“But then you plant stuff like this one in the lower level, and that’s—”

“Native plantings with an underground irrigation system. Heavily mulched. We maintain; you enjoy.”

“That oughta be on your logo. Why don’t you have a seat? I can flip through some of this while you’re right here.”

“Great.” She pulled over a stool, then handed him some printouts she’d stapled together. “Take a look at this.”

When she opened it to a damn waterfall, he felt himself sink.

“You built this.”

“My mother and I did, yeah.”

“It’s amazing.”

“I think so. It’s a little bigger and more elaborate than what I’d want here, but it gives you an idea of what can be done. Working with the land, using the natural drop.”

He studied the photos. This one spilled from several heights, had plants tumbling out of the stone, ledges big enough for someone to perch on.

“You’re trying to make me want it.”

She sipped her beer. “You already want it. I’m helping you get past your garden-o-phobia.”

“What about winter?”

“Drain it, pull the pump. Then it’s just a pretty feature until spring, when the pump goes back.”

“Well, shit.”

She didn’t bother to muffle the laugh. “I’ll draw you up what I have in mind, give you an estimate. Then you decide.”

She angled, noted the page up on his laptop. “Checking out your outdoor living options.”

“Yeah, you’re right about that. I want to have the family up, but I haven’t dealt with stuff for outside yet.”

“You don’t want to go too contemporary or too rustic. You—Sorry, can’t stop myself. Do you mind if I just…” She circled a finger. “See more of how you’re outfitting the house?”

“Sure.”

“I really like what you’re doing with the space. Big space, high ceilings, so the oversized chairs, the big-ass sofas, they really work. Mostly manly colors,” she continued as she wandered, “but not dull. Comfortable, but not sloppy, nothing rigid when it comes to style. I hate when everything matches. And I love your dining room table.”

“I just picked that up. They called it industrial rustic, whatever that means.”

“Whatever it means, it’s great.” She trailed a finger over the long surface. “It’s like barnwood, right? Man, you’re really neat and organized.”

A punch in the gut if you forgot to pick up your socks would do that, he thought. “I guess I am.”

She wandered out to the living room, glanced through glass doors into a room he’d nearly finished making his home office. “What are you going to do with the lower level? Are you keeping the home theater?”

“I’d be crazy not to. I need to get some stuff for the guest suite down there. Right now I’ve set up my home gym, and that’s about it.”

Lips pursed, she walked back to him, curled her hand around his right biceps, squeezed. “I thought so. Very nice.”

Then wandered off again, leaving him bemused.

“Okay, you obviously know what you’re doing, what works for you and the space. I can, however, give you a list of places in the general area where you’d be able to see, touch, sit in, and so on the actual product rather than buying online.”

“Okay.”

“Why don’t you give me your email, and when I work all this up, I’ll send it to you.”

“Sounds like a plan. I even have a card.”

He pulled a case out of his pocket, handed her one.

“Impressive. ‘Zane Walker, Attorney-at-Law.’ It’s a good name for an attorney. It’s an even better one for an action hero. My card’s in the brochure, if you have any questions.” She handed him the glass. “Thanks for the beer.”

“Half.”

“Just right.”

“Let me walk you out. Wait, I’ve got one of Micah’s cards.” He opened a drawer, ruthlessly organized, took out a card. “If you need a computer guy, call The Computer Guy.”

“I actually should, so thanks.”

“He thinks you’re hot.”

“He—hmm.”

“And I have no idea why that came out of my mouth. He’s in a serious, monogamous relationship, and crazy in love with Cassie.”

“Good for him,” she said as they walked to the front of the house. “And I am hot, so he’s not wrong.”

“He won’t hit on you.”

“Good to know. Man, I love your place.” She stepped out on the veranda, breathed in the air, the view. “When I’m finished with it, the fairies will dance, the angels will sing.”

“And the water will spill?”

She laughed. “If you’re smart, it will. I’ll talk to you later.”

He watched her walk down the steps, walk to her truck. Yeah, definitely hot, he decided, in a strange, visceral, compelling way he couldn’t quite get a handle on.

“Hey!” he called out. “Maybe I’ll see you at Gabe’s game.”

“Hope so.” She hopped in her truck, shot him a wave, and drove off.

And he realized as she drove away there’d been a kind of buzzing energy in the air that faded off.

He sort of missed it.

* * *

Zane supposed he started the email relationship with Darby when he sent her one with his choice for the stone for the walls. And adding he leaned toward the terrace deal. And the lights.

Within two hours, she sent him an acknowledgment, an approval on his choice, and a meticulously detailed pricing for labor and materials that included an estimate on time and an approximate start date (weather permitting).

The fact the cost came in somewhat under his fears didn’t stop his quick wince. He wandered out on his bedroom terrace, looked at his grounds, currently lit by floodlights. Imagined that nice, soft glow against the stone.

Walked back in, emailed her instructions to send him a contract.

And she emailed him that within thirty. God help him, he printed it out, signed it, scanned it, sent it back. Received her acknowledgment thereof.

All of this before midnight on the very day she’d come to talk him into it all.

The next evening after dinner with his family, he checked his email, saw another from her.

This one had a drawing of the waterfall attached, complete with measurements. He studied it, coveted it, walked away from it.

When he got home, he walked outside, stared at the space, all but heard the water spilling against rock. Walked back inside and into his home office.

Do it, he wrote. You’re starting to piss me off.

Her reply came moments later.

I get that a lot. Do you want a separate contract, or do you want to wait until I calculate the rest?

Figure out the whole damn thing. I’m not going to say yes to the whole damn thing, but figure it. I’ll pick and choose. And I’ve decided you’re not as hot as you think you are.

I should have full numbers for you by Gabe’s game. Either way you go, if I see you there, I’ll buy you a hot dog. And my hotness, unharnessed, is incendiary. Do you/can you set up LLCs?