Rusty Nailed
Page 62
“And then this house—it’s literally a dream come true. Well, it will be when all the work is done. But holy shit, it’s overwhelming! Living through a renovation like this is a pain in the ass! And I know it’s been tough on you too, being stuck here all day while it’s going on. It’ll be worth it, though; this place is going to be amazing.” I sighed, laying back and curling closer.
I wanted to say the other things, the bigger pickle things, but I couldn’t. It was as if I said them out loud, especially in this house, then I was admitting I had a problem. Not “the first step is admitting you have a problem” kind of thing, but—
Actually. Maybe that’s exactly what I needed to say. Maybe I needed to give voice to the bigger issue here—the one that was so terrifying that I was even avoiding it in my own head. What was my problem?
We met under very unconventional circumstances. We fell in love in the most unconventional way possible. The first time we made love? Conventional. Didn’t work. The first time we f**ked? Definitely unconventional, what with all the flour puffing and the raisins. Fucking fireworks, baby.
And for a year we lived unconventionally. He was gone, I was here. We traveled together when we could, seeing places and doing things I’d never imagined were in the cards for me. I didn’t need spooning every single night; I liked having a bed to myself every now and again. We laughed, we loved, we nooked. And it worked.
Now we were moving closer and closer to a more conventional relationship, which was packed with awesome, no doubt about it. But it was almost . . . too . . . shit. I didn’t know what it was. I just knew I needed to say it out loud.
I was once herded—very delicately, but herded nonetheless—toward a conventional relationship. I didn’t want that. So at some point I was going to have to share this pickle.
“Keep this between us, okay, mister?” I said, scratching under his chin.
Clive gave a soft meow, and nodded his head toward the stairs. I picked him up and took him back to bed, where Simon was sound asleep in the remains of the blow-up bed.
chapter twenty
I drove my new car into the city the next morning. It generated quite a stir in the office, something I quickly tried to defuse.
I spent the morning with Jillian going over her proposal privately. She didn’t want to worry anyone, and of course she didn’t want our clients to know until she was ready to announce her semiretirement.
As we went through everything and I saw how it looked on paper, I admit it was a pretty heady thing. I’d continue to run things as I’d done before, essentially taking over the day-to-day operations. And since I made it clear that I still wanted to keep up with my clients and be able to bring in new business, it was also clear that we would need to hire another full-time designer.
She told me to think it over, to talk to Simon about it, but more and more, I realized that this wasn’t something I could say no to. I mean, I could, but why would I ever want to?
So before we broke for lunch, I accepted her offer. I was now a partner in Jillian Designs! We shook hands, popped a bottle of champagne, and did everything but throw our hats into the air like Mary Tyler Moore.
Feeling a little on edge, from all the excitement, of course, I left work early and celebrated on my own that afternoon at World of Tile—favorite store ever. It was time to select the all-important backsplash for my kitchen.
Oh my goodness, my kitchen. Now here was something I could get excited about. Let me tell you about my kitchen.
White custom cabinets. Glass front on some, a few with open shelving. Deep gray soapstone countertops. Sub-Zero fridge. Two wall ovens—count them, two. And the best part of all?
Viking.
Stove.
Angels.
Sing!
And it gets better. A custom island with an inlaid sink, covered in white Carrara marble with veins of the barest gray and blue. Seating for six on one side, with custom cooling drawers on the other. Just for dough.
Deciding how tall to make the island was an exercise in ridiculous. Simon carried me around the house, setting me down on different heights to see what was the most comfortable. I’m sure the entire crew knew exactly what he was up to, and I didn’t care. I was getting the kitchen of my dreams, and if my boyfriend wanted to make sure that the counter was a perfect height for sexy times? That kitchen just got dreamier.
It made me smile as I walked up and down the aisles, looking for exactly the right tile. Would it be subway? Would it be a glass design? I didn’t know exactly what I wanted until I saw it. And then I turned the final corner and saw it.
Or him, rather.
James Brown was shopping World of Tile. And he was heading right for me.
“Caroline, what a surprise,” he called out. Damn, he looked good. He always looked good.
“Hey, James.” I smiled as I walked toward him. I hadn’t seen him since I finished his design job last year. His apartment was young lawyer chic with an urban flair. “What are you doing here?” I asked as he leaned in to give me a kiss on the cheek.
“Tile, what else?” He laughed.
“Are you remodeling already? That’s going to get expensive. I charged you an arm and a leg last year, as I recall.”
“I do and you did. And you did a great job. I always tell everyone who my decorator was.”
“Not a decora— That’s great, James; thanks for helping get the word out,” I said. Wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Not worth the breath it would take me to explain it again. “So, where’s the new tile going?”
“Marin, actually. I just bought a house there.” He grinned.
“Really, wow, that’s great.”
“Yep, settling down, just got married. Hey, honey! C’mere, want you to meet someone.” He waved toward a woman in the next aisle.
Wife?
“There she is. Come here, sweetie pie, and say hello to Caroline.”
“Hello, Caroline,” the prettiest girl in the world said to me. Blinking, I looked at Mrs. James Brown. Tall, blonde, young. Beyond pretty. She looked really sweet. “I’m Krissy.”
“Of course you are,” I said, then coughed to cover it. “It’s wonderful to meet you. When did you get married?” I asked James. I felt like I was reeling.
“Just a few months ago. We’re newlyweds.” He grinned and tucked her into his side as she giggled. “We met at the club. Her father is a client of mine, and the rest was history.”
