Esme gawks at me. “I’m fairly confident that I can pick who is rebuilding.”
I swing my finger up and wave it side to side as I tsk. “It’s done, and it is one less thing that you need to worry about. Did you really want to interview potentials?”
Her mouth opens then closes. “I mean… I-I… well, okay, I have no clue what I’m doing, but that doesn’t mean that you need to take control of the situation.”
“Sure.” I touch her cheek with my hooked finger before continuing my journey to the fridge. “Wine?”
Her mouth gapes open again. “Are you kidding me? What planet are you from where this is okay?”
“Planet earth.” I open the door and search for that bottle of white we opened the other night.
“Maybe I hateSteven’sprocess or he is too expensive or he simply pisses me off as much as Keats,” she mocks.
Briskly closing the fridge door, I walk casually to the cupboard for two glasses. “Esme, you don’t have much choice. His costs align with what you will probably get from the insurance payout, and he’s making room in his schedule. Do you have any idea how many rich guys in this county want their houses renovated before the Arctic winter?”
She grumbles a sound but accepts the wine glass that I slide down the counter for her to drink. Esme drinks or rather gulps down a sip. “You might have a point, but still.” One more growl for good measure, and damn it, I hate how adorable has become one of my top words lately.
But I sure as hell hope she doesn’t figure out why I’ve made this gesture. Or maybe I do, ah hell, why not.
“I’ve made this easier for you, okay?”
She blinks a few times. “I just don’t understand why you would take time to do this. It’s like I need to be handheld and taken car—” She freezes mid-sentence as it dawns on her. “Taken care of,” she rasps to herself.
Bingo. It’s all I want to do, lately.
“Something like that,” I state before enjoying my dry white.
She begins to step in my direction. “I mean, I guess I didn’t want to search for builders… nor negotiate pricing.” She rolls her shoulder back as if she doesn’t want to make a big deal. She stares me down. “Or even try to understand what an adjuster does or how much I’ll be getting.” Her eyes soar up to me.
“Hmm. Imagine that. I’m not the bad guy.” I clink our wine glasses in accomplishment.
“Doesn’t mean you couldn’t inform me beforehand.”
“Meh, you would have disagreed, and then I would have had to throw you over my shoulder after our bitter argument.”
At last, a half-smile cracks on her mouth. “You’re probably right.”
She stares at me and suddenly it’s with admiration. “Thank you… I’m not used to someone taking care of me, and when my temper clears, then I can’t help denying that, well… I like it a lot.”
I shrug it off.
We observe one another, and the air shifts to calm, affectionate, and it seems she may float away happy.
But Esme sets her wine down and then removes my own glass from my hand. “Come on, Man Who Needs to Control Situations.”
And she pulls me away before I can say a word.
My guestroom?
Huh.
Esme has mischief in her eyes as she hands me her camera and shows me the button to snap photos.
“Now turn around,” she instructs. “And don’t steal a glance.”
“I’m only going along with this because the hockey season is over and there are no games to watch on TV.” My eyes land on the floor where I notice her clothes are finding a new home.
“You may look.”
