Chapter 5
Alyssa sank into the seat of Nick’s sports car. It was fabulous for transportation, but if he ever had to live in it, he’d be screwed. He pulled out and then glanced over at her. “I hope I didn’t get you in trouble with that woman.”
“At the agency?” she said. He nodded. “No, that was wonderful. I can’t believe you stood up to her like that.”
He gave her a curious look. “She was trying to steal a client from you, right? Did I misread that?”
“No, you’re right. She’s a jerk, but she’s also really scary.” She flushed. Maybe she shouldn’t have said out loud that Stacey was a jerk, but there was something … solid … about this man. Something she trusted.
He gave a soft snort. “Sometimes you have to crash them against the boards the first time you play, and they give you a little more respect the next game.”
“Hockey lessons for the interior designer,” Alyssa said, smiling.
Nick pulled in behind a modest building made of white stone. It was set back from the street, and all the apartments had small balconies. The entry was faced with marble. He unlocked the door with a fob, and they walked in. He checked his mailbox—nothing. Then he turned and looked at her. And didn’t say anything.
“Marble,” she said, pointing to the floor, just to get past the awkward moment. “Very pretty.”
“Yeah, it’s slippery as hell. When I was using the cane, I was always afraid I’d go down.”
“You used …?” The accident. She could see him register that she knew. “Um, when did you stop using it?”
“Just a few days ago. I’m strengthening that leg,” he said, touching his left thigh. He stood there.
“So …” Alyssa said, cocking her head and raising an eyebrow. He was definitely stalling. What could he have in his apartment that he didn’t want her to see? A closet full of whips and leather pants? Maybe a closet full of regular shirts? He should be embarrassed about that—it was a crime to cover those abs.
“Second floor,” he said. He sighed and led the way up the stairs. He unlocked the door to the first unit, then pushed the door open with tented fingers and let her go in first.
Alyssa walked in, her bag with laptop and measuring tape over her shoulder, and stepped into the empty space. The walls were all white and completely bare. One brown recliner sat in the middle of the living room. “There’s nothing here.”
“I have a TV and a game system,” he said indignantly, pointing toward the wall opposite the chair.
She took off her sunglasses and folded them into her purse. “How long have you lived here?”
“I moved to Detroit in April, but I was in a hotel for a couple of months because it had an accessible bathroom, and I was still in a wheelchair.” His face reddened. Apparently he hadn’t planned to start by discussing toilets.
She turned in a slow circle. “Wow. It’s a blank canvas.” She was going to have to rethink this project. “I think I’ll start by measuring. Okay?”
He nodded.
The apartment spread to the left of the entry. There was space for a table immediately inside the door, and a kitchen beyond it, both against the wall to the building’s hallway. The living room ran on the front of the building. She saw three doors beyond them, to the left of the public rooms—two bedrooms and a bath. The rooms were large, the windows were great, the kitchen had an up-to-date backsplash and fresh white cupboards. It was a great canvas—too bad he’d never done anything with it. “Minimalist”? This was just empty.
Alyssa snapped out her metal tape measure and measured each area, wall to wall, noting the dimensions in a blue faux-leather binder. Nick stood in the middle of the room, fists in his pockets. When she got to his bedroom, she took in the mattress on the floor. At least he’d pulled up his blankets. He had suits and a tuxedo hanging in the closet and piles of folded clothes and sweats stacked in trash bags on the floor. So much for the Scandinavian dresser and vase of freesia of her imagination.
She finished the measuring and double-checked that she’d gotten everything she needed. Finally she turned to him. “It’s a very nice space.” What else could she say? “What do you want from it?”
He looked at her helplessly. She loved that look from a client. Most everybody knew where they wanted to wind up, but they didn’t know how to get there. She did, and she could take them. She savored that feeling. It made her feel like a kindly taxi driver stopping for someone in the rain.
