Ani swallowed despite herself. God, his eyes, so smoky and dark. It was deeply unfair they’d been gifted to a guy like Raffi.
She caught a look on Sanan’s face, one of confusion, as she headed toward the spot and Raffi followed like her shadow.
“We could build a platform right here,” Ani said, drawing a half circle around them with her finger.
“That’s doable,” Chris said.
Then Sanan perked up and held out her hand. “Don’t move, guys. Let me get this shot so you can see. You’re standing right in the perfect position.”
It was while Sanan was framing the picture with her phone that Ani realized she and Raffi were facing each other, like a married couple at the altar. They were just missing some vows and rings, and they’d be set.
“Should we hold hands?” Raffi whispered.
“Absolutely not,” Ani hissed back, which only made Raffi chuckle.
The thought of holding hands with him made the back of Ani’s neck sweat, even on this cold day. So she would not, she would absolutelynot, do such an unprofessional, misguided thing.
“Got it!” Sanan cried. “Come see.”
Raffi stepped away, leaving Ani behind in her cold sweat. She quickly followed and joined the huddle. She could smellRaffi’s cologne from here. Green and fresh, so clean and sharp. He didn’t douse himself in it, either, as many Armenian men were wont to do. Just a touch, enough to be smelled up close.
Then she saw the photo. The way Raffi was looking at her made her pulse quicken. His eyes were…admiring, almost tender, and it threw her off-balance. After their clashes during their first meeting and the way she’d called him out so blatantly, multiple times, his look was…unexpected. That was strange. Maybe it was a trick of the light.
Ani dared a glance at Raffi to gauge his reaction. He was staring at the photo. His expression was soft, almost vulnerable, as if the photo of them together had stripped away his usual bravado.
Then he blinked and looked away and said, “I see your vision now, Madame Wedding Planner.”
She straightened, crossing her arms as if to shield herself from the warmth that had briefly bloomed in her chest. Of course he’d deflect with a joke—this was Raffi, after all. The man who supposedly could make anyone feel momentarily special, only to leave them wondering if it had all been an act. She wondered if that was the charm she’d been warned about.
She let out a small, humorless laugh, more to herself than to him. “Please don’t call me Madame.”
“She doesn’t like nicknames like that,” Sanan added helpfully. “I try to call her boss all the time, and she always shuts me down.”
“That’s fair,” Raffi said, eyes glowing. “I panic when people call me sir. A doorman called me that last week and I dropped my keys, tried to catch them, and somehow bowed? It was a whole thing.”
Ani bit back a smile. The image of Raffi, all suits and smugness, bowing to a doorman like some flustered Regency gentleman, lodged itself stubbornly in her brain.
“Sounds dignified,” she said coolly, but her voice came out softer than she intended. Her cheeks felt warm, and she hated that her body seemed determined to betray her good judgment.
Back to business.
Ani glanced around the garden, imagining where the seating would go. “This might be a bit much, but I think we should build flooring here. It can double as a dance floor later on and would look perfect matching the dome and the winery colors.”
Raffi knit his eyebrows together. “How big?”
“Can I draw it?” Ani turned to Chris. “Got any chalk in there?” she asked, gesturing to his tool bag.
Chris checked. “Doesn’t seem to be.”
“We have some in the shed back that way. Used it recently for the, uh, rocks,” Raffi said.
“Fine, I’ll go grab it.”
“I’ll come with you,” Raffi replied, already starting behind her.
“I don’t need you to babysit. I can find some chalk.”
“The door can be a little tricky—”
