“What do you think?” he asked.
“Wow,” I murmured. “It’s something else.”
“Is that good?”
I turned to face him. There was no humor in his expression. “Do you really need me to tell you it’s good?” I asked.
“I really need that, yes.”
I looked back, squinting against the sun. “I love how the glass reflects the blue of the sky and the water, but also the sun. Against the stone slabs—both smooth and sharp, it’s almost—fluid? It’s perfect for the waterfront, yet it stands out . . .” I blinked rapidly, no idea what I was saying. I didn’t really have the right vocabulary for this. “But you’re the architect. You should be the one telling me.”
He shook his head quickly. “I love seeing it through your eyes. I put a lot into this, but I can’t control how people interpret it. What you feel looking at it could never be wrong.” He stuck his hands into his pockets and started toward the entrance while I stared after him. “Coming?”
I could easily listen to him go on about his work as if it were art, and it clearly was.
I had to take long strides to catch up to him.
Large palm trees sprung from the ground, greeting us as they lined the walkway. “These are unexpected,” I said.
“This will all be grass.” He motioned toward the empty lots by the entrance. His face lit up. “And the lobby opens up. These glass doors slide open during the warmer months.”
I walked over and touched the stone at one corner, smooth to the eye but coarse and uneven under my palm. Clean gray edges and long rectangular windows that reflected blue sky structured the front of the hotel, ocean waves crashing and foaming on black sand beaches.
He slid open one of the floor-to-ceiling doors and motioned me through. “Welcome to The Revelin.”
“Dave,” a man called from across the hollowed-out space.
“I can’t get a second,” David said with a smile. “Excuse me.”
While they spoke, I wandered the room, envisioning what it would become. It wasn’t much to see because of the construction, but windows filled the future lobby with sunlight.
I looked back at David. Three people surrounded him now, each one looking to him for something. His presence at my office had been strong, but it grew here in his element, even in all the empty space.
He stopped talking suddenly and searched the area until he spotted me. That new, yet somehow familiar, tether pulled between us. Just like when we’d met eyes at the theater. He held my gaze, a language only we spoke that said more than words could. It had to. Whatever draw existed between us shouldn’t be made real by anything said aloud.
David came directly to me, leaving behind questioning faces. “Are you okay?” he asked as he approached.
Was I? His attention was like a drug, catapulting me to terrifying heights with each hit. What would happen when he took it away? I’d fall—and smack against the concrete of reality. Even if I had to be the one forced to break the connection. Because itwouldbe broken at some point.
David exhaled a breath and touched my upper arm. “I understand,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. Heat seared through my blouse, stinging the flesh directly beneath it. His broad shoulders shielded anyone who might be watching our restrained contact. I wanted nothing more than to step into him. Feel that same heat pooling in my tummy against my cheek, my breasts, under my hands.
My gut smarted—even this was too close for us. Any nearer, and I didn’t trust myself not to forget the consequences and fall into him.
The creases in his face deepened. “I don’t want to push you,” he said, dropping his arm. “You need to make your own decisions.”
His insinuation jarred me back to the moment. “Decisions?” I repeated, frowning. “I made my decisions years ago.”
“Nothing is permanent, Olivia. I know what’s happening here is sudden, but believe it or not, I’m biting my tongue. If you weren’t married, you and I would be on a different path. At Lucy’s party, I would’ve—”
“Don’t,” I rushed out. “It doesn’t matter.” My chest constricted as I tried and failed to catch a deep breath. What was he saying—or not saying? Bill and I had history. I’d barelymetDavid. “There are no decisions. No options. No confessions. If we want to have any type of friendship, I need you to understand—”
“I do,” he said, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “I understand.”
“No, you don’t. That text the other night—what if Bill had seen it? And now you’re going to be working with Lucy, too?”
“Is that a problem?”
“I haven’t told her about the article yet.”
