Home Matters (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella, Book 1) (9 page)

She stopped when she spied a vintage Sarreid sofa.

Holding her camera at arm’s length, she snapped a shot, thinking the color and style would go perfectly with
her
—as in not Eleanor’s—design for the Calhouns’ formal living room.

“Stalking furniture now, are we?” a man’s voice came at her from behind.

Startled, her camera bobbled from one hand to the other before she reaffirmed her grip and turned to face him. “Good gracious, Pete.” She pressed a palm to her racing heart. “You like t’a scared me half to death.”

A smile tweaked his lips. “What’s with the getup? I almost didn’t recognize you.” He gestured to her undercover attire—old sneakers, holey jeans, and a nondescript corduroy jacket over a tank top. She also had a bandana tied to hide her blonde hair, and a worn cowboy hat pulled down to her ears. A pair of aviator sunglasses shielded her eyes and cheeks.

Her gaze hopped from one passerby to another. “Hush,” she cautioned. “Don’t call attention.” The last couple of days had been out of control, what with curious photographers and crazed fans alike following her literally everywhere she went. And it hadn’t helped that the show had been shooting around town either. “Sourcing segments” they called them. In other words, furniture and fixture shopping. Pretending to have accidentally run upon the perfect antique table or chandelier—whatever—when in fact Eleanor’s staff had been out “sourcing” these exact items for weeks now. She’d always thought it would be great to have people recognize her, to say, “Is that Olivia Pembroke? Do you think I should ask for her autograph?” but in reality, all the attention left her feeling claustrophobic. Plus, she hated the random photos, most of which were unflattering, not to mention the speculation that showed up in the tabloids daily.

Like a striking snake, Pete’s hand lashed out, coiling back with her camera.

“Hey!” Olivia grabbed for the camera, but Pete effortlessly held it high, and out of her reach as he scrolled through the pictures, his eyes tracking one piece of furniture after another. Sofas, tables, occasional pieces, all organized within data files, and cataloged room by room.

“So you
are
a furniture stalker. That, or you have a furniture fetish.” His eyes danced with a scandalous look. “Does your adoring public know this about you?”

Teeth clenched, she took a shallow breath for composure. So what if she was obsessed? It wasn’t any of his business, which also meant he had no right to tease her about it. “Give me that.” She snatched her camera back. “And stay away from me.” Her eyes darted from side to side again, looking for evidence of recognition. “Whenever I’m with you, William catches me up to something nefarious.”

“Whatever.” Pete half-shrugged as if he’d already tired of his own game. “I have to get going anyway.” He hooked a thumb toward Vinnie’s. “I need to grab some pizza for the guys then head back to the site. We’ve got a long night ahead, and another two full days if we’re going to finish on schedule.”

Olivia took a closer look at Pete. His eyes were red and saggy, his jaw unshaven. Dressed in faded jeans and a work coat over a zipped hoodie and plain t-shirt, he looked professionally disheveled. Grungy, but somehow way too gorgeous for his own good. Or hers. “Working hard these days?” she asked casually, like she hadn’t noticed his hotness. “Maybe I’ll stop by in a while, see how things are shaping up.” What was she saying? She should be making plans to meet William later, not Pete.

A flash of panic darted across his tired gaze. “Really? What for?” he asked, his voice abnormally pitchy. “I guess no one told you, but at this point, the designers and hosts don’t usually visit the site until we’ve finished up, and it’s time for them to start bringing in the furniture,” he prattled off in one breath. “Don’t you have a hot date with William or something?” He sounded almost desperate to hear she was spending more time with the very man whom, only two days ago, he’d rebuked her for fancying.

Olivia’s mouth puckered. “It’s William’s martini time. Once he’s had a few, his diction gets sloppy, and so do his kisses,” she said, to which Pete only raised his brow. Slapping a hand over her mouth, Olivia spoke into her palm. “Did I say that out loud?”

Pete chuckled. “Pretty much.”

