I met with the contractor, Pete, who is a jack-of-all-trades Lennon knows. He’s going to paint and hang my porch swings and build me a counter.
I found a secondhand bakery case at a restaurant supply store, where I also found dishes and silverware.
Yesterday, Lennon and I met for lunch, back at the fancy food court in the mall, so we could brainstorm ideas.
The grouchy woman was there again, book in hand, sitting at a four-top table all by herself. I smiled at her.
She did not smile back.
Lennon and I talked the entire lunch, mostly about the business, but also about my date with Duffy. I told her he’s the first guy I’m going to go on a second date with, and she stared at me so long, I felt like I had lettuce in my teeth.
“What?”
“What about Miles?” she said.
“What about him?”
“You like him.”
“As a friend.”
She rolled her eyes. “Pretend all you want, Claire, but you’re not fooling anyone.”
When she said that, I changed the subject, but here I am thinking about it again. Because if I’m not fooling anyone, does that mean Miles knows? I mean... we did kiss.
I’m trying really hard to act like everything is completely normal between us. And if he starts to think I have actual feelings for him, then nothing will ever be normal again.
Stupid Miles.
Stupid crush.
Stupid kiss.
Chapter 23
The open-air flea markets in Chicago are insane—a barrage of amazing pieces full of character. Tables, chairs, benches, and something called a crumb butler, which I’m absolutely incorporating somehow.
Thursday, after a successful day of shopping, Contractor Pete, who has a truck and trailer, is nice enough to help load and transport my haul back to the space. If I did the spatial math right, I think I got all the furniture I’ll need. I also found cupcake stands, cake stands, and several pieces of art—a cool black-and-white charcoal piece of sunflowers in a vase, and another with a blue barn and a faded red truck in front of it—to hang on the walls.
It was a full, wonderful, creative, successful day.
I’ve only been back at the apartment long enough to drink a bottle of water and eat a Scotcheroo when there’s a knock on my door.
My heart flip-flops. It’s been days since I’ve seen Miles.
I don’t like how we left things. I feel like I messed up.
Also, apparently, my heart misses him.
When I pull open the door, it’s not Miles standing there.
It’s a tall, young brunette with the most perfect skin I’ve ever seen in my life.
I’m confused. “Hi. Can I help you?”
Her smile is wide, showing off a perfect row of bright white teeth. “No, but I think I can help you. You’re Claire, right?”
“I’m sorry—who are you?”
