“Okay, look,” Ani said, handing him her tablet.
“That’s your garden with white stone, and this”—she swiped to a second image—“is your garden with sand-colored stone.”
It was all there, a photo of Ô’s garden with the stones they’d been shopping for, tiling the ground in the image. And it was with deep regret that he had to admit that she had a fucking point. The white was way too much.
“What kind of sorcery is this?” he asked, still in awe of how she’d managed it.
“It’s called Photoshop. The image isn’t even close to perfect—”
“It’s close enough. You pulled that off in two seconds.”
She shrugged. “I’ve found it’s helpful for my brides to be able to visualize the space with different linens or flowers or whatever, so I got good at mocking things up.”
“You can say that again, damn.”
She looked at him expectantly.
“All right, yes. The white’s a disaster. I admit it. The sand looks better than I thought.”
Ani seemed to allow herself the tiniest victory smile. “And it matches so beautifully with the color of the villa’s stone.”
He had to agree there, too.
A short time later, they left the store with an order for a metric ton of rocks, plus some of the building materials for the dome, which they were modeling after their mutual favorite Pinterest image.
On the walk back to the van, Ani said, “Not bad, right? Turns out trusting other people isn’t the end of the world.”
She gave him a winning smile—bright, a little flirty, and completely unguarded.
He returned an easy grin. “And turns out I’m more flexible than you thought. Right?”
Ani’s cheeks went pink, then she said, with a playful glint in her eyes, “Not going to make the obvious joke.”
Raffi strolled along, pleased. “Didn’t even cross my mind.”
The laugh Ani gave was so true, so tickled, that Raffi felt something shift between them, and then she inched closer, so that Raffi felt something shift between them. He didn’t want to stop hanging out with her.
“So, any revised stance on those truffle fries? I’m getting hungry. Might be nice to stop and have a bite before going to the nursery?”
They reached the van, but suddenly Ani turned and stood in front of the hood. She chewed the inside of her cheek, as if holding back an entire conversation.
Raffi stopped a few steps behind her. The air between them went still. Her face was all control, but her fingers had curled into the sleeves of her coat, like she needed something to hold on to.
His stomach gave a quiet twist. “Everything okay?” he asked.
Ani let go of her coat, hands dropping to her sides. “Do you remember Lala? She’s an orthodontist, Armenian, dyed blonde hair often in a bun.”
Raffi’s brows furrowed. Lala? They were talking about food; why was she bringing up someone named—
Oh.
ThatLala.
His whole body stilled. One of the women he’d slept with five or so years back, really sweet girl. Did not deserve the Raffi storm coming into her life. A weight settled behind his ribs, bracing for the inevitable, and fully earned impact.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. He asked Ani out to lunch,again, even though the vibes felt completely different than the first day they’d met. But she had not only heard rumors about him, she’d heard the truth. The part of himself he regretted the most.
Ani crossed her arms. “You remember, then. She’s a friend of my sister’s.”