“So a typical plan would be to put a table here,” she said, indicating the space off the kitchen. “A sofa and probably two chairs here.” She waved her hand toward the living room. “Maybe two sofas, or the second one could be a loveseat. It’s big enough for that. In the bedroom a dresser, bed, and probably a desk.” She glanced around. “Where do you do household paperwork? Like paying bills?”
“I mostly do that online.”
“Okay. But where do you process mail?”
“We’re at the end of the route, so it doesn’t come till I’m gone for games or practice. I pick it up when I get home and dump it on the end of the counter.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “Then I mostly throw it away in the morning.”
So he’d known his mailbox was empty when he checked it as they came in. He’d been stalling. Interesting.
“Okay, I’m going to give you a space to do that. It can be in your bedroom, or there’s room in the living room for a desk. Or we can make the second bedroom a home office.”
He flushed. “I want to leave that bedroom alone.”
She blinked at him. “Alone alone?” He nodded. “It’s completely empty.”
“Yeah.”
“We could make it a combined guest bedroom and office, so it would work for you when you don’t have guests, and if you do, you can let them have the run of the place.”
He shook his head. “Let’s just leave it alone.”
“Okay.” The client was the boss. Even when he was being stupid. “Any thoughts on the balcony?” She stepped over and slid the door open. The balcony was eight feet by five feet. Plenty big enough for him to come out with a date, sip wine, watch the sunset … “I forgot to ask. Which way does your apartment face?”
“East.”
“Well, I guess you can watch the sunrise from out here.”
“I’ve done that a few times.”
She was surprised. “You got up and watched the sunrise? Where did you sit?”
He smiled ruefully. “I just sat on the balcony floor.”
“Huh. Do you have a vision for the space? Do you want to be able to entertain here, or have a chaise lounge so you can read?”
“I guess it would be nice to read out here.” She must have looked as surprised as she felt because he said, “I know how to read.”
She smiled. “Um, I’m going to show you some photos of rooms, and you tell me what you like and what you don’t, okay?”
“Sure.” She caught the slight sigh.
Alyssa sank down against the living room wall and sat with her legs pulled sideways. It was a bad day to have worn a skirt, but how would she have guessed the day would go like this when she’d dressed that morning? She booted up while he lowered himself beside her. She was suddenly aware of his bulk, of the ropey muscles in his forearms as he pushed his sleeves up again, of the bunching of his thighs as he sat down. “Does that … hurt?” she asked. She knew she shouldn’t say anything, but she did anyway. It was a thing she did.
“My leg you mean?” She nodded. “No. I’m doing full workouts, so now my whole body hurts.” He grinned and wow, it was a good grin.
“Um.” For a moment she had no idea what she was doing in this empty apartment beside this muscular guy with a day’s scruff on his jawline.
And then his eyes flew open, and he stood and ran at the kitchen counter that separated the kitchen and living room. He threw his right hand down flat on it and vaulted over, landing in front of the refrigerator. “I forgot the blueberries!” he called. He opened his refrigerator, and for a moment she caught a glimpse of a couple dozen glass containers filled with fruits on the middle shelf and chopped vegetables on the bottom shelf. He pulled a bowl of blueberries out, swung the fridge door shut, and walked back toward her. He set the blueberries between their knees. “In case you’re hungry.”
“We just had lunch.”
“That never stops me.” He grinned again and took a handful of berries, then held his fist over his mouth and dribbled them onto his tongue.
“Note to self: do not put top cabinets over that counter,” she said. “Do you always go into the kitchen that way?”
“Hmm? Oh, just if I’m in a hurry.” He shrugged.
“Well, your leg must be doing pretty well.”
“It is. But I made sure I landed on the right one.” He nodded toward her laptop. “You have pictures for me to look at?” A graceful way to say he was done talking about the injury.
Alyssa pulled up three photos of living rooms—one contemporary neutrals, one black leather and galvanized steel tables, and an old English manor house look with dark wood and Staffordshire dogs on the mantle. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t like the last one, but you never knew.
