Page 37 of If You Like It, I Love It

18

Joni

My breakfast nook is structurally done. The heavy plastic sheeting has been removed from my cabinets and appliances. All the dust and debris is gone; not a remnant of the construction process remains. It’s hard to believe this is really my kitchen. I did this.

Well, technically, Enzo and his subcontractors did it, but I envisioned it, and I made it happen. It’s down to the finishing touches on one end of the room: paint, wallpaper, cushions for the built-in bench. Enzo’s work here is complete.

He did promise to bring the new table in from the garage, but after that, there won’t be anything left for him to do.

I sit in my new bay window with my legs stretched out on the bench. A mockingbird squawks as he swoops at a squirrel in the backyard. Oliver is basking in the late morning sun. It’s nice that I can see his pen from here. This addition was worth the delays it caused and the extra money it cost. It’s the perfect place to spend a lazy Saturday morning, lingering over coffee and breakfast.

Starting a bathroom remodel immediately might not make sense, financially or emotionally, but seeing my finished kitchen, I want to update the whole house. One room at a time wouldn’t be so bad. I survived this project.

Enzo and I haven’t talked seriously about the primary bath remodel yet. He hasn’t even taken measurements. I haven’t looked at tubs or vanities, and there’s no design layout in my mind. It’s not that I haven’t tried to think about what I’d want in a new bathroom; it’s just that every time I think about that room, my mind replays the night Enzo found me taking a bubble bath. His first touch was a memorable one.

Some people would probably want to erase it from their memory—the shock, the embarrassment—but that moment was our physical ice breaker. Not everyone’s idea of a charming encounter, but it still makes me laugh. Different strokes . . . damn, did I have to use that word?

I’m trying so hard to set the stage for phasing out my personal relationship with Enzo, and I assume the day will come when everything doesn’t sound like innuendo, but it’s obviously going to require a mental reset.

We were always meant to be temporary, a fling, which is the real reason I shouldn’t jump into another project with him.

He’s in the middle of a whole-house remodel and adding a two-story outdoor dining space onto a restaurant in Rose Creek, and our front desk employees at the clinic have been out sick and on vacation, so I’ve been working full-time to help cover their positions. He and I have seen a lot less of each other the past few weeks.

The universe has a way of intervening on your behalf when you might not have the courage to do it on your own. It’s time to face reality. But I can’t imagine hiring anyone else when I’m ready to start the bathroom project. He’s good at what he does, and I know he’s honest and dependable.

Maybe I’ll hold off until the rumor mill confirms he’s seeing someone new. There are no secrets in Grinberry Falls, so I have no doubt that I’ll know when there’s a new woman in his life. I squirm on the bench, hoping to quell the sudden burning sensation in the pit of my stomach. Too much caffeine with no food, I guess.

There’s no excuse for skipping meals in a kitchen like this. I plant my feet on the tile and stand. My legs feel weak as I cross the room. I hope I’m not catching whatever bug is going around. We can’t afford to have anyone else out sick.

I set my empty cup next to my phone on the countertop and consider having more coffee, but my shaky legs remind me I’ve had enough. Weird. I’m not usually so sensitive to caffeine.

You are not getting sick. Stop thinking that. Your body just needs some fuel. Besides, you have the whole weekend to get over whatever this is.

I’m sliding an omelet from the skillet onto a plate when someone knocks on the front door. Hope, excitement, and dread all commingle to create a powerful force, pulling me toward the door. As I walk, I tell myself I don’t want it to be Enzo, but when I put my hand on the knob and turn, my lesser angels call his name as if I have the ability to summon him.

“Oh. Hey,” I say, holding the door open.

Rhett laughs. “Try to contain your enthusiasm.”

“Sorry, I’m not feeling great.”

“Are you contagious?”

“I’m not sure. Come in, and I guess you can let me know in a few days.” We’ve been friends for so many years, there’s not a chance one of us hasn’t made the other sick at some point.

He steps inside. “I can always count on you to have a plan.”

“Come see my new kitchen.”

When we round the corner into the kitchen, he whistles the way men do when they hear a price that’s out of their range or see something they assume carries that type of price, not a cat-call whistle, just a long solid tone that trails off. “Damn, Joni. This is nice.”

“Thanks. To be honest, I’m still in awe every time I walk in here.”

“Fancy kitchen to have to eat beans and rice in.”

“Shut up. I didn’t spend that much. You want an omelet?”

“No, but thanks. I came by to invite you to a surprise birthday party I’m throwing for Twister.”