Now it meant even more to him.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Nonna Olivia makes an appearance during the renovation. She was very house proud. If you hear any disembodied Italian voices, it’ll probably be her, telling you to put a doily on something.”
This time, Michael’s smile seemed to tickle his ears. He liked this woman. In fact, he’d liked her right from the first email they exchanged. Something about her personality drew him in. Five minutes in her presence and he realized he enjoyed being with her more than anything he’d enjoyed in some time, which was unfortunate, given the circumstances. “As long as invisible hands don’t push me down the stairs, I’m cool with Nonna hanging around.”
“I’m glad. So do I need to prepare anything for the shoot?”
“Not at all. As you know, the show has a casual feel to it. The contracting crew will do whatever they would do in a regular renovation, and Lacey’s people will film us. Of course, every so often she’ll take footage of us teaching you and Trent about best practices in renovation, but she’ll tell us what she needs. Just try to pretend the camera’s not there.”
“Right. Pretend I’m not on camera. Easy for you to say.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll be a star. I feel good about this reno, Emily. I’m going to make sure we give you the store of your dreams.”
Her answering smile made his chest constrict.
She rubbed her hands together. “Thank you. I can’t wait to get started.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Why did he have the suspicion a lot more had gotten started than plans to renovate an old house?
***
When Emily returned to her condo in the west end, she had to stop herself from skipping down the hallway to her unit.
Michael Zorngother.
He’d understood all her wishes for the house and his renovation plan put most of them into effect. By the time he was done, she was certain her store would be the most attractive one in Little Italy.
She stuck her key in the lock and opened the condo door. To her surprise, Trent was inside, glaring at the TV. He didn’t look up when she entered.
It wasn’t unusual to find him in her condo. After all, although they lived apart, she’d had a key made for him. It was strange, however, to find him there at five in the afternoon, on a day when he’d said he was too busy to meet Michael with her.
She closed the door and tossed her keys on the side table in the hallway. “I thought you were out.”
He glanced in her direction. “Hey.”
At the end of a long day, she got a one-word greeting. Not a kiss, not even a hug. God forbid she get an apology. There used to be a time when they met at the door at the end of the work day and pounced on each other. Had the excitement already fizzled in their relationship? Would she have years of indifference to look forward to? “Trent, you said you were going to be too busy to meet.”
“I was busy. Just because I’m unemployed doesn’t mean I don’t have things to do. I’m not idle, Em.”
“Of course, not. I never said you were.”
She walked over to him and dropped a kiss on his head. Trent squeezed her hand as she passed. That was about as physical as they got now. Their embraces, when they did occur, might have been touches between a brother and sister.
Cut him some slack. The poor man’s probably been pounding the pavement today.
She walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and stared at its contents. Although she normally enjoyed cooking and experimenting in the kitchen, she preferred not to do it when Trent was around. It remained a sore spot for him. As a chef, he always wanted to jump in and correct her techniques, that was if he could spare the time.
Techniques. Nonna Olivia would laugh at his techniques. “I’m Italian. I didn’t learn how to cook in a fancy school. I learned it at my mother’s knee. Nothing was written down in our house. Nothing was measured. If it feels good to add more oregano, add it,per piacere,” she used to say.
She shut the fridge, not in the mood to cook, and tried to gauge his mood from the set of his shoulders. She was tired of guessing his temperament. His job search, fruitless as it had been so far, was killing their rapport and any level of intimacy they once shared. Sometimes he’d stay the night, if not in too foul a mood, but most nights he went home. Frankly, it was a relief when he did. She hated walking on eggshells.
Still, if he thought they weren’t going to discuss his no-show today, he was mistaken.
She leaned against the counter, crossed her arms, and waited. Would he even ask how the meeting with Michael went?
Trent merely picked up the TV remote and flicked through the channels.
