“How do you live?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“Hm?” He looked up, his long fingers still twisting what looked like a strand of hair around a metal hook. Reading glasses were perched low on his nose, but they didn’t make him look anywhere near as safe or ordinary as they should have.

“There’s no food here.” She closed the refrigerator and turned to face him. “What do you do for meals?”

He studied her over the top of the glasses, which was oddly disconcerting.

“I can always catch fish when I want it. And, I don’t know . . .” He paused as if thinking about this for the first time. “I spent a lot of my life on the road, eating whatever got catered backstage. Or grabbing breakfast in some IHOP or Waffle House late after a show or the parties afterward.” He fixed her with a dark-eyed stare and she tried not to imagine how many women had been at those parties; how far they would have gone to get his attention.

“I’ve always been more interested in what I drank, smoked, sniffed, or snorted than what I ate.” His smile was wry. “Always been more thirsty than hungry. Except for when I got a case of the munchies.” He shrugged. “I guess my taste buds aren’t all that highly developed.”

His honesty surprised her and she found herself responding in kind. “Based on your pantry and refrigerator I’d say they stalled out somewhere around the age of fourteen. My son ate Cheerios, grilled cheese sandwiches, and anything that resembled pizza between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, so I know what I’m talking about.”

“I bet you do,” he said with a faint smile that left her wondering what it was about her that he found so amusing.

“Avery says you’re okay with letting us use the kitchen and laundry room on occasion.”

He shrugged.

“I know all of this is . . . well, I know you don’t really want us around.”

“I don’t.” He removed the glasses and set them aside. “Yet here you all are. It’s not like banishing you from my kitchen will make you go away.”

“Okay, then.” She whipped out the paper and pencil she’d stuck in her pocket. “What would you like for dinner tonight?” she asked, hoping it wouldn’t be something beyond her culinary abilities.

“I’m always up for Italian,” he said. “Do you do spaghetti and meatballs?”

“Well, I’m more of an assembler than a creator,” she said truthfully. “But if you can live with sauce from a jar and pasta out of a box, I’m pretty sure I can satisfy those fourteen-year-old taste buds of yours.”

The most genuine smile she’d seen yet lit up his face and stuck with Maddie all the way to the marina, through the grocery store, and back to Mermaid Point.

Chapter Seventeen

Hoping that food was in fact the way to this man’s heart—or at least to an open mind—Avery waited to talk business until the table had been cleared and Dustin settled near the pool table with a pile of his favorite toys.

William Hightower had practically inhaled the spaghetti and meatballs Maddie had made for dinner. He also ate two helpings of Caesar salad and four or five pieces of garlic bread, the smell of which still infused the great room. Although he protested that he was stuffed when the main course had been cleared away, he also ate dessert, which was a do-it-yourself ice cream sundae. He and Dustin, who had climbed into the chair to the right of the rock star and begged to stay there, ate the concoction with almost identical gusto.

Now she pulled out the plans, set up the makeshift easel, and prepared to begin while Deirdre handed out renovation packets to everyone then came to stand on the opposite side of the easel. Kyra and Troy lifted their video cameras to their shoulders.

Though she’d hoped that Thomas would be there to help manage his father, she’d had to settle for emailing him a copy of the plans. Now, as she fixed her gaze on William Hightower, Avery heard “Gentlemen, start your engines” in her mind. The thought made her smile and she began. “The primary goal behind all of the suggested renovations is to create eight self-contained guest suites while building in the largest possible buffer and maximum amount of privacy for you.”

Hightower nodded but he didn’t look anywhere near as interested as he had been when the spaghetti and meatballs were set in front of him. Deirdre gave her an encouraging look as she slipped a large rendering of the exterior of the main house onto the easel. She felt the undercurrent of support and for the first time she welcomed it, even felt comforted by it.

“We have no plans to change the footprint of the existing structures. For all intents and purposes, this is a remodel.” She turned to the rendering. “As you can see, changes to the main exterior are minimal,” Avery said. “We’ll simply repair and replace damaged and weathered sections of the structure, repaint, and bring more light and view inside. My hope is that the roof will only need to be repaired and not replaced, but we won’t know that for sure until we get the roofers out. I’ll do that as soon as we reach agreement on the plan.”

