Chapt. 4

Louisa roosted beneath the silhouette of a coconut tree admiring the human concentrated Waikiki beach. Her flamboyant entirety was buried in an equally striking yellow gown festoon with navy flowers.

Her face was in a thick frown, successfully hidden beneath an enormous pair of sunshades, as she woke up to an apology call from Mr. Rudolph on behalf of his architect. 

Power red. she was supposed to be discernible and tolerant. Wasn't that the point of the shade?

A gush of wind blew through her dress and almost hooking her straw knitted hat off her excuse of braided hair. With a firm hand support, Louisa attempted to stare at the sun, an act which wasn't a tidbit successful, then back to the human suffocated shore.

If she wasn't on for a business trip, she would've certainly joined her mates in basking beneath the sun's soothing rays and the chilly wind's agreeable paws. Louisa glanced at her watch which read six minutes into nine. With her hotel room at the proximity and a mindset that the architect wasn't going to arrive until noon--considering Mr. Rudolph's report--Louisa developed second thoughts on making a self productive U-turn when her phone chimed.

"We are very much fortunate, my dear Louisa, the architect just arrived. If you don't mind joining us at the beach house right now."

"Right away."

With her ingenuity mashed into unretrievable pieces, Louisa clobbered through the sandy environs into her car. If she must add, the so-called architect already seemed to be the most incompetent and unserious person she'd ever worked with starting from arriving twenty-four hours late to crushing her intends even before she finished planning it. Even though on the professional side of the story, she had no right to complain.

When she parked her car opposite the palm tree-lined house, Louisa pursued her journey onto the concrete paved blocks which led to the beach house. At first sight, she realized that her imagination did the house no justice. Instead of an old rejected tattered home suffocated in the grips of a variety of wild Hawaiian bushes, trees, and flowers was a peaceful bungalow with its bushes already molded to perfection. The ceiling to floor semi-oval windows, even though painted in dust and shattered, still gave the house a sense of magnificence.

The rusty magenta-purple slated rooftop had a handful of its slates deprived of a refill.

"There you are, my dear," Mr. Rudolph alarmed, "how was your rest?" The lean man with a lanky face dotted with two creased grey eyes, an aquiline nose, and lips as thin as weeping willow leaves just as she remembered, wrapped his delicate arm around her shoulders. She silently congratulated him for saving his bills and face from the grips of aesthetic plastic surgery and botox.

"Peaceful."

"That's great. I must admit, my dear, you've grown up to an alluring woman," he commented, the creases spreading out of his eyes intensifying. "Come with me so I show you around. My apologies for the delay concerning the blueprints. I must confess, I informed Norton, who earlier told me about this architectural engineer friend of his, about this project pretty late. Relindiss, who isn't here yet, due to little delays, prayed I call you as soon as feasible. You know how she is; she assembles equipment before concluding,"

Louisa lurked around a portrait, on the living room wall of crevices, which caught her attention. It was of a sturdy man with a surprisingly similar nose to that of Mr. Rudolph. If nature favored him as seen from the portrait, mid-thirties should be a better judgment of his mustached face. His erect posture in a dark blue uniform was ornamented with a dozen medals on his breast pocket, and golden star imprinted epaulets. The picture was taken in front of the beach house during its times of beauty.

"He was a very close friend of mine," he loomed behind her like an Eiffel Tower, "lieutenant Bolt. He sold this place to me before departing this cruel world."

"He left no family behind?" The words left her mouth before realizing her intrusion into their friendship.

"Sadly, no. He died still trying to pave his bridge to starting a family with this girl he met in Alaska. He offered this place to me when he discovered I was in search of a leisure home. He didn't expect a dime from me which didn't sit well with me. Long story short, he had a fatal accident in which his leg got amputated, and lost his life a week later. That is where I returned his generous favor, even though the expenditures for his burial still didn't meet up to half of what he's offered me."

"Oh, tragic." That was all she was able to mutter before distilled silence cloaked them. "Can we proceed with the tour?"

"Sure," he took his left, "this right here is my wife's favorite spot."

