Chapter 30 #2
She gasps, lacing her hands into my hair. I stay like that. On my knees. My lips on her jeans. Teasing her. Leaving her with very clear instructions on what I’ll be doing when this moratorium ends.
“Wyatt,” she murmurs, her grip on my hair tightening.
I push my face closer, inhaling her scent, then bite at the denim before I stand and plant a quick kiss on her forehead. “See? Wasn’t I so sweet?”
Her lips curve into a grin. “You are a unicorn.”
I glance down at the tent in my jeans. “I’m absolutely a unicorn right now.”
She laughs then tugs me close for a tight hug. When we pull apart, we resume our work and finish the job. A little later, Violet unlocks the door, strides in, and beams. Her sleek black hair is twisted high on her head, and a slash of peach lipstick covers her mouth.
“The kitchen looks great.”
“And it’s done on time,” Natalie declares.
Violet shakes her head in amazement. “I’m thrilled. Completely thrilled.” She shifts her gaze from me to Natalie, then back. “You two are quite a team. I’m so impressed with all you’ve done.”
When we leave to load up the tools and ladder in my truck, it occurs to me there’s something terribly unjust about what just happened.
Natalie was busted at the karate studio.
I got off scot-free at a client’s home. Fine, we weren’t naked and getting it on at Violet’s house, but we were intimate in a whole other way.
Is what we shared on the ladder so much “safer” than what we did on the mat?
Maybe. At the same time, though, I can’t help but feel even closer to Natalie now, and I wish I could protect her.
Keep her from getting hurt. Save her from any sort of sadness.
Regardless of what we were doing, the fact remains that she’s taking the hit for what’s happening between us, and I’m not. I don’t know how to change the score, or if I can. All I know is I want to, and I need to figure out how.
But right now, we’ve got another gig, so we head to the Village to the restaurant site for the estimate. Natalie introduces me to a big strapping dude with huge arms. He’s the restaurant investor, and looks like one of the Hemsworth brothers.
“Simon Travers,” he says, and holds out a hand. He’s got a deep voice, too.
“Wyatt Hammer. Nice to meet you.”
“And you. I hear great things about your work.”
He walks us through the plans for the eatery while Natalie takes notes on the computer.
As we stand at one of the unfinished counters, she shows the schematic to him on her laptop, and everything about this moment is perfectly normal, nothing special, nothing strange until a cute blonde opens the door, and walks in.
Harper’s friend Abby. She’s holding the hand of a girl who’s maybe in kindergarten.
Abby works for Simon; she’s his daughter’s nanny, Harper told me.
The little one runs over to Simon and throws her arms around him. “Daddy! My lesson was so fun.”
He scoops her up in his arms and beams, just fucking beams at his kid. “That’s great, sweet pea. Will you tell me all about it the second I’m done?”
She nods and smacks her lips to his cheek, then rests her head against his, content in his arms.
I glance at Abby and say hi. She says hi to me.
We’ve hung out a couple times, with Harper and Nick.
Abby has curly blond hair and honey-colored eyes, and she’s younger than Simon by maybe eight or ten years.
For some reason I can’t take my eyes off them.
Maybe because Natalie watches them, too.
There’s just something about this man and this woman.
Hard to say what it is, and they’re not even touching.
“Hey, Abby,” Simon says, and his voice reminds me of someone.
She can’t seem to stop smiling as she meets his gaze. “Hi, Simon.”
“How was everything today?”
“Hayden was great. We had an amazing time at the museum, and then at her lesson. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. See you in the morning. Same time?”
“Same time.”
Abby walks over to the little girl and ruffles her hair. “Bye, little sweet thing.” Then she says good-bye to Natalie and me before she leaves. My potential client watches her the whole time. As she walks to the door. As she pushes it open. As she steps outside. As she waves one last time.
And I know what’s in his eyes. In his voice. But I’ve got no room in my head to face that right now, so I do my best to zone in on work, only work, as we review the plans.
When we leave, Natalie and I stroll into the dusk of an early June evening in New York. We’re both quiet for half a block or so, until she breaks the silence.
“Funny, isn’t it?”
“What’s funny?”
“How you can tell just by looking how he feels about her.”
I stumble, losing my footing on a crack in the sidewalk. I grab onto a stoop.
“You okay?” she asks, alarmed.
I nod and brush a hand over my shirt as if I’m oh-so-cool. “Yeah. Fine.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“I wonder, though,” she says, as if she’s musing on something.
“Wonder what?”
“How he’s going to deal with the fact that he’s falling in love with his daughter’s nanny.”
I turn to her, meet her eyes, and shrug helplessly. Because I know why his tone felt so familiar. Why his gaze gave me a sense of déjà vu. It was like looking in a mirror, seeing myself.
I speak from the most honest part of me. “I don’t have a clue.”