He crossed his fingers. “The sales lines have been ringing steadily. I think we’ll have them all sold before we’re under roof. That means we’ll be customizing each place. Dani’s been our decorator for the last year, and she’s already contacted a couple of the prospective buyers.”

“She said she owns a gallery.”

“She does. That’s where she also does her design work for us.”

“She’s got a great eye for color.”

“And she’s put together some amazing rooms.”

“Good to keep it all in the family.”

“We try.”

A car downshifted and slowed, and a black SUV pulled up beside Dalton’s truck. Matthew got out. He was dressed in jeans, a blue collared shirt, and a fitted overcoat. He looked sharp, and as she approached, the scent of his aftershave teased her nose.

“Dalton,” Matthew said, extending his hand. “How goes the project?”

“Can’t complain.”

He looked over at the build site. “Looks very promising.”

“We always hope.” The humble words belied the confidence she’d seen when Dalton was working.

Matthew smiled at Ivy. “You look nice.”

“Sometimes I need to prove to myself I’m more than a chef’s jacket and white pants.”

His gaze danced with appreciation. “You proved your point.”

Matthew’s appraisal reminded her of high school and the rush of hormones tangled up with youthful possibilities. Intense but short lived. “Thanks. Ready to go? I’m starving.”

Dalton cleared his throat. “Enjoy your dinner.”

“Dalton, thank you again for hauling this stuff away,” Ivy said. “And it’s going to the thrift store?”

“Yes. It’ll all be put to good use.”

“Good. Ruth would be rolling over in her grave if she thought it’d go to waste.”

“No worries there.”

She took a step toward him, had the urge to place her hand on his arm, but kept going as she moved around his truck toward Matthew’s SUV.

Matthew moved to the driver’s side door while she opened her own. “See you around, Dalton.”

“Sure thing,” Dalton said.

Ivy closed her car door, settling into the soft leather seats. The interior was plush, and the vehicle was a late model. Matthew had always liked nice cars. In high school, he’d saved his money and borrowed more from his dad to buy his first truck. It had been used but in mint condition, and the first time he’d driven to this cottage and picked her up for a date with it, he’d been more focused on how he’d looked behind the wheel than her new dress.

“I meant what I said,” he said. “You look nice.”

“Thank you.”

He pulled out onto the beach road, and as they drove away, she glanced in the rearview mirror as Dalton angled behind the wheel of his truck. Nothing short lived or temporary about him. When he charted a course, it didn’t waver.