“It happened so quickly, it was just like we were supposed to be together, you know? He proposed just three weeks later. Can you believe it?” She giggled again, showing her ring. It looked like a skating rink.
I wanted to say the other things, the bigger pickle things, but I couldn’t. It was as if I said them out loud, especially in this house, then I was admitting I had a problem. Not “the first step is admitting you have a problem” kind of thing, but—
Actually. Maybe that’s exactly what I needed to say. Maybe I needed to give voice to the bigger issue here—the one that was so terrifying that I was even avoiding it in my own head. What was my problem?
We met under very unconventional circumstances. We fell in love in the most unconventional way possible. The first time we made love? Conventional. Didn’t work. The first time we f**ked? Definitely unconventional, what with all the flour puffing and the raisins. Fucking fireworks, baby.
And for a year we lived unconventionally. He was gone, I was here. We traveled together when we could, seeing places and doing things I’d never imagined were in the cards for me. I didn’t need spooning every single night; I liked having a bed to myself every now and again. We laughed, we loved, we nooked. And it worked.
Now we were moving closer and closer to a more conventional relationship, which was packed with awesome, no doubt about it. But it was almost . . . too . . . shit. I didn’t know what it was. I just knew I needed to say it out loud.
I was once herded—very delicately, but herded nonetheless—toward a conventional relationship. I didn’t want that. So at some point I was going to have to share this pickle.
“Keep this between us, okay, mister?” I said, scratching under his chin.
Clive gave a soft meow, and nodded his head toward the stairs. I picked him up and took him back to bed, where Simon was sound asleep in the remains of the blow-up bed.
chapter twenty
I drove my new car into the city the next morning. It generated quite a stir in the office, something I quickly tried to defuse.
I spent the morning with Jillian going over her proposal privately. She didn’t want to worry anyone, and of course she didn’t want our clients to know until she was ready to announce her semiretirement.
As we went through everything and I saw how it looked on paper, I admit it was a pretty heady thing. I’d continue to run things as I’d done before, essentially taking over the day-to-day operations. And since I made it clear that I still wanted to keep up with my clients and be able to bring in new business, it was also clear that we would need to hire another full-time designer.
She told me to think it over, to talk to Simon about it, but more and more, I realized that this wasn’t something I could say no to. I mean, I could, but why would I ever want to?
So before we broke for lunch, I accepted her offer. I was now a partner in Jillian Designs! We shook hands, popped a bottle of champagne, and did everything but throw our hats into the air like Mary Tyler Moore.
Feeling a little on edge, from all the excitement, of course, I left work early and celebrated on my own that afternoon at World of Tile—favorite store ever. It was time to select the all-important backsplash for my kitchen.
Oh my goodness, my kitchen. Now here was something I could get excited about. Let me tell you about my kitchen.
White custom cabinets. Glass front on some, a few with open shelving. Deep gray soapstone countertops. Sub-Zero fridge. Two wall ovens—count them, two. And the best part of all?
Viking.
Stove.
Angels.
Sing!
And it gets better. A custom island with an inlaid sink, covered in white Carrara marble with veins of the barest gray and blue. Seating for six on one side, with custom cooling drawers on the other. Just for dough.
Deciding how tall to make the island was an exercise in ridiculous. Simon carried me around the house, setting me down on different heights to see what was the most comfortable. I’m sure the entire crew knew exactly what he was up to, and I didn’t care. I was getting the kitchen of my dreams, and if my boyfriend wanted to make sure that the counter was a perfect height for sexy times? That kitchen just got dreamier.
It made me smile as I walked up and down the aisles, looking for exactly the right tile. Would it be subway? Would it be a glass design? I didn’t know exactly what I wanted until I saw it. And then I turned the final corner and saw it.
Or him, rather.
James Brown was shopping World of Tile. And he was heading right for me.
“Caroline, what a surprise,” he called out. Damn, he looked good. He always looked good.
“Hey, James.” I smiled as I walked toward him. I hadn’t seen him since I finished his design job last year. His apartment was young lawyer chic with an urban flair. “What are you doing here?” I asked as he leaned in to give me a kiss on the cheek.
“Tile, what else?” He laughed.
“Are you remodeling already? That’s going to get expensive. I charged you an arm and a leg last year, as I recall.”
“I do and you did. And you did a great job. I always tell everyone who my decorator was.”
“Not a decora— That’s great, James; thanks for helping get the word out,” I said. Wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Not worth the breath it would take me to explain it again. “So, where’s the new tile going?”
“Marin, actually. I just bought a house there.” He grinned.
“Really, wow, that’s great.”
“Yep, settling down, just got married. Hey, honey! C’mere, want you to meet someone.” He waved toward a woman in the next aisle.
Wife?
“There she is. Come here, sweetie pie, and say hello to Caroline.”
“Hello, Caroline,” the prettiest girl in the world said to me. Blinking, I looked at Mrs. James Brown. Tall, blonde, young. Beyond pretty. She looked really sweet. “I’m Krissy.”
“Of course you are,” I said, then coughed to cover it. “It’s wonderful to meet you. When did you get married?” I asked James. I felt like I was reeling.
“Just a few months ago. We’re newlyweds.” He grinned and tucked her into his side as she giggled. “We met at the club. Her father is a client of mine, and the rest was history.”
“It happened so quickly, it was just like we were supposed to be together, you know? He proposed just three weeks later. Can you believe it?” She giggled again, showing her ring. It looked like a skating rink.
