Flipped! (Spinning Hills Romance 1) (3 page)

“I’ll stop by the shop first thing on Monday. Thanks,” Dan said, picturing an older woman who’d likely want to talk his ear off about her grandkids in exchange for the info. Still, if a history buff with too much time on her hands wanted to share what she’d found, he’d take it.

Sam walked him out, saying, “Speaking of Rosa, she said if you don’t let her read you those tarot cards of hers, she’ll whip your butt.” Dan laughed.

Moments later, he rolled out of the paved parking lot and onto the cobblestone street. He hit the right turn signal when he got to the corner of Main and Hillside. The mature oaks, maples, and catalpas lining the street had been there forever, but the sidewalks they’d lifted and cracked had been repaired. The rusted and peeling old-fashioned lampposts had been sanded and painted black.

A myriad of streams and creeks ran through town, and the many small bridges that crossed them had been painted bright red. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Fresh paint, old charm.

A white gazebo and a few wrought-iron benches now overlooked the five streams that cut through Star Springs Park. He, his brothers, and their friends used to compete to see who could jump the farthest across those streams.

Sam’s office was directly in front of the park, with Johnny’s living area on the second floor. Both had left a light on, but he drove on, wanting to see what else had changed in the town.

He made his way out of the downtown area and had to look twice when he caught sight of the old water tower. It had been painted in black and white spirals, with the words, W
ELCOME TO
S
PINNING
H
ILLS,
printed in red. His eyes widened. It looked good, but it could probably bring on a seizure if a person stared at it too long.

He drove south through the sloping, softly winding roads and rolling hills that had earned the town its name, surprised to see a few major Realtors had set up shop on outlying streets.

Spinning Hills was made up almost entirely of storybook-style homes. The Miami Valley gypsies brought the style over from Cotswold, England, over a hundred years before, when they’d chosen the area as their wintering place. Every schoolkid learned the drill in third grade. The town grew and the style persisted during the nineteen twenties, after the infamous Great Dayton Flood led people to look for higher ground.

French country, Tudor, Normandy, and Mediterranean bungalows and cottages, both big and small, that looked as if they’d come out of a children’s fairy tale, lined most of the streets, though some streets looked more like a Grimm fairy tale brought to life.

Interesting architecture and a colorful history made Spinning Hills a magnet for tourists and a great place for niche businesses. But wanting to visit didn’t always equate with wanting to live there. The schools were good, but not great, and the houses were interesting, but old.

His brothers had told him things were looking up for both the Dayton region and Spinning Hills, though, and it seemed it wasn’t just hometown pride talking.

Even when the small town had been heading downhill, Dan had been intrigued by the blend of practicality and fantasy in each structure. He’d moved around and traveled the country a lot after law school, but he’d never seen a place quite like Spinning Hills.

He lowered his visor to peek at the old picture he kept there. It had been taken when Dan was eight, Sam six, and Johnny four. They were catapulting into the river and an old friend had taken the picture when all three of them were in midair.

Dan snapped the visor up and reviewed his new plan. He’d spend the weekend hanging out with his brothers and a few old friends. Monday morning he’d see Ms. Bell to review her research. He’d have a vision for the house by noon and full-fledged plans by evening. On Tuesday and Wednesday, he’d do the same for the other four houses. Despite the change in plans, the immediate future looked busy and uncomplicated enough to suit his needs.

H
olly climbed the steps of the steep-roofed, yellow- and green-trimmed stucco cottage that housed the studio portion of her business, opened the door, and breathed in. Stanley trotted in behind her and settled into his bed behind the counter. “Not all dreams are meant to come true, Stanley, but this one did.” His soft puppy gaze told her he was happy as long as she was.

She began arranging a new shipment of crystal bottles of all shapes and sizes along the glass bookshelves that lined the walls. Next, she rearranged her signature perfume oils. She’d had a fickle client come in last Friday and everything was out of place, but the combination of soft, pleasant scents filled her with peace and serenity.

Less than a minute later, her sense of tranquility shattered when she looked up to see none other than Dan Amador standing out front. Her breath caught. Why would he track her down? Maybe he’d needed stitches. Should she pay for his deductible?

He peered inside, spotted her, and tried the knob. Her store was still closed for business. Couldn’t he see the sign right in front of his nose? He knocked on the window anyway. Holly got up and marched to the door.

“Ms. Bell?” He smiled and stuck his right hand out. Holly was too confused to shake it. He let it hover for a moment before dropping it. His smile faltered. “My name is Dan Amador. My brother Johnny says he’s a friend of yours, and he mentioned you might be able to help me with some research on a historic house here.”

She studied him, realizing he didn’t know who she was. Of course, she wasn’t covered in mud and goo. He looked different, too, because of his smile. And the ugly gash above his left eyebrow. She swallowed hard. “Johnny sent you,” she repeated, trying to keep her voice even. Why would Johnny send his brother to her if he already knew Dan had bought
her
house?

“Uh, yes, Johnny. Do you know the Craftsman on Rubicon? He says you may have done some research on it.”