He shrugged. “They’re all fine.”
She stared at him. “They’re very different. Which one looks most like what you want?”
He shifted on the floor beside her. “I’d really rather have you choose.”
“Okay. Let’s look at three more.” She pulled up the interior of a New England saltbox that was filled with Shaker furniture and primitive quilts, a comfort-focused room filled with a sectional with embedded drink holders, and a breezy beachfront room with pillows covered in a lobster print, a bleached wood floor, and a white slipcover on the sofa. It would be a hard look to pull off in Detroit, but she didn’t know what else to do. There was absolutely nothing in this place to give her a key to his taste—or even his personality.
“Nice,” he said.
“Which one?”
“All of them?”
She lowered her head and stared up at him from under her brows. “Don’t make me crush you against the boards.”
He smiled. “There you go.”
She flipped the laptop shut. “You said earlier that your coach gave you a choice. Getting your place fixed up or something else? What was the something else?”
He bit the inside of his cheek, then said, “I have a big mouth.”
“I’m trying to get a handle on this project. To figure out what will make you happy. Help me out here.”
“I don’t care what it looks like,” he said. She thought about picking up her laptop and braining him with it, but considering the bulk of his shoulder beside her and the hardness of his arm when he’d bumped her as he sat back down with the blueberries, she was pretty sure he could stop her. So she just gave him a long stare. He sighed. “Devin squealed, the rat, and Coach said I have to get it decent and normal or go to counseling.” Her eyes flew wide. “So please make it decent and normal so they’ll all leave me alone.”
“They want you to get counseling because you haven’t fixed up your apartment?”
“No, they want me to get counseling because I lost my five best friends in an airplane crash. They think this”—he waved his hand vaguely at the empty space—“is unhealthy. So I have to fix one thing or the other.”
She was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressed you.”
“You’re doing your job. It’s … an unusual situation.”
“Yeah. So here’s the thing—I know absolutely nothing about you, and the only thing your apartment tells me is that you eat exceptionally well.” He looked at her, puzzled, and she said, “I got a glimpse inside your refrigerator. You cut up vegetables when you get back from the grocery store, right?”
“I eat dinner really late because of game time, and if I don’t have leftovers, I’m too tired to make anything. Also I’m a terrible cook.” He grinned again, and there were those commas around his mouth. “This way I can just eat straight out of the containers in the refrigerator.”
“You don’t eat out?”
“On the road, sure, but not as often here. Maybe I will some once I get to know the guys better.” He shrugged.
He’s new. He doesn’t have good friends yet. Could I possibly poke any more sore spots? God, I’m a jerk.
“Okay, I’m thinking maybe black leather sofas, a framed jersey, a display case for trophies.” Did he have trophies? She couldn’t ask—what if he didn’t? She’d already brought up his leg injury, his friends’ deaths, and the fact that he didn’t have anybody to eat with. She was becoming the mean girl from junior high. “A comfortable space for you to lounge in, with extra seating, a place to eat, and a center for household paperwork.”
“That sounds great. Thanks.”
“Do you like that sort of design? Sort of sporty? Because if I show you the design and you don’t like it, I can redo it, but it will cost you more.”
He hesitated for a moment, then said, “That’ll be fine.”
Alyssa couldn’t think of anything else to say so she took a handful of blueberries and looked around the space again. “How do you feel about houseplants?”
“I almost bought one at the grocery store. But I’ll have road trips and it would probably die. I’d feel bad.” He flushed.
She nodded and handed him the contract, but she was thinking about his phrasing. He hadn’t made a black thumb joke or a comment about his bad luck with plants. He said he didn’t want to kill it.
She was going to have to put a fake philodendron on top of his trophy case, and that struck her as terribly sad.
Nick signed and handed the contract back; Alyssa stuck it in her bag, then thanked him for his time. Her eyes swept over the apartment once more before she left. For a man who had absolutely no place to hide anything, it felt like he was hiding plenty.