Olivia snorted out a laugh of her own. “Sorry,” she said, though she got the impression she hadn’t revealed anything about William that Pete didn’t already know. Still, she shouldn’t be talking about her…
boyfriend?
that way. “Anyway…” She sifted through her brain for possible alternative topics, and thankfully hit on a legitimate concern. “I can’t find my messenger bag and sketchpad anywhere. Have you seen it? I think I may have forgotten it at the site a couple of nights ago when William hustled me out of there and away from your corruptive eating habits.”

That uncomfortable look shaded Pete’s face again. “Hum, now that you mention it, I think I might have seen it.” He glanced around like maybe he thought someone was following him too. “But hey, I have an idea,” he said, like he’d been struck with genius. “I could use a break. Why don’t I text Sean, have him pick up the pizza for the guys? That way I can buy us one to share. Then there’s something I could use your expert opinion on.”

That sounded suspiciously like a date. And even if it wasn’t, Olivia doubted the tabloids would see it that way. She’d plummet from mysterious-breakout-actress-dating-America’s-Heartthrob, to two-bit-hussy-cheating-on-said-heartthrob by morning, if not sooner. And was it her imagination, or was Pete acting a mite cagey?

“Oh, um, well—” She started to refuse his offer, but then changed her mind when she saw that he’d already pulled out his phone and was typing the text. “Sure, if you insist,” she relented because resistance was futile. Try as she might, she had a weakness for rough-around-the-edges guys who bore a striking resemblance to the beyond sexy Chris Pine. And really, who could blame her?

His eyes stayed glued to his phone as he said, “And don’t even try pretending like you weren’t headed over to Vinnie’s on your own anyway.” He sent the text and dropped the phone back into his jacket pocket. As he did, she saw that he’d caught sight of a wad of fabric samples sticking out of the top of her open purse. Reaching in before she could yank her purse away, he hooked the ring holding the swatches together and pulled it out. Then he proceeded to flip back a few squares, giving each sample careful consideration.

“Wow, look at you. You’re really taking this design fantasy of yours seriously,” he said, looking excited or pleased—she couldn’t tell which. Why he’d be experiencing either emotion was beyond her.

Carefully sliding the ring from his finger, she restacked the fabric squares, caressing the texture of each as she did. She’d never realized it before, but she loved the smell and feel of virgin fabric. “Designing gives me something to do during my off time,” she admitted with reverence. “And yes, if you must know, I’m unreasonably obsessed.”

Pete shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “So what? You’re passionate about design. Nothing wrong with that.” He extended a bent elbow. “We all have our secret passions.”

“Really?” Olivia eyed him a moment before looping her arm through his. “So, what’s yours?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“We’ll eat pizza first, then I’ll show you.”

“Here we are,” Pete said.

Nestled in a neighborhood across the river from the elegant historical mansions of downtown, he had his arms open wide toward the front of a painfully middle-class home. Complete with pre-fab siding and faux brick façade, the front door sported a 1990s style wreath of dusty, silk flowers and faded gingham ribbon.

“Where’s here?” Olivia wanted to know.

Pete pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to her. “Welcome to my obsession of sorts.”

Olivia glanced down at the card. A hammer with a heart-shaped head and the words
Hearts and Hammers:
Renovation for Families Who Care for Disabled Loved Ones at Home
was embossed across the front
.
At the bottom, Pete was listed as the organization’s director.

“Hearts and Hammers?” she questioned.

Pete nodded. “The name wasn’t my idea, but a promise is a promise.” His voice caught on the last word. “It’s my nonprofit. I renovate the homes of families who have children or loved ones with terminal diseases and, like the card says, are trying to care for them at home,” he explained. “Since treatment is often expensive, the families can’t afford to make the necessary alterations to their homes in order to accommodate equipment like wheelchairs and other types of devices needed to help whoever’s sick feel more independent. I come in and do it at no cost to the family.” He slipped a key into the lock, opened the front door, and motioned for Olivia to follow. “They’re vacationing on Tybee Island for a couple more days, so come on in. I’ll show you what I’ve done.”

