Chapter 7 #2
I can’t tell her I’d gladly hand over all the decision-making to Cash because that’s how much I trust him. Also, I have zero ideas for this place, only the vague desire to honor my aunt by giving the house the makeover it deserves…whatever that means.
Maisy takes the lead, walking from room to room and exclaiming over either the beauty of each one or its sad state that needs immediate correction.
She has a vision for each space, bringing in lighter colors and modern designs to freshen it all up.
I don’t remind her that I do indeed have a budget for this project because her enthusiasm has me nodding along, almost able to envision it all myself.
We’re in the kitchen, Maisy painting a detailed picture of an airy, snow-white space, replete with elegant copper pots on the six-burner Wolf range, when the old doorbell sounds, and my heartbeat takes off like a racehorse at the starting bell.
Maisy stops mid-sentence, her focus now on me.
Does my face give me away? A second of silence ticks by.
“Did—did you want me to get the door?”
“Yeah, could you?” I say as though I have absolutely zero interest in who’s on the other side of that door. I’m overplaying my hand to an embarrassing degree.
A bewildered expression twists her face, but she does as told, heading for the front of the house while I take a deep breath. Easy, Georgia.
As soon as his voice sounds from the foyer, Cash’s energy permeates the house, and I smile without meaning to. I can’t tell what he’s saying, but like always, his enthusiasm is impossible to miss.
Even in jeans and a boxy corduroy overshirt, his body won’t be ignored.
Tall but not towering, solid and powerful and perfectly put-together.
A few weeks ago, I’d have told you a man who wears jewelry is not a man for me, but on him, it only adds to his shine.
This is a man who smells good, takes care of his body, holds himself to the highest standard.
He smiles at me from the doorway—not a common one you give in greeting a dozen times a day. A private smile. The kind you only give when you’re certain no one else can see it.
“Hello, Georgia.”
“Hi,” I say as Maisy appears behind him. “Thanks so much for coming over.”
“Wouldn’t miss a chance to be in the presence of such beauty.
” He scans the kitchen, but as his eyes sweep over me, he winks.
Somewhere in a volume of poetry, there must exist a word to describe the sensation that swells inside me, something that sums up the fluttering, aching, sickeningly delicious feeling.
“Great house, isn’t it?” Maisy offers.
“Amazing,” Cash agrees. “You hit the jackpot, Georgia. Hey, how’d you like Professor Rinn’s lecture yesterday? Personally, I couldn’t follow it.”
“It was okay.”
“I forgot you two have class together,” Maisy says.
“Uh-huh. You should see Georgia passing notes during class. Really disrespectful to those of us trying to learn.”
Leaning back against the island, I chance a peek at his eyes—which shimmer with amusement—trying to give him a warning but having a hard time holding back a smile.
Maisy waves him off. “You almost had me until you claimed to be trying to learn.”
“You’re right, I guess I was the one passing notes.” As soon as Maisy looks away, Cash waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and my stomach flips. I don’t even want to know how he’s mastered the art of these playful, covert glances.
“Trying to get girls to do your homework for you again?” Maisy taunts.
He stands next to me, examining the island.
“Trying to get girls to do something.” His voice drops, and the soft sound makes the nape of my neck prickle and my nipples harden.
He skims a hand over the granite countertop, ever so briefly brushing against mine.
My imagination is powerless to fight off the possibilities contained in his fingers.
“So tell him our ideas,” Maisy says, reminding me she still exists.
I exhale, relieved to ditch the dangerous topic of me and Cash. “Might as well start here.” I clap my hands together. “I have no idea if the plumbing needs work, but if we’re just talking aesthetics, there’s plenty we could do in here.”
“Uh-huh. You have a lot of space to work with.”
“Right. And I was thinking a white kitchen,” I say uncertainly. “That’s classic, right?”
He scrunches his nose, scanning the room.
“I like a white kitchen. Thing is, I wouldn’t paint these cabinets if you paid me.