Holly gripped the doorknob.
Yes, she knew the Craftsman on Rubicon!
She’d kill Johnny. “Why?” she managed to ask.

“Why?” Dan repeated.

She looked into his eyes. Like his brothers, he had deep-set eyes and an enviable natural tan. But where Sam’s eyes were a warm brown and Johnny’s a fiery hazel, Dan’s were an icy blue-gray. His hair was a light, golden brown and the effect of his coloring was startling. Gold, blue, and gray were an unusual combination. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him before, but she now noticed his hair knew exactly where to rebel and his jeans hung on him as if they understood how good he made them look.

She’d seen a picture of their late father once, and Dan was his spitting image. He looked nothing like his mom, but from what she’d witnessed of him, he shared her superiority complex.

“Why are you interested in the research I’ve done?” She let go of the doorknob, gestured for him to come inside, and made a conscious effort to sound detached.

“Because I’m renovating that house and I want to make sure I get the historic details right. Plus it might help me sell the house if I can pass the info on to potential buyers.”

Holly folded her arms over her chest. Her vintage cuckoo clock ticked and tocked on the wall. Dan waited. After a while, his forehead crinkled and he glanced at his own watch.

Holly noticed it all, but didn’t care, because she was too busy wondering when she’d become a masochist. She was leaning toward helping the dolt who had destroyed her dreams because, dolt or not, he wanted to get the details of a house she loved right.

Hopes of buying it were gone. There was no way she could afford what he’d tack on to it without risking everything she’d worked hard for. But the image of the dream was still there and it would be gratifying to see bits of it come true. No doubt he’d soon see her coming out of her basement apartment, realize who she was, and promptly discard any advice she had to give. If she proved herself useful and professional right now, though, she might have some influence over the final product.

“Sorry. I didn’t sleep well this past weekend, so I’m a little slow today.” She forced a smile. “But I have exactly what you’re looking for. Come this way.”

 

Dan followed Ms. Bell, her long, springy black curls, and her form-fitting skirt into a living room or office, he wasn’t sure which. Curiosity took over. When Johnny had told him about Ms. Bell, he’d envisioned someone much older. Why wasn’t his charismatic brother on a first-name basis with this woman?

Maybe she was frigid. She’d refused to shake his hand and hadn’t smiled once since they’d started talking. Johnny had mentioned she spent her free time in the library.

It was too bad. With her inky black hair and bright green eyes, she looked like a hot witch and he’d always had a thing for wicked women. You knew what to expect with them. But this woman had the looks, not the attitude.

“Johnny said you might know the original colors of the house?” he asked when she gestured for him to sit.

“The original colors were described as a rich combination of cream, fawn, and centennial red accents. If you decide to use those colors, I have good ideas as to how you can combine them.”

He looked around at her beige and olive-green color scheme. She seemed to have a good head for colors. “What else do you know?” He settled into the chair and waited for her to pull a binder out from a shelf behind her desk.

“One of the original owners was a lawyer, and he had a huge collection of law books. The room that is now the formal dining room was originally a private law library.”

Dan preferred reading and writing about the law to actually practicing it, so the idea of the private law library appealed to him. But the house wasn’t for him. He’d have to take a good look at the floor plan to see whether the room would stay a formal dining room or if it would become a home office.

“Here’s a sketch of the original blueprint.” She slid the binder over to him. “I’ve always thought the law library–turned–dining room would make a great home office, and that the dining room should be where it originally was—in front of the kitchen—where the family room now is.” Enthusiasm crept into her voice, her eyes blazed, and she inched to the edge of her seat. “The wall that closes that area off now was added later, to make a downstairs bedroom. That bedroom would make a great family room. If the wall were taken down, the kitchen, dining room, and family room would be an open space!”

Dan’s eyes widened. In the space of a few sentences, she’d turned into a zealot. “You’ve been in the house?” he asked.

“I visit every house that’s for sale. I like old houses.”

“Do you know who the original owners were?” he asked next.

“Nathaniel and Miranda McDowell built the house in nineteen thirteen, and they sold it after only two months. I found the advertisement. That’s how I know the original colors,” she explained.

“Do you know why they sold so fast?”

Holly studied him. “You’re curious?”

He shrugged and she looked back down at her binder. “I’ve wondered the same thing, but I don’t think I’ll ever find out,” she said, flipping through the pages. “This is all I have on that house, but I think it’s pretty amazing. It doesn’t look like it belongs because it was the first house built on that street. Their neighbor, John Olmstead, was a journalist for the
Dayton Times
. He was so taken by the house’s architectural details that he wrote an article about it.”

“An old article about the Craftsman?” Dan leaned in, interested.

“Yes! He detailed both the inside and outside of the house, explaining how all the wood, glass, and metalwork was locally hand-crafted. The wood was a light mahogany, it’s too bad someone painted it white. Only the house’s colors were missing from the article, and I found those in the ad I told you about.”

