Susan Mallery Page 0,49

by a bit if we use terraced gardens in the back.”

“Terraced rather than sloped?” James asked.

“Terracing makes it easier for us to capture rainwater. We’ll build in collection areas so there’s less runoff and flooding for those rare winters when we get a couple of inches in a day.”

Jessica nodded. “That makes sense. What else?”

He flipped to another sheet of paper. “You could have a produce garden over on the east side. The chef would work with your head gardener to determine what would grow best. The chef could pick the fresh produce at a certain time of day and the guests could either watch or participate.”

“Oh, that’s good,” James said. “We could offer that as part of a package. A true culinary experience. I wonder if we could have a couple of cows and make our own butter and cheese.”

“You’re still in the city limits,” Heath said quickly. “There are strict zoning laws.”

“That’s true.” Jessica pursed her lips together. “Too bad, because we do love cows.”

“Who doesn’t?” Heath muttered.

Declan cleared his throat to avoid chuckling. “So, ah, in addition to the produce garden, we were thinking some kind of maze. It would take a while to grow the hedges but it could be a real centerpiece of the grounds and fun for guests of all ages.”

“Yes, we’ll do that,” Jessica said.

James nodded. “Absolutely. That’s totally our brand.”

This was their first hotel, Declan thought. They didn’t have a brand yet. They had money and an inability to stay on topic.

“Another alternative is a butterfly garden,” he said, pulling out a third sheet. “This is more expensive as it would require a habitat, but it’s unique. We could work with one of the local universities, maybe breed an endangered species. If you’re interested in that, we’ll have to research the costs and find out where they’re doing research. UC Irvine for sure.”

“A butterfly wedding garden,” Jessica said dreamily.

“We could renew our vows there, Jess,” her husband told her.

“If you want the butterfly garden, that could be the overarching theme connecting the outdoor space,” Heath said.

“We want it all.” Jessica’s voice was firm. “Everything you’ve discussed.”

Of course they did. Declan spread out the pages. “There’s not enough room for everything. You’ll have to pick the items you like best.” And hey, decisions are not your strong suit. But, of course, he didn’t say that out loud. Or run toward the window. A big victory all around.

“We can’t possibly decide,” Jessica said, her voice a whine. “What are we going to do?”

“We’ll talk about it.”

James collected all the pages. Heath quickly pulled back the one they’d initialed. They would keep that so that later, if—or when—they changed their minds on the hiking trails, the company had proof they’d signed off on the plan.

“We’ll need a final decision in the next few weeks,” Declan told them. “We’ll have tentative numbers on the butterfly garden to you by this time next week. But until you finalize your decisions, we can’t draw up a plan, tally costs or reserve materials and crew.”

“Whatever you decide is going to be extraordinary.” Heath rose as he spoke.

James and Jessica stood. Declan joined them and walked them toward the door.

“Thanks for coming in.”

They all shook hands. When the hemp- and sandal-wearing couple was on the elevator, Declan sank into a chair by the conference table and looked at his business partner.

“I’m sorry we took the job.”

“You’re sorry? I’m the one who’s going to have to figure out how we price out a butterfly enclosure.”

“You’d better talk to the bug people at UC Irvine.”

“They’re not called bug people. Someone who studies butterflies and moths is a lepidopterist. I looked it up online.”

“Good. Now you’ll sound like you know what you’re doing.” He glanced at the initialed drawing of the hiking trails. “How many times do you think they’re going to change their mind this time?”

“At least a dozen.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.”

Chapter Eleven

Margot always wore her hair back in a ponytail. Alec hadn’t seen her hair any other way, which had become maddening. He tried to imagine her with her hair down and he couldn’t get the image exactly right. He wasn’t sure how long her hair would be or how soft it would look, and thinking about her and her hair was both ridiculous yet oddly soothing, assuming he ignored the inevitable ache that accompanied such thoughts.

Margot and her ponytail were beginning to drive him mad. Worse, he was starting to like it.

The afternoon of the formal dinner,