It was an immense kitchen that captured a magnificent view of the Waikiki beach. The sand's warmth would unmistakably be promising in the kaleidoscopic evenings and setting sun. Lucky was lieutenant Bolt and even more lucky was Mr. Rudolph for owning a gem as such.

"The sight is awesome."

"That's a competitive reason why my wife loves this place; cooking while staring at the beach? I should look forward to being anorexic," he snickered, Louisa followed cue. "Days might come when she will choose the sight over cooking."

"Hello!" A typical voice intervened their moment. "Any soul in here?"

"That should be Norton," he whispered, "In the kitchen."

"Dad," he greeted, "Louisa, nice to see you again," his lip broke into a conventional shy smile, his neatly clipped raven black hair that contradicted his sharp green eyes, thin lips, and pointed nose formed the entourage of his oblong babyface.

"Where is your friend?"

"Hello," the voice followed cue.

Like an unexpected slap in the face, the temperature in the enormous kitchen suddenly plunged to at least ten degrees at the audibility of the voice which stirred the omelet she had forcefully ingested that morning. His beam arose a turmoil of feelings she never knew she enclosed.

Tolerate.

His unbelievably gorgeous build and sharp jawbones virtually failed to freeze her carotid artery. The past five years had taken a constructive toll on him she must confess.

"Mr. Donovan, right?" Mason nodded, his sickening beam not departing his lips. "Meet my daughter and professional interior designer, Louisa Woods,"

At the mention of her name, Mason metamorphosed into a frozen mess. His smile abruptly constricted and his eyes restrictedly dilated as if he needed proper confirmation of the visage which owned the name.

As if reading his mind, Louisa plucked her shades before disparagingly extending a hand to him.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Donovan," she taunted, her countenance dramatizing the contrary.

Mason who was shock-struck manageably thawed a portion of his daze by receiving her dainty fingers, "Nice to meet you...again,"

"You both have met before?" Norton quickly pointed out.

Mason's mouth opened but Louisa's snappy reply beat him back from it, "Yes. A similar encounter, five years ago." Her lips relaxed to an inch twitch as her hunting smoldering gaze graced her face.

She was trying to pass a message no doubt.

Mason withdrew his hand from the grasp of she who wasn't at all recognizable. His scrutiny detected a foreign aura; an unwelcoming and unforgiving one at that.

"That's great!" Mr. Rudolph exclaimed, "that'll make things a lot easier. So, young man, where are the blueprints?"

"Right here, sir," he retrieved the blueprints from his underarm and spread them on an excuse of a kitchen island. His muscles twitched on each move beneath his arm fitting turquoise shirt urging her to touch. "I designed three in total, including the soft copy which I sent to your son,"

"I reviewed it," Mr. Rudolph confirmed.

"Great! So...here, A, B, and C. A corresponds to the soft copy. Norton informed me you wished for a bigger study; blueprint A says we will have to demolish a portion of the guest room A and build a porch which will permit you to have a better view of the beach," his eyes met Louisa's as if asking for her approval instead of Mr. Rudolph's who was lightly bobbing his head.

"As observed in the original plan, there seems to be a compartment which is nonexistent," he pointed it out, "I suggest we replenish the guest room A since it's just abreast it. The only problem we have here is this path separating them."

"Oh, where does the path lead to?" Mr. Rudolph asked.

"Nowhere in particular. I guess it was made to simply detach the guestroom from it. The prime inhabitants must have really wanted it private for some reasons,"

"What about we make a tour together?" Mr. Rudolph suggested. "Louisa and I already started while we awaited your arrival."

Mason nodded, leaving Mr. Rudolph and Norton to lead the way before following behind Louisa with an unsteady heartbeat. 

"Who missed me?" Another voice froze the quadruples in motion as their heads snapped to the intruder. "Was I this unexpected?" He sneered. "Longtime no see dad, Norton, and my dearest Louisa," he kissed the back of her hand which she quickly rescinded in disgust concurrently earning a distracting growl from the ungreeted.

Her gut bubbled to question the reason for his return for as far as she knew, he wasn't supposed to be in town until seven months.

"I'm Mason, the architect," he self-introduced extending his hand with a pretentious cheer.

"I'm Adrian," he egotistically straightened his grey suit instead, causing Mason to recoil his fingers, "your supervisor."