“Do you like it?” I could tell he was pleased at my response.
“Yes. I could even work here, and I don’t know a thing about architecture.”
“You’re welcome anytime. I even have an empty desk and table right there.”
He certainly did. There was a kitchen along one wall and a long, wood table where people could eat together. I stared down at it. It was made by Kade Hendricks. On the wall was a painting/collage of the building, created by Kade’s wife, Grenadine Scotch Wild. She had used wood for the doors and painted the name, Hamilton Architecture, on it, along with Logan’s truck in front, circling the tires with strips of black rubber.
“I love Grenadine’s art and Kade Hendricks’ tables,” I said. “I bet people like working here. Great building, great place downtown, great boss.”
“They seem to stay awhile.”
“It’s so professional, but it’s warm, too. I could see how you could get creative in this space.” I eyed the high ceiling, the beams, and the whole open feel of the room.
“Thanks, Bellini.”
I turned to him. His voice sounded gruff. We locked eyes and…zoom. That sexual tension that was always between us roared up like a fire. Neither one of us looked away.
“Would you like to go upstairs and see my place?” His warm eyes were watchful, waiting, patient.
Gee whiz.
What should I do?
Say no, Bellini,I told myself.Don’t hurt you, don’t hurt him.
Say yes, Bellini,I told myself.You can take a quick peek upstairs because you’re dying to know what his home looks like, then you can skedaddle on out and not imagine graphic sexual scenes in his bedroom.
“Sure.” The word came out breathy—or breathless, I couldn’t figure out which.
His smile was gentle, quietly happy, and we walked up another set of stairs. I went first, and I knew my butt was on full display. Sheesh.
He reached around me and opened the door on the third floor.
“Wow,” I said again as we entered his loft. “I should quit saying ‘wow’ so much, but I can’t help it. This is…” I was momentarily at a loss for words. “Logan, you have outdone yourself. I didn’t know that a loft could look like this. Warm and homey and yet…” What was the word? “Cool. It’s very cool. So stylish. And masculine and manly and Montana-y. It looks like you.”
“Thank you, Bellini,” he said, and I saw that he was, once again, flattered.
The living space, minus the bedroom, was one huge room. As below, he had preserved the old architecture, but the lighting here was different than the office. It was modern and yet traditional. He had an antler chandelier over his table, clear glass pendant lights over his kitchen counter, and modern wood lamps on side tables. Thick rugs, leather couches, a wide steel and wood coffee table, and…plants.
“Plants? I didn’t know you had a green thumb.”
“I bought the easy ones. Someone I knew a long time ago liked plants, so I figured I’d buy some, too.”
That someone was me. Back then, I loved plants, loved gardening, loved getting in the dirt. I still do, though I don’t do it as much as I’d like. “Well, they seem like healthy plants. Isyour kitchen island an antique?” I walked toward it, running my hands over the quartz.
“I found two long sideboards in an antique shop, attached them, and put the quartz over them both.”
There were drawers on both sides. “It’s so unique. So traditional yet used as an island! How creative.”
All the windows opened to an expansive view of Kalulell and the Rockies and Swan Mountains. I stared out at the twinkling lights, the mountains in shadow. “The view must be incredible at all times, but especially at sunrise and sunset.”
“It is,” he said. “It’s like watching a painting move across the sky.”
“That’s a perfect way of putting it,” I said. I saw my Roxy Belle books on his shelf. “You bought all of them.”
“Yeah. Bought them and read them all. You’re talented, Bellini. Roxy Belle is adventurous, smart, and funny. Free-thinking. Independent. I can see why your books are so popular.”
“Thank you.” My voice wobbled as I ran my finger over the spines. “Writing about Roxy Belle saved me. I started writing the books after my divorce, literally when I was driving out of Eastern Oregon. By the time I finally sat down to write in my little pink and white cottage, I think she’d been living in my head for a long time, so I wrote the first book quickly, and the rest followed.”
