Love Redesigned (Lakefront Billionaires #1) by Lauren Asher

Ouch. “I’m sure spending every night with your mother takes up a lot of it.”

Whatever drove Julian to attempt speaking with me dies as my shitty shot hits its mark.

A couple of minutes later, we pass the strawberry-themed Welcome to Lake Wisteria sign that boasts about our famous Strawberry Festival and a new tagline that states Home of Dahlia Muñoz, celebrity interior designer and reality TV sensation.

I drop my head into my hands with a groan.

So much for lying low.

The neon Early Bird Diner sign shines like the North Star, guiding me home as we hit the corner of Main Street. From the cheery fall display in the center of Town Square to the lamp pole banners promoting the upcoming Harvest Festival in November, everything about Lake Wisteria is warm and welcoming.

It’s understandable why our small town has grown in popularity, both among summer tourists visiting our beach and wealthy Chicago residents who want a weekend getaway. The unique Victorian-era seaside charm can transport anyone to the late 1800s, and our spotty cell service will sure make them feel like it too.

After spending two years away, I should be overwhelmed by excitement and nostalgia, especially with all the Halloween décor, but my entire body is numb as we drive by the pumpkin photo-op area, the ginormous strawberry fountain lit by orange and purple lights, and the park where my dad always took my sister and me.

Julian turns away from the modernized Main Street and heads south. The southernmost part of town, where both our families grew up, doesn’t have million-dollar lakefront properties and an elite private school like the upper south side or the modern buildings and amenities on Main Street and the eastern quadrant. Nor do we have the rich history associated with the northern Historic District, but we do have the best pizza spot in town, so who needs a fancy mansion or an up-todate apartment with a gym when I can get You Want a Pizza Me delivered in ten minutes or less?

The one stoplight standing in our way of getting to my mom’s home flashes from yellow to red. As time ticks by, I’m left with the grim reminder of how tortuously tense things are between Julian and me.

Once upon a time, we were friends with a healthy competitive drive. Then puberty hit during middle school, and a new rivalry was formed, driven by hormones and immaturity.

But now, we’re nothing but strangers.

An invisible hand wraps itself around my throat and squeezes until I’m breathless. I struggle against the heaviness threatening to consume me, only to fail as I spare a glance at the first man who broke my heart. It took him nineteen years to earn it and only six words to obliterate it.

And I don’t plan on forgetting that.





CHAPTER THREE


Julian


Dahlia gawks at the street sign. “Lopez Lane?”

I stay quiet as I drive past the street I grew up on before turning onto hers.

“Why would they name a street after you?”

Dahlia’s reaction is exactly why I protested against the mayor wanting to publicly honor my monetary contributions. While I don’t regret my ten-million-dollar donation, I do wish I had gone about it anonymously.

Dahlia unbuckles her seat belt as I pull up to her childhood ranch-style house. It holds many memories for our families, including my dad and I working on remodeling it together when I was a teen. While the flowers and decorations change depending on the season, the light blue paint and white trim have remained the same since the redesign.

The house might be a far cry from my current projects, but it still represents everything I love about construction. It was during the Muñoz renovation project that I realized how, like my parents, I have a passion for fixing things.

Houses. Problems. People.

It’s a character flaw I’ve spent years trying to eradicate, only to have it resurface at the most inconvenient times.

Like now.

My inability to ignore Dahlia’s unusual silence is the only reasonable explanation for why I took a stab at having a conversation with her twice.

And look how well that went.

I pull on the parking brake with enough force to make it tremble.

The tightness in Dahlia’s muscles matches mine as she reaches for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride.” Her chest rises and falls with a long exhale. “And I’m sorry about your car.” The small scrunch of her nose has me biting back a snarky reply. “I should have pulled over and waited things out.”

“Is everything okay?” The earlier edge in my voice is gone, replaced by something far worse.

She shakes her head. “Just tired.”

“Keeping up false pretenses must be exhausting.”

“Do you have something else you want to ask me?”

A beam of light from the porch bounces off her monstrosity of an engagement ring, nearly blinding me.

How’s Oliver? I want to ask with every ounce of vitriol I have toward my ex-roommate.

Have you picked a wedding date yet since you’ve been engaged for two years already?

Out of curiosity, did he admit to stabbing me in the back by pursuing you?

Questions linger on the tip of my tongue like poison arrows. “Nope.”

“Perfect. Now if you don’t mind, I have a date with The Silver Vixens and don’t want to be late.”

The Silver Vixens?

Shit. Things must be worse than I thought. Dahlia only saves binge marathons of The Silver Vixens for the shittiest occasions, like when her dad died or when that asshole football player she liked called her a prude bitch when she didn’t have sex with him after their first date.