Once inside, he flipped on the lights and proceeded to give her a tour. “Most homes aren’t built for people who need to roll, so we had to open up this whole entry, expand the hallways and doors to make the entire house wheelchair accessible.”

They turned a corner and headed down a darkened hallway. At the second doorway, Pete stopped and swung the door open. “In here I extended the bathroom, added a commode and shower lift so the disabled boy could get himself on and off the toilet, in and out of the shower, without calling for help.” He backed out of the room, and Olivia followed him across the hall where he flipped on another light. “In here, I raised the ceiling and added this contraption so he could get into bed on his own.” He ran his hand along the metal bars, secured to the bed frame, then waited a solemn moment before speaking again. “It’s important for individuals dependent on others to have as much control over their day-to-day life as they can. Especially those with no hope of ever regaining independence,” he added, his voice hitching again before softening to reflective.

As if inspecting the contraption for possible inaccuracies, Pete kept his face averted from Olivia’s line of sight, and she wished she could read his expression. But then she didn’t really need to as her mind rolled back to something Tristi had once said.

“And you know this, I’m guessing, because of your… fiancée?”

“Teresa…” Pete swallowed what appeared to be a painful lump. “She was diagnosed with Alveolar Rhabdomyosarcoma ten years ago when we were freshmen in college. She endured traditional chemo and radiation, and it worked for a while, but in the end, only made her worse. Her parents tried experimental treatments—expensive treatments—that weren’t covered by insurance, which made her better for a while. But by the time she’d surpassed the max survival rate of four years, she was in a wheelchair full time.” He looked to Olivia then, a shallow pool of tears glistening his eyes. “And very stubborn about doing things for herself. She was a petite little thing even before she got sick, but that didn’t stop her from asserting her opinions and speaking her mind. She was a real fighter ’til the end.” He thumbed away an escaping tear and gave Olivia an intentional look. “Not unlike someone we else both know.” He elbowed her playfully. Her heart ripped open. A river of sorrow for his loss spilled out, but she mustered a smile in return.

Pete looked off across the room. “Her father and I remodeled their family home so she could get around. She lived six more months before…” He closed his lips, nipping off what needed no further explanation. “It was her idea, you know, that one day I start this nonprofit, so I could help other families like hers.” He looked to Olivia again with an obligatory smile. “She made me promise to call it
Hearts and Hammers
. I knew I’d never make enough money as a contractor to get started, so when
Home Matters
held open auditions for the first season, I tried out. When I landed this gig, I finally had enough money.”

Olivia fought back tears of her own. “Pete, I’m so sorry.” She reached out and placed a hand on his arm.

Pete flinched away from her touch. “Thanks, me too.” He spun away, heading for the hall again. Olivia followed, her heart both breaking for his loss and aching for the touch he’d denied her. “This is our tenth project, but unfortunately, as of last week, I’m officially broke for now. Thankfully, the show came to Savannah, allowing me to finish up this project without having to spend money I don’t have on another trip out here.”

“How can I help?” Olivia asked, desperate to ease some of his pain. “I can donate. I’ll be getting paid soon and possibly signing a movie deal too.” She was drowning in a volcanizing mountain of unpaid debt and relieved to finally have the means of getting ahead of the flow. But none of that seemed to matter now.

Pete smiled at her as if she were a naive child. “Thanks, but I’ve got hundreds of families on my waiting list and more being added every day. What I need is a generous corporate sponsor with deep pockets so I can hire some more people,” he explained as she followed him back into the main living area. “And if you’re serious about helping, what we could really use is a good designer.” He wagged his eyebrows at her.

It took Olivia’s brain a moment or two to navigate the leap from making a monetary donation to actually working on the project, and as a designer no less. “Oh, Pete.” She shook her head. “I’m flattered, but I couldn’t possibly. I’m not a
real
designer. And besides, what with the show and the prospect of other acting projects coming up, I don’t have the time.”