20. Jess
Jess
Over the last week, I’ve learned a lot about restraint.
And when I say restraint, I mean that it has taken every single, teeny weeny ounce of my self-control not to launch myself into Conor’s arms every time I see him. But, the man seems to have an iron will, and he’s beyond determined to keep our date very separate from our roommate situation.
Which is really sweet, I know. But, it’s also really freaking frustrating when all I want to do is grab him by the shirt and demand he kiss me.
Not that I’d ever do anything like that IRL—maybe in my fantasies, I’m a wicked, wanton woman who grabs what she wants by the shirt.
But, in reality, I’m a massive chicken who’s way too scared of rejection—and way too burnt in the past—to try anything of the sort.
Plus, we’ve both been up to our necks in work all week. Between my painting and staging, and Conor’s last minute finishing touches on the build, we haven’t had a chance to go on that promised second date yet.
I feel like a little kid at a carnival, standing in front of the cotton candy cart. Starving and craving a sugar high that nothing else in this world will satisfy. Only, the cotton candy costs $1.99 and I’ve only got a dollar in my pocket.
So close, and yet, so far.
In the evenings, we’ve hung out, cooked, and watched movies together. The times we’re at the Decatur house, working together, we’ve chatted as normal. And, every morning, I wake to a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen. It’s been wonderful in every way, as spending time with Conor always is.
But, there’s been no more kissing. Or even a hint of a suggestion of kissing.
And it's enough to drive any sane woman crazy.
“Ready?” Conor quirks a grin at me and I swallow. Hard.
We’re in his truck together for the first time since our date last week, and the proximity to him is wearing my nerves thin. I’m hyper-aware of his hands on the steering wheel, how his muscular arm rests so close to mine.
“Mmm-hmm.” I mumble, as we park outside of the Decatur house.
The flip looks phenomenal. The cute house has been beautified within an inch of its life with fresh white paint, a butter-yellow front door, and flower troughs in the windowsills overflowing with red petunias.
A newer, better version of its character-filled self.
I smile as I take in the cheerful flowers, which were my idea.
The open house is in just a few hours, and I’m nervous as all heck to see what everyone thinks of my work. All these people looking at my art hanging on the walls, the way I’ve arranged the furniture to play off the paintings...
I open my door and slide to the ground, but as I’m about to step away from the vehicle, Conor appears in front of me. Like, right in front of me. Mere inches between us. He puts a gentle hand on my arm and I suck in a breath.
“Hey, Jess.”
“Hey,” I squeak.
“What are you doing tonight?” Conor’s tone is maddeningly casual and conversational.
I force a laugh. “Well, depending on how long the open house goes, I’m guessing cleaning up and sleeping?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Not that.” He draws a lazy circle on my bare arm, making my head spin.
“What were you thinking?” My voice is more breathy than I’d like.
“I was thinking about that second date.” His eyes bore into mine, and that thumb of his keeps on drawing circles. I bite down on my lower lip to stop from making a noise in my throat, and his eyes flicker to my mouth. “In fact, I haven’t stopped thinking about that second date.”
“Me either,” I manage to reply. Unmistakable desire flares in Conor’s green eyes and my legs almost give way.
“Good. It’s a date, then.” His eyes may be alight, but he sounds casual as can be. He releases my arm, steps back, and strides down the driveway to the house, jangling his keys as he goes.
I lean against the truck, not trusting my legs to carry me until I’ve caught my breath.
Conor glances back over his shoulder with that wicked smile. “Come on, we don’t have all day.”
I walk behind him on wobbly baby-deer legs. The time that stretches between now and tonight seems like a vast, endless chasm.
I take a huge gulp of coffee. I’m going to need all the help I can to get through this one.
* * *
For the next couple of hours, Conor and I bustle through the house, fluffing cushions, arranging flowers into vases, lighting scented candles, and making up the beds in the bedrooms with fresh linens.
In the end, I went for a contemporary feel in the house, with just a touch of boho chic.
So, comfortable, neutral-colored living room furniture, a gorgeous maple wood dining table with contrasting modern chairs, white linen drapes, round vanity mirrors, and jute rugs.
Then, I brought in rich color and texture through a multitude of jewel-toned throw pillows, cable knit blankets, and a veritable greenhouse-worth of plants in adorable ceramic pots.
I even found a little lemon button fern for the coffee table.