She smiled as if his agreement were a foregone conclusion, although the closed look on his face made it clear nothing was foregone or concluded. In truth, Avery wasn’t certain how much agreement was required. Bella Flora had belonged to them and there’d been no network to satisfy. Max Golden had been so grateful to have them in South Beach to nurse the Millicent back to life that he’d never questioned a single decision. “Here you can see the double glass doors in front and the proposed accordion glass doors across the back of the house on both floors, which will both be easier to use and maximize light and view.”

She glanced again at his face. It gave away nothing. Rendering number two went up.

“The largest structural change will involve moving the stairs from the foyer to this wall.” Avery pointed to the wall currently behind Hightower. “The kitchen footprint will be changed—we’re going to build around the stove—you can see we’re adding an L here. And the laundry will be moved downstairs to the back hallway, next to a beefed-up powder room that can be accessed from the great room as well as the side porches.

“This will open up the foyer and allow easier access to the two downstairs guest suites.” Avery pointed to the formal dining room and office, each of which now had a closet and private bath.

If they’d been playing poker right now, she’d have no idea what cards William Hightower had been dealt.

“Moving the stairs and the laundry room allows us to turn the upstairs front bedrooms into two self-contained suites,” Avery continued.

Hightower studied the drawing but again said nothing.

“It also allows us to expand the landing and creates an additional buffer between those suites and yours.” Avery cleared her throat. “We’re also planning to create a kitchenette in the master so that you don’t have to go downstairs for food or drink unless you choose to.”

Again nothing. If the bed-and-breakfast thing didn’t work out, he could definitely make money on the professional poker circuit. Or impersonating a wax figure at Madame Tussauds.

Avery kept her eyes on Hightower’s face as Deirdre addressed the design elements of the kitchen, explaining their plan to build in the refrigerator and pantry beneath the stair and upgrade all the appliances to commercial grade while creating a homelike feeling in the common area.

There was a slight flicker of annoyance in William Hightower’s eyes when Deirdre emphasized the goal of making the guests feel personally invited. “We’ll want sturdy and low maintenance,” she continued. “I’m thinking zinc or concrete countertops, clean-lined cabinets—possibly with a red gloss finish that gives us a pop of color but are easy to wipe down. We’re going for high-end casual, vaguely nautical/fishing camp but with significant creature comforts.”

“I love it,” Nicole exclaimed. Maddie smiled her encouragement. What William Hightower thought remained a mystery.

Avery focused on trying to breathe normally as Deirdre placed the sketches of the boathouse on the easel. She was no longer feeling remotely race-car-like but more like a miner trying to blast through a rock mountainside.

“We’ll need your input on how best to utilize the ground-floor space for bait and storage and small personal craft and tackle that guests might use,” Avery said. “But the upstairs can be carved into two guest suites with separate entrances. There’s already a deck facing south. If we wrap them around each side we create a sunrise and a sunset suite.”

Her smile was met with a noncommittal nod of the head. Troy and Kyra continued to shoot from every angle, but Avery didn’t think any amount of movement on their part was going to make William Hightower appear interested or engaged.

Avery continued, cutting down on the detail as she covered the pool and pool deck repairs, the state-of-the-art outdoor kitchen that would go into the pavilion, the hammocks and Adirondacks tucked around the property for privacy and reflection.

She paused for breath and to contemplate William Hightower’s impassive face. The room was heavy with quiet; even Dustin’s play seemed subdued. If the man didn’t say something soon, she’d be tempted to suggest changing the name of his band from Wasted Indian to Silent Indian. Perhaps he was lobbying to be the new face on the wooden nickel.

Finally, Avery slipped the renderings of the three-car garage into place. It was one of her favorite spaces, one that lent itself to a high degree of flexibility. “If you look at both of these sketches, you see that the upstairs and downstairs can be rented separately as you see here. Or”—she placed the second sketch over it—“it can be opened up into a single two-story unit that sleeps up to ten. Which would make it perfect for a family or any large group who wants to be together.”