened down on Cesar Chavez. You’re looking at a rising architectural star, my friend.”
    “So is Nicole,” I point out.
    “Sure,” she says slowly. “In the field of institutional healthcare design.”
    “Wow. You did an amazing job, Sarina—this place is beautiful. I had no idea it was your work,” Eamon says, looking around at his surroundings: the sandy concrete courtyard, oiled teak furniture, sculptural desert plantings, and the amber glow of the main bar beyond. “God knows I could use your help with whatever I buy.”
    And god also knows the last thing I need is a time-sucking microproject for an obsessive perfectionist. Especially one who will probably expect me to work for him as a favor because he deigned to sleep with me back at the dawn of time. No, thank you
.
    “Oh yeah?” I say, offering only polite interest. “What sort of help?”
    “Depends on the house. But I’ve always liked the idea of picking up a fixer and redoing it exactly the way I want.”
    In spite of myself, my attention is caught. I love fixers. It’s easy to design a great building from the ground up, but to coax amodern, functional space out of an outdated pile of bricks—now that’s a challenge.
    “Well, that’s the way to do it,” I tell him. “You should be able to find a good deal if you’re willing to put the time and money into a renovation—especially if you buy the one dump on a great street and turn it into a gem. That should be a solid investment.”
    I know without looking that Nicole is giving me crazy eyes. The more so because I have folded my legs safely underneath me. But giving the guy ten seconds of advice is a far cry from getting involved in his project.
    “That’s the plan,” he says. “That, and I promised myself one day I’d have a shower where I wouldn’t have to bend my knees to wash my hair.”
    “You could get a jump on house hunting while you’re here,” suggests Danny. “Since you’re going to be looking for a rental anyway.”
    “That’s a great idea,” Eamon agrees. “I’ve got some neighborhoods where I want to look, but I haven’t lived here in so long. Maybe I’ll take a drive around and see what’s there.”
    “We’ll take you to do that, obvi,” says Danny. “Ree can show you what neighborhoods are good to invest in.”
    “That would be awesome,” Eamon says, already thanking me for something I had not possessed the slightest intention of volunteering to do.
    “No