And, craziest of all, my paintings adorn multiple walls. A series of slightly abstract, warm, desert oasis scenes that tie the entire design together. I can’t help but feel that little leap of hope in my chest. To me, it looks beautiful. Conor has told me a thousand times that he loves it.
But, I’m still dead nervous that I’m somehow seeing something everyone else won’t see. That the prospective buyers and Conor’s potential investors will hate the place. Proving, once again, that it isn’t worth taking a chance on my art.
That I should probably go back to circus-freak waitressing.
“What’s on your mind?” Conor asks from behind the stack of sheets he’s carrying. We walk into the master bedroom, and I’m highly aware that this is the first time we’ve been inside a bedroom together.
The realization makes my already blended insides liquify further. “Just nervous.”
He sets the heap of white cotton on the bed and looks at me. “For the open house or for our date?”
“Both.”
“No need to be nervous for the open house, this place is phenomenal.”
I bit my lip, but can’t disguise my hopeful smile. “Do you think?”
“I know.” Conor nods firmly. “Did I ever tell you that, on my first open house, the fire department had to evacuate the place?”
“What?”
Conor laughs and sits on the edge of the bed.
“I read online that you should fill the house with homey smells to help people envision their lives there. So, I threw a loaf of bread in the oven. And promptly forgot about it. Fast forward an hour or two, and there was so much smoke billowing out of the oven, it set the fire alarm off.” He snorts at the memory. “Karla was so choked.”
“What happened then?”
“One of the attendees called the fire department, even though I was taking care of it. It was just a loaf of smoking bread. They showed up with the sirens blaring, in full gear, prepared for a structure fire. I thought Karla might murder me. But, it all worked out in the end, because one of the firefighters loved the house so much, he bought it.”
I burst into laughter. “That’s amazing.”
“It was,” Conor agrees with a small, nostalgic smile. “So, no need to be nervous about the open house today. If you can top that disaster, I’ll just be flat-out impressed.”
I smile back, reassured. But then, I realize what he’s left unsaid.
I tuck a stand of hair behind my ear. “So, I have reason to be nervous for the date?”
Conor grins. “Of course. The second date is when women fall deeply, irrevocably in love with me. There’s no going back.”
He’s kidding.
I think.
“I doubt that’s going to happen.” I toss my hair and attempt to stare him down. Which I realize was a very, very bad idea the second I meet those eyes.
“Oh no?” Conor’s voice comes down a notch. “Not even if I kiss you properly?”
I shake my head as vehemently as I can.
“I want to kiss you right now,” he adds.
My eyes sweep his face and I gulp. Audibly. Did someone crank the thermostat up to a thousand in here?
“You do?” I croak.
“I do.” Conor looks straight at me and I draw in a sharp breath. “But I won’t.”
The frustration must be evident on my face because he smiles.
“Not yet, anyway,” he amends. “But, on our second date, like I promised.”
“Fine by me,” I say defiantly, although my entire body is protesting otherwise, not wanting to wait another moment. So much for restraint...
“Unless you want to move things forward... I have time in my schedule to make that happen.” Conor glances at his watch, then back at me. “Two hours until the open house starts. Maybe there’s time to squeeze in a second date.”
Conor takes a step towards me and my mind takes a little ride on a tilt-a-whirl.
My anxiety for the open house is already sky-high, and Conor’s closeness, while intoxicating, is not helping my nerves right now.
I need to get through this open house before I can even think about what kissing Conor Brady on our second date might feel like.
And so, knowing that my brain will jump off the tilt-a-whirl and head straight for the vertical drop ride if he comes any closer, I pick up a decorative ceramic elephant and brandish it at him. “Stay there, buddy.”
“Buddy?” he repeats, his mouth pulling at the corners.
“You heard me.” I wiggle Ellie in front of him. “Stay back. My attack elephant bites.”
“You’ve upgraded from an attack fern to an elephant?” Conor laughs. “Am I that dangerous?”
Yes.
“I can’t go falling in love with you until after the open house is over, so you’d better stay back.”
“I don’t think I can wait until later.” Conor’s gaze is so fiery, his tone so intense, that I almost drop Ellie and smash her to smithereens.
My heart does a series of backflips as my eyes lock on Conor’s. The tension in the room crackles like static electricity. All of his jokes and teasing and sarcasm are gone, and he’s just looking at me. Really looking at me.
And my resolve fizzles away to nothing. “Me either.”