Sweetheart Bride. Lenora Worth
glad to have you.”
Nick nodded at the robust man who’d shouted that out. “And I’m glad to be here. So we will get serious about putting the final touches on the house now that the toughest parts of the renovation are finished. I’ve hired Brenna Blanchard to oversee some of the decor for the house, mainly the artwork. My client loves art and buys several pieces a year. Brenna will pick some of the main pieces for the house.” He glanced at Brenna and smiled. “She is highly qualified.”
“And she’s an artist, too,” someone called out.
Surprised, Nick took another sip of water. “Really? She left that off her résumé.”
While Brenna shifted in her seat and looked down, another person said, “She don’t like to brag.”
Everyone laughed at that. But Nick made a note to ask Brenna about her hidden talent. Was it coincidence that she was also an artist? Did he dare tell her he used to paint? That was a lifetime ago. It didn’t matter much now.
“So, what other talents do we have in this room? We’re a little behind on the renovations, so I need some extra hands. I’ll need some extra construction workers—both experienced and nonexperienced. I’ll need a couple more electricians and plumbers, and journeymen to add to my team. I’ll need a qualified house inspector. I have a list of positions here on the table. Please feel free to take the information. Even though I have a team from Texas, I’ll still need a lot of locals to help. I’ll be back here tomorrow at noon to accept applications. Mainly, I’m here to make Fleur House fresh and new again so that we can show it off to the community and to tourists and visitors, too.”
Everyone clapped, then Brenna stood up. “Now, if you have any questions—”
* * *
An hour later, Brenna shooed the last person out the door, then turned to Nick. “Welcome to Fleur.”
He ran a hand over his hair and laughed. “I’m exhausted.”
He did look adorably exhausted. She had to keep her fingers from brushing through his dark hair. “And hungry, I imagine.”
“Yes, I am.” He started gathering his notes and shoved them into his briefcase. “I didn’t realize that until now, however.”
Brenna waffled like a frog on a vine, then finally turned to him. “You’re invited to my daddy’s house for chicken perlo. It’s my mama’s recipe, but Papa has perfected it. It’s always good on a crisp fall night.”
“That sounds great.” He touched her midback and guided her toward the door. “How did I do?”
Brenna didn’t have to hide her reaction to that. “You were great. I had no idea you’d be able to offer people jobs. I guess I never asked.”
She’d been too concerned about herself even to think of that. Once she’d been hired, she did her usual thing. She began to obsess about being perfect.
He gave her an indulgent smile. “I have my own crew, but we always try to hire locals and now that we’re down to the wire, it makes sense. I should have explained that to you.”
Interesting. “So you do this a lot. Find a house, renovate it and move on?”
“Sí. That’s my job. My client keeps me busy year-round. He’s mostly into industrial real estate, but he sometimes buys estates and renovates them. He’s bought and sold some incredible homes.”
More and more information. But she wanted to know more about Nick right now. “Is he your main employer?”
Nick held the door for her. Outside, the fall night held a hint of winter. While the winters here were mild, it was beginning to be chilly enough to wear a light jacket.
Brenna only had a light sweater. She shivered.
“I work for several different people, but mostly for him, sí.”
And that was the end of that.
She shivered again. Then she felt Nick’s hands on her arms, felt the warmth of his soft wool suit jacket enveloping her shoulders. “You’re cold.”
And you are seriously...hot.
Brenna reeled in her treacherous reaction, the scent of soap and spice all around her. “Thank you. I have to remember to unpack my winter clothes.”
“Do you need a ride?” he asked. Then he motioned to his car. Only she’d never seen a car like this one.
“What...what is that exactly?”
He grinned like a schoolboy. “That is a vintage 1969 GTO convertible with four-on-the-floor and a 400 horsepower engine with a turbo transmission.”
Brenna looked at the baby blue automobile, then back at him. “A muscle car? You drive a muscle car?”
He looked surprised. “You know about muscle cars?”
“I’ve heard my papa and Julien and his brother, Pierre, talking about them, usually when they’re watching a race on television. And now I’ve actually seen one.”
He took her by the arm. “Not only seen one, but get to ride in one.”
Brenna glanced around, then realized her father had left her! “I guess I do. I came with my daddy, but apparently both he and my sister forgot about me.” On purpose, no doubt.
“Not a problem,” he said, hurrying around to open the passenger-side door for her. “I would get lost without you.”
Did the man realize he had a way with words? Did he even know that the way he said things with that exquisite hint of an accent went right to a woman’s heart?
She could speak one thing and mean another, too. “I don’t want you to get lost.”
His dark eyes gleamed like midnight water. “Then let’s go.
“Top down?”
She nodded. She needed the cold wind to make her snap out of this massive crush.
With that, he got in and cranked the motor. The car purred like a great cat. Nick shifted gears and Brenna held on for dear life, her breath caught in the cool night air. This man with all his fancy things had first reminded her of Jeffrey. But Nick Santiago was nothing like her shallow, self-centered, very ex-fiancé. As Callie had said, he seemed to be the real thing.
At least he felt real, driving this powerful machine, his hands only inches away from her. Brenna tried to focus on breathing. He was too close, way too close.
“Where am I going?” he asked.
Brenna came out of the fog surrounding her mind. “Oh, take a left at the next traffic light. Our house is a few miles out of town, on the Big Fleur Bayou. When you see the sign for Blanchard’s Landing, you’re there.”
“What is chicken perlo?” he asked, grinning over at her.
“Well, it’s chicken and rice and spices and we serve it with corn bread and biscuits, all homemade. It’s usually cooked in a big iron pot.”
He hit a hand on the steering wheel. “The food down here is so good.”
Brenna couldn’t deny that. “But I’ve been to San Antonio. The food there is wonderful, too.”
“Yes, and my mom is a good cook.”
She wanted to know all about his family. “So you’re an only child?”
He slowed the car as they reached the sign she’d mentioned, then turned into the next driveway.
“Yes.” He parked the car in the long driveway leading to the white cottage and stared into the darkness. “I have been for a long time now. But I had a sister. She died when I was a teenager.”
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