Heron's Landing. JoAnn Ross
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out over the water, where a successful haul had a pair of fishing boats moving slowly and heavily into port. A gleaming bridal-white and grass-green ferry chugged across the bay. In the distance, the wooded islands appeared like emeralds on a bed of sapphire silk.
He gave her a brief tour, showing her the small three-quarters bath with a large shower with two walls glass, and the other two subway tile with gray grout. There was also a long counter with double sinks. She would have liked a tub, but lounging in a tub probably wasn’t something she’d have time for anyway.
The walls had been painted a soft grayish sage that blended with the various shades of green outside the windows. A kitchen area with maple cabinets and a gray quartz counter ran along one wall, and a large island divided the living space. The new gas fireplace featured a surround created by vertical strips of marble in grays and whites.
“It’s interesting that they chose such calming colors when the exterior is so discordant,” she mused.
“I figured they thought people would expect bright colors on a Queen Anne,” Seth said. “Or maybe they’d always dreamed of owning a painted lady of their own back home in San Francisco.”
“Whichever, paint can always be changed. Meanwhile, this space is lovely. You’ve almost made me forget the bats.”
“All the vent openings are well screened,” he assured her. “They can’t get in.”
“That’s good to know.” She crossed the room and looked out the windows facing the opposite side of the house, toward the snowcapped mountains, where blue and yellow wildflowers danced in the meadows. “The heron nests are still there.”
The great blue heron was iconic to the Pacific Northwest, celebrated in art going back to the earliest Native Americans. The massive nests on this property had been built in towering Douglas firs over years of breeding seasons, with birds building new nests with sticks and twigs every year. Glancing out, she could count five, though she remembered as many as a dozen at one time.
“Lucky,” he said. “Now you won’t have to change the name.”
She glanced over her shoulder and realized he was standing close behind her. Close enough for her to breathe in the brisk scent of his soap, like the towering fir trees blanketing the mountains, along with an undernote of workingman musk that was clouding her mind. “Lucky,” she murmured, knowing that he was joking. Despite the town’s long-ago name change, tradition was taken seriously in Honeymoon Harbor. Whoever owned the house, whatever it became, this would always be known as Herons Landing.
“As much as I love my parents, I’d feel like a teenager living there all the time it’s going to take to remodel,” she said, moving out of the danger zone before turning around to face him again. “I thought I’d rent in town for now, then eventually live in the carriage house for more privacy when I got up and running, but for now, this would be perfect.”
“And noisy,” he warned her. “Because you’d be living over a construction zone.”
“Ah, but it’d be convenient, because I’d be on-site instead of having to drive in from the farm every day.”
“You really do intend to be hands-on.” The tone was neutral, but she sensed that he was wary about that idea. Given the previous buyers’ choice of exterior paint, she understood his caution.
“I have some ideas,” she admitted. “But you’ve been essentially living with the house, through two earlier owners, and from what you’ve told me so far, you and I are on the same page. Though you’re way ahead of me because I never, in a million years, would’ve thought of this. Obviously you’ve drawn up plans.”
“Sure.”
“I’d like to see them.”
“Absolutely. I also have the originals if you’d like to compare.”
“The originals?” He might as well have told her he’d found the Holy Grail. “Seriously?”
“They were in some dusty old filing cabinets. Harper Construction built the most iconic buildings in town. Like the library, the city hall, the buildings where both your uncle and brother set up shop. We’ve always been proud of that.”
“As you should be,” she agreed without hesitation. “I just never expected them to still be around. What shape are they in?”
“A little yellowed. Brown around the edges. But they’re still readable. And apparently Jacob Harper, Nathaniel’s older brother who built the place in 1894, had a sense of history or immortality, or, if he was anything like Dad, worried about someone stealing them, because he signed every page.”
“Oh, wow.” Her heart began doing a happy samba at that news. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to let me buy the pages with the layouts of the room and exterior? To frame?”
“Sorry, they’re not for sale.”
“I understand.” Which was true. Disappointing, but true. They might not be as famous as Captain Vancouver’s ship logs, but they were a large part of Honeymoon Harbor’s history. Why should he sell them off? Especially to a Mannion?
“Though I can give them to you. After I get them copied.”
He’d been one of the nicest boys she’d known. Which was saying something, since she’d always found her brothers very special. It was also why, although there were times she’d admittedly been envious of Zoe, she’d never been jealous of her best friend for having Seth Harper fall in love with her. Apparently, despite the grief she could tell he was still experiencing, he hadn’t changed. Now he was one of the nicest men she knew. Working with him, while not proving to be all that easy on her hormones, was going to be a pleasure.
“I’d love that. Thank you. But since they’re a Harper family heirloom, I’d be thrilled just to have the copies.” She could already imagine them on the wall. Not in frames, she decided. But shadow boxes to honor them with the importance they deserved.
“They’re all yours.”
An easy silence settled over them as they both looked around, imagining the house as it could be. “It’s going to be wonderful,” she breathed. “Since so many of the guests will be coming here for the outdoor activities, I want an easy, simple style they can feel comfortable in. Where they don’t have to worry about knocking over a gilt-rimmed vase. But I also want to celebrate the curves and quality of the time.”
“Dressing your Victorian dowager in flannel shirts, jeans, hiking boots, while keeping her good set of pearls.”
He’d surprised her. Until she thought about it a second. This house might be her dream. But in a way, the entire town was both Seth’s family history and daily reality as he brought Harper-constructed buildings back to life. He was the one who’d dedicated his life to blending the disparate eras.
“I wonder if people realize how lucky they are that you decided to stay here in Honeymoon Harbor,” she said. She had no doubt he could make a great deal more in most older cities in the country.
He shrugged. “I never had any desire to go anywhere else.
“How about you drop by the office tomorrow?” he suggested. “About noon. We can go over the original blueprints and what I came up with, both before and after the lower floor walls came out, and you can give me your ideas.”
“I’d love that. I’ll bring lunch.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Tonight’s my first night home in two years,” she said. “Which means Mom’s going to make way too much fried chicken and potato salad.” Although her mother might not have allowed processed food in her home while Brianna had been growing up, Sarah Mannion’s fried chicken, which had won awards at the county and state fairs, was a family favorite for special occasions. “There’ll be leftovers.”
“I’d never turn down your mom’s chicken,”