Page 8 of If You Like It, I Love It

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?” he asks.

“No. Glynnis found some great pieces for her store at the last minute. I need her shopping karma. Maybe she’ll go with me to find my island.”

“If you get desperate, I’m free on Saturday.”

“No, that’s way too off-the-clock. I may not be your easiest client, but I won’t impose on your weekend. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

It’s not until after I hang up that I second-guess my response. He just offered because he doesn’t want me to hold up the project, right? He didn’t mean anything more . . . no, of course he didn’t.

5

Enzo

I think positive affirmations are a scam, but I can’t think of another way to describe what’s been going on in my head the whole drive to Joni’s house this morning. Instead of self-esteem boosters, though, they’re more like humiliation deniers.

I did not make a fool of myself for offering to go shopping with her for a kitchen island.

She understood the joke when I said I was available if she got desperate.

She hasn’t been judging me all weekend long.

I’m the only one who has even given this a second thought.

It’s not going to be weird when we see each other today.

Joni’s leaving as I pull up to her place. I roll down my truck window, and she does the same.

“On your way to pick up that perfect kitchen island you bought Saturday?” I ask, trying to sound way more comfortable than I feel, hoping I’ve calibrated my voice to sound friendly without any overcompensating sarcasm.

“Decided to avoid the Saturday crowds,” she says. “I’m headed to meet Glynnis and Sabrina for breakfast, and then we’re hitting every antique store and estate sale within a twenty-mile radius.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a busy day ahead of you. Good luck.”

“Thanks. And thanks for being patient with me. I know I should’ve already taken care of this.”

“Nothing else can be installed until the floor’s done and the grout’s cured, anyway. You’ve got at least forty-eight hours to find the island of your dreams. No pressure.”

“Well, if I’ve got that much time, maybe I’ll make a few more changes.”

I laugh because I know she’s joking. I hope she’s joking.

Either way, her gorgeous smile and that light in her eyes could easily buy her a few more hassle-free change orders. If I had to guess, I’d say my reputation as a GC is that I’m highly qualified and extremely thorough, but not exactly flexible, especially when it comes to the schedule. Nothing like a hot redhead to ruin your reputation.

When the sun hits her hair the way it does right now, she’s fucking stunning, so much so that all I want to do is tell her to cancel on Glynnis and Sabrina and take me with her instead.

I shake my head to clear my delusions as I drive forward and park. Joni Prescott’s a lethal combination in several areas, and I honestly don’t think she has a clue. She’s confident, but I’m not sure she fully realizes her impact.

Some women know. Glynnis Ramsey knows. When she referred me to Joni, I was expecting her friend to match her energy, and she does in some ways, but the overall impression is different.

Joni’s not missing anything; she’s just got her own thing. And it works for her. Hell, it’s working for me, whether it’s intended to have any effect on me or not.

I stare at myself in my rearview mirror.

Get it together, dumbass.

Fortunately, my tile guys show up and leave me no choice but to pull my head out of my ass and get to work.

By the time Joni comes back home, she has a new kitchen floor, and cleanup is almost complete. The grout is starting to dry on the surface at the far end of the room, and the color is a perfect match to the sample. It’s always nice when there’s a slightly dry section when the customer sees it for the first time. Wet grout looks dark, no matter how light the final shade will be.