Read Home Matters (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella, Book 1) for Free Online

Southern culture. And though the Caribbean architecture and coastal landscape of Savannah was very different from the rolling hills and country lifestyle of Nashville, she felt more at home here in Georgia after only four days than she had in all of her five years living in LA.
    Getting to her feet, she shouldered her messenger bag and headed south through Forsyth square, past the roaring fountain and on, walking the block and a half to the Calhoun mansion. Just like last night and the night before that, Pete and his crew had left the site for a two-hour supper break. Then they’d be back to work, toiling to bring Eleanor’s design to life, late into the wee hours of the night and on into the weekend.
    Sketchpad in hand, she removed the flannel shirt she wore over a white Henley, climbed onto a wood plank resting atop two sawhorses, and crossed her legs in front of her. Setting a box of pastels, along with a few sharpened charcoal pencils off to the side, she repositioned her glasses on the bridge of her nose and took a long, sweeping study of the demolished kitchen. Like a carcass stripped of its skin, the walls and cabinets had all been removed, exposing the wood slats underneath and beyond to the pipes, wires, and inner workings of the home—a blank palette.
    Closing her eyes, she waited as the bare bones melted away, and a new vision, piece by piece, one element at a time slid in to cover the void. Center island with sink; stove where the sink had been; French door to replace the lost sunlight; and then on to the backsplash, wall color, and furnishings—all coming together to form a new whole. When the concept had taken shape, she reopened her eyes, pressed charcoal to paper and lost herself in what her mind had created.
    A sound. A movement. She didn’t know which, but something outside of herself jockeyed for her attention. Adrift somewhere between her art and the real world, she looked up to see that someone was watching her. Their gazes locked, held a surreal instant, before reality slammed into her like a bucket of icy water.
    “Oh, good gracious,” she gasped. How long had she been working? “What are you doing here?” Had it been two hours already?
    Pete shuffled a couple of steps forward, picked up a drill, and inserted a cord into the handle. “I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d come scare the bejeezus out of you.” He smiled. Olivia did not. “What? I work here,” he said as he hooked the drill to his tool belt and came closer still, picking up a plastic bucket of screws on his way. “The real question is: what are you doing here?”
    Olivia flipped her sketchpad closed. “With Eleanor falling deathly ill and all, we wrapped early today,” she said, slipping her glasses off and back on again. Something irritating had settled under her contacts, and figuring she wouldn’t run into anyone she knew, she’d given her eyes a much-needed break.
    Pete lifted a sheet of drywall and positioned it over the exposed wall next to where Olivia had perched. “I see, and what do you have there?” He nodded to her sketchpad.
    She pressed the pad tight to her chest. “It’s nothing, really.” No way was she showing Pete her art. It was just a rendering of the kitchen and a few other rooms, but still, allowing him a glimpse was like baring him a piece of her soul.
    Pete secured the sheetrock to the wall. Then he looked her over, his eyes taking in the pastel rainbow coloring Olivia’s hands and smearing the sleeves of her white shirt. “Playing hard to get, are we?” he said. She looked down at her dusty fingers and wiped the color away on her jeans. “Come on, Peaches, I stood there a good two minutes before you noticed. For being up to ‘nothing,’ you seemed rather engrossed.” He held out a hand and added a smile that made his eyes twinkle. “Come on, let me see.” He wiggled his fingers. “Come on now…”
    Olivia looked into his eyes, transparent and, oh so blue. If she wasn’t