He and Trent had been in business for ten years now, and during that time each had adjusted to the other’s peccadilloes. They had also learned how to produce a united front to prospective clients, though they often disagreed. Even so, Richmond & Birch was reputed for delivering some of the most beautiful and best-designed homes in all of Massachusetts.

Given his great devotion to his work, Garrett hadn’t much of a social life. Instead, building the business with Trent had always taken precedence. Several interesting women had drifted in and out of his sphere, but so far none of them had been “the one.” His last long-term relationship was five years ago, and it ended badly when the girl finally gave up on competing with his career.

Even so, Garrett remained a romantic. He still hoped that when the time was right, “she” would appear, but as he become older, he was beginning to wonder if she was really out there. His standards were high, and he knew that this was one of the things keeping him alone. Even so, he refused to settle, choosing instead to believe that someday that one special woman would enter his life, and when she did, he would know her.

Perhaps the fact that I’m sitting alone on the front porch of this old house is proof enough of where my priorities lie, he thought. I don’t know . . . The only thing I know for sure right now is that I must complete this project, although I do not fully understand why I feel so compelled to do it. I know that this restoration will require all of my talent, all of my money, and much of my time. Even so, for the time being at least, my path is set.

Deciding to shelve his thoughts, Garrett stood and stretched. He then gathered up his possessions and let himself in the house.

This was the first time he had been inside at night, and he soon realized that the house seemed different. The shadows created by the moonlight coming through the broken windows added a surreal touch that he had not expected, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore was muted, helping to preserve the relative quiet. Remembering Trent’s quip about the place being haunted, he smiled.

As he explored the first floor, carrying his lantern, even in the relative darkness his excellent eye for antebellum architecture allowed him to identify each room’s original use. As best he could tell when he had examined Seaside in the daylight, it seemed that no rooms had been added and that none of the original walls had been torn down. Those were good signs, and they bode well for the impending restoration.

Garrett carefully walked down a dark hallway past a room on the left-hand side that would have been the parlor. Across the hall was a lady’s sewing room and farther along a rather majestic curved staircase. Walking onward he came upon two more rooms, the larger dining room, and the smaller on the left, the library.

Moving farther on to the back of the house, he entered what would have been the serving room. On the left was a doorway that opened onto a stairway leading to the basement, followed by the butler’s pantry, and beyond that the kitchen.

Everywhere he looked, Garrett saw signs of the vandalism he had described to Trent earlier this evening, and it angered him. The previous owners had spray painted vulgarities on the walls, torn up the carpets, and ripped out the appliances. The walls and staircase had been damaged by sledgehammers. When he had examined the second floor, there too he had seen much of the same kind of destruction. While letting go a distraught sigh, Garrett shook his head at the sheer stupidity of it all.

There were few things in this world that Garrett could not abide, but damaging a work of art angered him to his very core. Clearly the previous owners had no conception of what it took to build a house, even a modest one. And all homes, Garrett had always believed, had souls all their own and should be respected.

Retracing his steps to where he had left his things, Garrett picked them up and brought them to the dining room. To his mild surprise he felt a shiver go through him, so he decided to light a fire. There were two fireplaces on the first floor; one was in the parlor, and the other in the dining room, which he’d inspected earlier.

Taking up his lantern, he went out to get firewood and kindling. Using some old newspaper that he had also brought along, he lit a fire in the dining room fireplace that soon supplied a warm, welcome glow.

Unrolling the sleeping bag before the fireplace, he settled down onto it. It was good to be here, he thought, now that the house was officially his.