I've Always Had a Weakness for Beautiful Faces

Chapter 3: The First Inspection

Elias arrived three days later with a structural engineer named Priya Noland and a measuring kit that looked more expensive than the office he rented.

I met them in the courtyard. Priya was compact, direct, and unimpressed by the rain. She walked toward the cottages without waiting for an introduction.

"Before we start," she said, "I need to be clear. I can tell you what I see today. I can't certify a building from the outside."

"Understood," I said.

Elias gave me a quick glance. "We'll open up the walls only if you approve the extra cost."

"I approve."

Martin had wanted me to wait. He said a full inspection could scare the bank. I'd ignored him, which felt brave until I saw the estimate.

Priya began at the cottage nearest the drainage ditch. I followed her inside, stepping around a bucket beneath a ceiling stain. Elias stayed close behind me with a clipboard.

The cottage smelled of damp wool and old wood. A woman named June, who worked in the laundry, stood by the kitchen counter with her arms folded. She had moved into the cottage after her divorce, when the hotel offered her a room at a reduced rate.

"Am I supposed to leave?" she asked.

"No," I said. "Not unless Priya tells us there's a safety issue."

June's eyes moved to Elias. "And if there is?"

"Then I'll find you another room," I said.

She held my gaze. "You'll find all of us another room?"

The question landed hard. I had no answer ready.

"Yes," I said. "If the cottages can't be made safe, I'll find housing for everyone affected."

Elias looked down at his clipboard. I couldn't tell whether he was avoiding my eyes or taking notes.

Priya tapped along a section of wall. "There's moisture here, but the framing isn't soft. I want to see the crawl space before I say more."

June kept her arms folded. "We've been asking for the gutters to be fixed since last winter."

"I know," I said.

"No, you know now."

I wanted to defend myself. The hotel had been losing money before the storm. My mother's illness had left paperwork undone. I had inherited a building, a staff, and a debt I didn't understand. But June had been asking for gutters while I was sitting in the ballroom deciding which wallpaper to restore first.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I should have listened sooner."

She gave one short nod. It was not forgiveness. It was acknowledgment.

We spent the next hour inside each cottage. Priya found two areas where water had leaked through the roof and a section of foundation that needed repair. She also found old timber in the crawl space that appeared sound.

"Nothing I've seen makes demolition inevitable," she said as we stood outside.

Elias made a note. "We need the full report."

"Of course," Priya replied. "And we need to inspect the fourth cottage, too."

The fourth was empty. A branch had punched through its roof during the storm. I had assumed it was beyond repair. Priya did not say it was safe, but she did say the damage looked localized.

On the walk back to the hotel, Elias fell into step beside me.

"June was right," I said.

"She was."

"I want to fix that."

"Then do it."

I looked at him. "You're not going to tell me I'm a good person for feeling bad?"

"No."

The bluntness stung. It also made me respect him more.

The next week, we worked side by side in the hotel office. He spread building plans across the desk. I sorted repair receipts by date. When he needed a signature, he slid the page toward me with a small red tab marking the line.

By Wednesday, I could tell the difference between a roof truss and a joist. By Friday, he could tell when I was pretending not to be tired.

"You're staring at that invoice as if it insulted your family," he said late one evening.

"It charged us for a temporary repair that didn't hold."

"Then we'll contest it."

"You say 'we' like you're staying."

"I'm under contract through the permit phase."

"That's not what I meant."

He glanced up. The lobby was empty. The old clock above the desk had stopped at 11:14. Somewhere upstairs, a pipe made a soft ticking sound.

"I don't know what you meant," he said.

I could have told him. I could have said that his company was small, his face was dangerous, and I had begun looking for reasons to keep him in the room after the work was done.

Instead, I put the invoice in a folder. "I meant I'd like you to stay."

His expression softened, just a little. "Then I'll try to earn that, too."

It was a week before I let him kiss me. We had been at the hotel late, reviewing the first set of plans. He walked me to the main entrance. I told him he didn't have to do that. He said he knew.

The kiss began with a pause. He gave me time to move away. I didn't.

His hand settled against my cheek, warm and careful. I was already searching his face for the meaning of it.

I wanted to believe a man who kissed like that could not have a hidden agenda.

When we pulled apart, he said, "Ivy, I want to be careful."

"So do I."

He looked at me for a long second. "I'm not sure either of us is."

I laughed because it sounded true.

I went home alone, smiling at my reflection in the car window like a fool.

The next morning, Martin left a message asking whether I'd reviewed the contract's conflict-of-interest language. I heard it while I was brushing my teeth.

I made a note to call him back.

Then I got to work and forgot.