” He runs his fingers up the side of a cabinet door near the fridge, and I track their movement over the contours of the wood.
“These are solid wood. Amazing quality. All they need is some sanding and staining, and they’d be perfect. ”
“They’re so dark, though,” Maisy protests.
“Nothing wrong with that. This room’s got great natural light”—he points at all the covered windows—“you just need to lose those heavy curtains and bring in some better light fixtures. White kitchens are classic, but they can look a little cookie-cutter. And anyone who’s interested in a house like this doesn’t want that.
” He stands back and takes in the room. “No, it’d be a crime to destroy what’s here.
Freshen up the cabinets, bring in new appliances and a new sink, and maybe, if it’s in the budget, replace the countertops. Once that’s done, you’re golden.”
The look in his eye tells me he’s already envisioning it, and I turn to Maisy, impressed. “Someone give this guy a home makeover show.”
She lets out a short laugh. “Oh, honey, forget football. Cash Hartnell with a microphone, camera crew, and an international audience? You just described his wet dream.”
Cash hits her with an accusatory glare. “Rude and crude.” He glances at me. “That’s been our mom’s favorite line since we learned to talk. Anyway, show me what other projects you had in mind.”
I lead him through the rest of the house, increasingly impressed by his knowledge of home repair and renovations, buyer habits, and even design trends—and comforted by his easy, confident decision-making.
He listens to my ideas and even some of Maisy’s, but every time we walk out of a room, I find myself wanting to follow his suggestions.
By the time we circle back to the kitchen, we’ve settled on refinishing the downstairs hardwood floors but leaving the upstairs alone, replacing all wallpaper with paint, and skipping over gutting any bathrooms in favor of smaller touches, like fresh grout and new hardware, Cash’s convincing explanation being that nobody passes up a house they love because of an old toilet.
As we wrap up the tour, Cash stands in the center of the foyer and turns slowly around, taking it all in. “Damn, you’re lucky, Georgia.”
“Inheriting this place?”
“That. And the freedom to just…do whatever you want.”
Before I can respond, Maisy interjects. “We should leave Georgia in peace. You’re bossy, and she needs time to think before she decides.”
“I’m bossy? You had the entire place gutted, renovated, and redecorated in your weird Scandinavian style before I ever walked in the door, but sure, I’m bossy.
” He gives me a private smile as he turns his back to Maisy and grabs his coat from the stand by the door.
“You’re right, though. Let’s give Georgia time to think. ”
“Let me just grab my bag,” Maisy says and heads for the kitchen.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, Cash leans against the wall and slides his hands into his pockets. “I got your note in class. Cute. Very cute.” He grins. “Like you don’t know the exact answer to that question.”
My hands twist together. “Maybe you changed your mind.”
“It’s pretty sexy how brilliant you are, actually. Answering the question without answering it and somehow still getting exactly what you want from me.”
“How do you know what I want from you?” I whisper, surprised by my own daring and the slow, seductive way the words spill from my lips. “That question might have been purely hypothetical.”
He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that makes my insides clench with longing.
“You’re right, darling, you’ve given me nothing with that answer.
But here’s mine: Yes. If you say you like me, I’ll help you with the house.
And if you say you can’t stand the sight of me, I’ll still help you with the house.
You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, sweet Georgia. ”
Maisy’s nowhere in sight, but her footsteps are audible, so I know she’s close.
“But can I get an answer anyway?”
Before I can think of how to respond, Maisy appears, pulling on her coat. “Georgia, you want to join us for dinner?”
“You guys go without me. I owe Susanna a call, and then I have some studying to do.” All true, but my nerves can’t fathom the idea of sitting in a packed restaurant across from Maisy and Cash, trying to ignore his private smiles and double-entendres and fool my friend into thinking her brother and his oozing sex appeal haven’t seeped into every corner of my brain.
Cash follows Maisy out, pulling the door behind him. But right before it closes, he pauses and peers back at me. “We start Saturday.”