Chapter 5 Hari
HARI
“It’s been a week.”
“Boss, you need to journal.” Callum grinned. He was always teasing me about informing the world of my state of mind.
“Yeah, yeah.” I ignored him and inspected the work I’d been doing on the bedroom set. But I had paperwork to deal with, and Jackson was away again because one of the hotels had signed a contract. Making sure there were no hiccups needed his constant attention.
But instead of sitting at the computer glaring at a boring spreadsheet, I made coffee and stared out the window.
Not that it was a great view, but it was mid-morning and the street was busy.
I enjoyed people-watching, and my employees joked I was a middle-aged man in the body of a thirty-five year old.
Picking up my phone, I stared at Remy’s number. Not from the many times I’d called him, but when he returned my call, seven days, three hours, and twenty-six minutes ago. I hadn’t bothered to calculate the seconds, but if I was bored, I could, and I was bored with work and life right this minute.
I could call him, but he might be at work.
He’d given no indication of what he did, but he might work from home because he’d called me in the late morning.
Hmmm, but he said buying custom-made furniture wasn’t possible, so perhaps he was a struggling artist. Depending on what he did, I could offer him a job here.
Damn, I was letting my imagination run off and take flight. The guy could have a loving husband and a family. But his flirting suggested he was either single or he was looking for someone outside his relationship. And I couldn’t be a party to that.
But if I called him, I could determine which he was: a married man or a philanderer. I tapped the desk, wondering if I was overstepping. I’d called the wrong number and we’d chatted. There was no reason for me to get in touch with him again except he was in my head and I couldn’t get rid of him.
The day wore on, and the only time I was at peace was when I was working with wood. It was slow work that required all of my concentration. One distracted chisel stroke and the joints would be sloppy. And we were known for perfection.
By mid-afternoon I’d cleaned my hands and changed my shirt and jacket because the sawdust had worked its way onto my chest. Sandy left to do the school run, and I manned the showroom.
I’d memorized Remy’s number and could reel it off in my sleep, and I’d demolished all the reasons for not calling him. One quick phone call wouldn’t hurt, but I’d have to figure out what to say. I couldn’t let my mouth run away and talk gibberish.
But as I held the phone and debated what to do, a guy paused outside the store and peered through the glass. He was cute and could take my mind off Remy for a moment. He was well dressed and groomed, but he paused with his hand on the door. That was unusual for our customers.
When people came to the store, they didn’t hesitate. They knew what they were after and hoped we could help them. Unless the guy was asking for directions. We had our fair share of those too.
He was hovering, and I almost went outside and asked if he needed help. But he made a decision and pushed open the door. The bell must have rung and announced him, but my brain had stopped processing anything except this gorgeous man whose face lit up when he saw me.
“Welcome to Furniture on Main. I’m Hari.”
“You’re just as I imagined.”
Was someone playing a trick? I glanced left and right, expecting to see a guy filming me.
“Remy.” He stuck out his hand.
“No. My name is Hari.” I still knew my own name, so the synapses were firing.
He smirked, and I struggled to breathe. My mouth drooped, and I think I drooled.
“And what a delightful name it is, Hari.” He grabbed my hand which was dangling at my side, waiting for an instruction from my brain that had taken a detour.
I gulped and studied my hand in his strong grip. “Your nails are well kept.” Damn, where did that come from? His nails? Why would I compliment him on those? “Hands. Nice hands, along with the rest of you.”
This was a disaster, and I was burbling. Some entity had taken control of me. This wasn’t me. I was the owner and I didn’t burble. He didn’t speak but waited, and the wheels churning inside my head slowed so I could form a sentence.
“Remy? The same Remy I called hundreds of times?” It had to be, but I didn’t want to fumble this and flirt with a potential customer.
“One and the same.”
“You’re here.”
“In the flesh.”
My hand was still in his, and I considered closing the showroom and taking him for coffee. But he’d come for a reason and that wasn’t for us to have a date.
“How can I help you?” Part of me hoped he'd say he wanted me to kiss him and sweep him off his feet. Or he could do that last part.
He glanced around. “This is where you make and sell furniture?”
“This is the display area, the showroom.” I jerked my head toward the door that led to the workshop. “That’s where we make the furniture.”
Remy ran his hand over a credenza. “Nice. I’m looking for something special for my place.”
He’d told me on the phone he couldn’t afford our furniture. Maybe I should check to see if he robbed a bank before taking him on as a client.
“What did you have in mind?” It sounded as though he was looking for one piece rather than furnishing his entire house or apartment. But was he aware of the work that went into a custom piece, which was reflected in the price?
“A desk.” He parted his hands, indicating however many inches. “I have a space in mind, and as I spend a lot of time on the computer, I would love a piece of furniture that has been made just for me.”
“You’ve come to the right place.” When Remy said “love” I almost blurted out that was how I felt about it. It was love at first sight for me, though I hadn’t determined his motive yet.
I pulled out our wood catalogue. Once he had an idea what he wanted, I’d take him into the workshop so he could see and feel the wood, assuming we had some in stock.
“Maple.” He didn’t dither or flip back and forth between pages. He pointed and tapped the image.
“An excellent choice.”
In the workshop, I avoided Adrian and Callum’s gaze and took Remy over the sawdust-covered floor and pulled out a piece of maple. He placed his palm on it.
“This speaks to me.”
It could have sounded corny in another situation, but that was what I often said about wood. It sent messages via its color, smell, and temperature.
“I’ll have to take measurements.”
Remy burst out laughing and bent forward. He continued chuckling, and I stood there, confused, wondering what was so funny.
“Here? With your employees listening to our every word?”
“Ummm, no, not here. At your place.” Why was he so shocked all of a sudden?
“You want to measure me.”
“Not you!” My voice echoed around the cavernous building. “Your space. We can’t make a piece without taking measurements.”
“My bad. I thought…” He waved a hand between us. “Never mind. I misunderstood.”
“It’s a free service we offer. I’ve found that trusting our clients’ measurements is a mistake. You don’t want us to make a custom piece and discover your measurements are off.”
He nodded, but he was stifling more laughter because his body was kinda humming.
“That would be bad, I agree.”
“Great.” I led him into the office and created a file on the computer.
This wasn’t the time to mess up the contact details, though I did have his phone number.
With his address and email tucked away on the computer, I almost asked for his blood type and DNA, just in case I couldn’t find him in future.
We made arrangements for a visit after I said I was free any time. Perhaps I was too eager and I should have consulted my diary, but I was willing to shift any appointment around to fit Remy into my schedule.
“I look forward to seeing you in three days.”
He’d counted how long it'd be before we saw one another again. Sneaky. But I’d already done the calculations, down to the minute. I still had the seconds to do.
“I’ll be there with my trusty tape measure.”
“Will you come alone?”
I would, oh yes, I would not bring another employee. “As it’s one piece, I can handle that myself.” If we were doing an entire room, I’d need someone with me, and I thanked the universe that Remy only wanted a desk.
“Just me.”