“Hang on a second,” Romy calls, rushing to my side.
Oh boy. What now?
“Why didn’t you tell me you and Kiki were an item?” There’s no jealousy in her tone, just curiosity.
I let out a short laugh as I unlock the door. “We’re not… anymore.”
“Hmm. That’s a shame.”
“Why do you say that?”
Romy shrugs. “Besides the fact that she has awesome taste in dinosaurs, she’s madly in love with you. God, everyone knows it, Eddie. It’s obvious.”
“She’s not,” I argue, but Romy holds up a hand, cutting me off.
“Trust me.” She leans in with a conspiratorial wink. “She is. No one drives four hours round trip for a coworker. Food for thought. Have a good night.”
She sashays away, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
For a second, I just sit in my truck, keys in my hand, staring at nothing. Gobsmacked by Romy’s announcement.
It’s a nice thought. For a while, I believed Kiki and I were on the same page. Thought she loved me too.
But I was wrong.
I wouldn’t be surprised if my guys clocked me as still in love with her. That part’s not exactly subtle. But Romy saying Kiki’s in love with me? That doesn’t track.
Kiki made it pretty clear what I was. A way to fill a void. Nothing more.
So, what the hell are they seeing that I’m not?
Chapter 23
Happy Valentine's Day
Kiki
After the ‘dinosaur incident’, as I’ve taken to calling it, I put distance between Eddie and me. We’re polite, exchanging cordial pleasantries and the occasional question about the job, always keeping our answers brief and to the point.
It’s safer that way. I understand his stance with Theo, I do, but it splintered my heart to hear his little boy thought I didn’t want to be his friend anymore.
If he only knew the truth. How desperately I miss them both in my life.
At least work keeps me busy.
As soon as the crew finished the bathroom and living room, it was my turn to step in and handle the design side of things. At first, I thought it was going to be a never-ending battle. Nolan Montague micromanagedeverything—every single detail, down to things as minor as the thread count on the drapery lining.
Look, I get it. The man is pouring an obscene amount ofmoney into this restoration. Of course he wants to be involved in bringing the vision to life.
But it’s a hell of a lot harder when you’re operating in different time zones.
Most of our communication happened over video calls, scheduled athisconvenience, which, for the record, wasneverconvenient for me, and translated into sixteen-hour days on the job site.
I fully expected that level of micromanagement to continue for every room—Nolan overseeing every decision and dragging the process out step by painstaking step.
But then the strangest thing happened.
After we finished the living room, he walked the space and took it all in. Then he looked at me and said, “Okay. The rest of the designs are on you.”
