What is wrong with me?
I blink them away. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”
“Hey.” His fingers close gently around my hand, halting me in place.
I hesitate for a moment before daring to look up at him.
It’s the smallest thing, but the warmth of his skin, the rough calluses brushing against my palm, feels like home. A home I desperately want to return to, but don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance.
My throat tightens. “What?”
For a second, he just looks at me, as if weighing what to say next. Then he grabs my other hand and gives them both a gentle squeeze. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Kiki.”
And just like that, I adore the damn holiday.
Four words. That’s all it takes. Four stupid words out of this man’s mouth, and suddenly I’m ready to string up red hearts and buy stock in chocolate just to celebrate.
Pathetic.
I should probably be embarrassed by how quickly I fold, how easily he undoes me without even trying. But for one fleeting, reckless second, I let myself have the warmth, the hope, the impossible little spark that maybe…
Nolan strolls back into the dining room, chattering under his breath like he never actually stopped the conversation. Didn’t matter that we weren’t anywhere to be found.
I press a hand to my mouth and bite back a laugh. “Do you think he noticed we weren’t there?”
Eddie snorts and shakes his head. “I don’t think he cares.”
“It’s perfect,” Nolan announces, turning in a slow circle and taking everything in. “Absolutely perfect.”
It never gets old hearing a client say they’re thrilled. And this has been a tremendous undertaking.
I motion toward one corner of the room. “If you think it’s good now, just imagine when the furniture arrives. Eddie and his crew built the most gorgeous rooms, and I’ll help you fill them with pieces that do them justice.”
“But until it arrives,” Nolan cuts in, “we’ll rent furniture. We’ll stage the whole thing.”
He starts moving again at a pace that should be illegal indoors, and I hustle to keep up.Damn me and my short legs.
“Wait a second. Staging for what? Are you selling the place?” I glance at Eddie, who shrugs, clearly as in the dark as I am.
Nolan stops so abruptly I nearly slam into his back, only to be caught at the last second when Eddie’s hands close around my arms and pull me up short.
Nolan glances down at me like I’ve just materialized out of thin air. “What?”
“You said staging?—”
“Oh, yes. We’re having a halfway-there party.”
I’m sorry, what? There’s no way I heard that correctly.
I steal a look at Eddie. The man is stunned—and that’s anunderstatement.
“You’re joking.” The words emerge in stereo, which only serves to further amuse Nolan.
“Nope. It’ll be great. We’re going to celebrate, enjoy life. It’ll happen at the end of the week.”
“End of the week,” Eddie echoes, disbelief edging every syllable.
“Don’t worry. We’ll block off the construction zones.” It’s uncanny how Nolan is behaving like this is the most normal thing in the world on a restoration site, when in reality, it’s unheard of.