She handed him the binder, but drew it back when he reached out. She eyed him, bit her lip, sighed, and then handed it to him again. When he grabbed it, she tugged it back again, a reflex. It felt like she was giving up. But she had to, didn’t she? His eyes widened. Finally, she let it go and he almost dropped it.

 

Dan shot up, before the woman decided to play tug-of-war again. “There’s a copy machine in the library next door. Fifteen cents a copy,” she said, her manner now crisp and detached. She got up and left, the sweet scent of her perfume lingering a moment longer. He paused, the scent familiar, but he couldn’t place it and it didn’t matter.

He followed her out, just as she flipped the sign on her front door to OPEN. He looked around. “You sell perfumes?”

“I’m what experts refer to as a ‘nose’.”

Dan somehow managed to keep a straight face. “You’re a, uh,
nose
?”

“I know your kind. Never mind.” She scowled at him.

Dan thanked her and left for the library before the conversation got any stranger. The square brick and stone-embellished building looked exactly as it had years ago. He sank into one of the overstuffed chairs and read the article. Ms. Bell was right. It had amazing details. And as much as he enjoyed research, he was glad he hadn’t had to search through the shelves surrounding him for this information.

He shut the binder, copied the five pages that pertained to his project, and headed next door again. The shop was empty of any customers. Ms. Bell was somewhere behind the counter talking to either herself or an imaginary boyfriend. “It just wasn’t meant to be, Stanley,” she was saying in a soothing tone. Dan’s eyes widened. What the—

She sprang up, and he handed her the binder. “Are you and Johnny acquaintances?” he asked.

“I don’t know right now. I love your brother, but he has a warped sense of humor. I may have to kill him.”

Dan couldn’t help but smile. He was deeply acquainted with his brother’s perverse ways. It was the first sane thing she’d said. “You realize you just confessed to premeditated murder to my brother, right?”

“Trust me, you may want to be an accomplice before long,” Holly muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” Holly shook her head, eager for him to leave.

“Thank you for this,” he said, and something in his tone made her take a good look at him.

There was real gratitude in his eyes. In that moment, he didn’t look like the callous man from two nights ago. But she knew that man was still lurking in there. She could tell by the way he’d been looking around her shop and by his expression when she’d told him she was a nose. “You live in Boston, right? What made you come up?” she asked, just as he was about to turn and leave.

“I’ve been in Atlanta. Boston was last year. And I’m playing at the Christmas Eve Festival with my brothers.” He frowned.

“Then why’d you buy a house, too?” she continued, undeterred.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Never mind.” When he didn’t make a move to leave, she cocked her head and asked the question that had been on her mind the last few minutes. “I hear it’s your first time back in over five years. What do you think of Spinning Hills now?”

He cleared his throat. “I think it looks great. It’s good to see it like this.”

Maybe he didn’t hate the town as much as his brothers thought he did. Maybe he’d even do a good job with the house. Holly wanted to be happy about that, but the ache in her heart over losing the house was still too fresh.

“My turn,” Dan unexpectedly began. “Where are you from?”

“Why?”

“Why did you ask me your questions?”

“I’m a marine brat. I’m originally from everywhere, but mostly Miami, Florida.”

“Why’d you give up yearlong sunshine?”

Holly bit the inside of her cheek.
I’ll answer three questions because I asked three. Serves me right for being nosy.
“I like the idea of living in the place where gypsies found a home and man learned to fly. It feels promising. That plus four seasons suits my soul.”

“Promising?” he repeated, wearing a look that made her want to pummel him.

“Yes. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Right. I’ll see you around.” He turned and walked to the door.

“Not if I can help it,” she mumbled. The man had to have super-hearing abilities because he turned his head, stared at her, and asked, “Why?”

“Why what?” Holly tried to look innocent.

“I heard what you said.” He looked amused.

“Really?” She licked her lips. “Well, then, I apologize. What I meant was that I already gave you everything I have on the house and I don’t have anything else for you.”

“I didn’t mean I’d be seeking you out again.” His eyes looked more blue than gray when they twinkled. “I research and write opinions for tough legal cases for a living, and I tend to do a lot of my work at libraries. I’ll be next door a lot, that’s all.”

“That isn’t a legal library,” she protested. Holly often went to the library to come up with new formulas or to think about a client whose personality and scent she couldn’t figure out because the library’s ambience was conducive to thinking. “There’s a legal library over at the University of Dayton.”

“I know. I have my own legal library, on my computer. I happen to like working in libraries.” He shook his head and left without saying another word.

 

“Was that who I think it was?” Emily entered through the back door, eyes wide.

Holly turned on her heel. “Johnny sent him!”

“What! Why?”

“He told him about the research I’d done on the house.”

“Don’t tell me he had the gall to ask for it?” Emily asked.

“Yes—but only because he didn’t recognize me. Can you believe it?”

They stared at each other for a long moment, and Emily began to laugh. “Sorry, hon, but yes. I believe it.”

Holly conjured up an image of what she’d looked like Friday night and shrugged, still unable to laugh about it. She sat back down on her stool and continued to arrange perfume bottles.