The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood 3)

I couldn’t stand the woman and had yet to meet anyone who could.

Clay paused as if considering something. “I guess . . . do you mind opening it?”

“Sure.”

I set the phone down on the table, propped up against the wall so he could still see, and then tore open the top of the envelope. He waited patiently as I unfolded the single sheet of paper and scanned the contents.

“Fucking Judy,” I mumbled under my breath.

“What is it?”

I let the letter drop onto his stack of mail. “It’s the same one my parents got. The HOA has adopted a new ‘night sky’ policy.”

He took off his glasses and ground the palm of his hand into one eye.

“You know what that means?” I asked.

“Yeah. Is this just letting me know about the policy change? Or is it a warning?”

I pressed my lips together for a moment. “It says you have thirty days to change your landscape lighting or you’re going to get fined. Lights can only point down, not up anymore.” I glanced at the date at the top of the letter. “Sorry. You have twenty-six days left.”

He put his glasses on as he let out an enormous sigh.

The policy was bullshit. Half the houses in our subdivision had soft up-lighting and had been that way for years. She wanted everyone to redo their exterior lights to—according to the letter—prevent light trespassing into the sky and causing pollution.

“This is all Judy,” I said. “The rest of the board is terrified of her. They let her do whatever she wants, including harass Dr. Lowe.”

Clay looked confused. “Who?”

“Dr. Lowe? His house is a few streets over, and he unfortunately lives next door to Judy Maligner. She’s pissed he’s dating my friend Cassidy, so she fucking weaponized the HOA against him.” I glared at the letter. “I guarantee he’s got landscape lighting that points up. Everyone else that does in this subdivision, like you and my parents, are collateral damage.”

He digested the info. “Why’s she pissed he’s dating your friend?”

“She says it’s inappropriate because Cassidy’s a lot younger than he is. But I really think it’s because she wanted Dr. Lowe for herself.” I picked the phone up and stared at him, not wanting to think about stupid Judy for another second. “How’s it going at work? You think you’ll be home soon?”

He put a hand on the back of his neck and leaned against the headboard of his hotel bed. It was an hour later for him in Florida, and he was wearing a simple white t-shirt, so I got a view of his toned bicep. He seemed unaware of how good he looked or the effect he had on me.

“Maybe another week. It was my department’s fuck up, and the hospital system won’t put up with a delay over something like this.”

Another week wasn’t the end of the world, I told myself. I could sulk later after we’d hung up. “What are you going to do about your lights?”

He let go of the back of his neck and lifted the hand like he had no idea. “I’ll deal with it when I get back, I guess.”

The idea quickly took shape in my mind, and I slathered on my best salesman smile. “Okay. I have a proposition for you.”

My smile had been too thick because he looked wary. “Yeah?”

“I’m already handling this for my parents. If you want, I could have the company that’s rewiring my parents’ house come quote your yard too.”

“I feel like there’s a catch coming.”

I laughed lightly. “All you have to do is tell me something about yourself. Something I don’t already know.”

He wasn’t amused. “Like what?”

“I don’t know.” But I did know. My tone was innocuous and casual. “You could tell me how you got into the lifestyle.”

Rather than look nervous or displeased, he relaxed, and his expression was . . . strange. Almost smug, like I’d aimed way too low. He shifted on his bed, getting more comfortable. “Porn.”

“Um, what?” Was he saying he did porn?

Like he could hear my thoughts, Clay shook his head. “A few years ago, I was watching a video that had this spanking horse in it. The whole time I’m looking at the video, instead of watching the performers, I’m staring at the piece and thinking, ‘I could build that better.’ So, I did some research and,” he lifted a shoulder, “some testing of my design.”

A wide grin spread across my lips. “You got hot for furniture while watching porn?”

“Yeah.” His unexpected laugh was warm. “After I built that first one and sold it, the client wanted another piece, plus they told some of their play partners about me, and I developed a reputation for my work. There’s not a big market for BDSM furniture, but the stuff I build is high quality, and it’s important to me that it doesn’t just look good—it meets every one of the clients’ needs too.”