Ava sketched out the basic shape of the top balcony, a long rectangle with a north-easterly aspect, and noted if there was a tap and drainage. This area needed some seating and a table, and perhaps a woman in a flowing, multi-coloured kaftan with a glass of champagne in her hand and a sensual smile aimed in the general direction of the handsome and unattainable Callum Malone.
Again with the pathetic.
Ava took copious notes about pots and plants she knew would look striking in the space. When she was satisfied, she stepped back inside to find Callum walking towards her, wearing a pair of loose grey shorts and a light grey T-shirt. The pale colour set off his deliciously tanned skin and his light brown hair.
She cleared her voice before speaking, just in case it came out as a squeak. ‘I need to get down to the other levels.’
‘Come with me.’ Ava followed him down another set of stairs to what seemed to be another living area, but this one had direct access to the empty pool. They stood at its edge, staring at the dead leaves and the dust.
‘I can’t believe you have a pool and you haven’t filled it.’
‘I’ve been too busy.’
‘Wow. If I had a pool, I’d be in it every day.’
‘You like to swim?’ He looked her up and down as if he was checking out if there was evidence of any sporting ability.
She lifted a hand. ‘Let me clarify. I’d be in it every day with a gin and tonic. My sporting days are over.’
He grinned and she didn’t want to like it.
‘I like to swim,’ Callum said, ‘but I do it out there, in the ocean.’
Ava could see the evidence of that in the strength of arms and shoulders, had felt it the day of his father’s funeral when she’d impulsively hugged him and he’d hugged her back. The memory of that embrace had her feeling quivery and nervous. It had felt so good to be held by him. So damn good.
‘We’ll fill it anyway. Think of it as a rather expensive water feature.’
That made Callum laugh and she loved the sound of it. Deep and real.
‘And what about the level below?’ They walked around the pool and leaned over the glass balustrade, taking in the empty spaces. ‘We should grass that area. It would make the perfect little play space for children.’
‘Would it?’
Ava steeled herself. ‘You planning on having any children?’
Callum looked out to the ocean for a long while, before turning to face her. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Right. Is that a “maybe one day” kind of response or a “get your nose out of my business” thing? Because it’s not about me being nosy, no matter what you might think. It’s about creating usable spaces for this property that will add value if you want to sell one day. A huge home like this is really appealing to people with children—rich people with children—but they’ll be put off if there’s no space for the children to play with their nannies.’
He got the dig, judging by the quirk at the corner of his mouth. ‘Do the grass.’
‘Okay.’ Ava got busy making more notes, many more than were strictly necessary. ‘And what about that little section down there at the very bottom?’
‘That’s a walkway to the beach. People around here moor their boats off the jetties so it’s good access.’
‘Do you have a boat?’
‘Not anymore. I used to sail when I was at school. Hated it. I’d rather be on a surfboard.’
‘Just like Cooper,’ Ava said.
Callum chuckled. ‘Yeah.’
‘Mind if I go down and have a look?’
Callum directed her to the door and the outside stairs—more goddamn stairs—and then left her to it. Fifteen minutes later, her notebook filled with all the measurements she needed, her phone filled with pictures to guide her memory, she headed back inside.
And when she saw what Callum was doing, she almost slid across the room in her socks.
Chapter Seven
‡
There were two white dinner plates set at one end of the long wooden table, a silver wine bucket with an opened bottle in it and two sparkling wine glasses. A delicious scent filled the air and that’s when Ava realised she hadn’t eaten since a rushed bowl of muesli at breakfast, thanks to the soil to the wrong address delivery debacle, and her stomach rumbled traitorously.
It was all so perfect and romantic and for a moment—hell, for a minute at least—she let herself envy the woman all this was for. An image flashed in her mind: perhaps it was the glamazon in the kaftan with the champagne. Or someone in a suit, fresh from her Important Job crushing a third-world economy or buying and selling things on the Stock Exchange. Or perhaps she was a young soap starlet or a gap-toothed supermodel.