Chapter 22
16 Days Until the Deadline
There were many aspects of older homes I found charming. The decorative touches, old-fashioned appliances, the number of completely unnecessary rooms for people to sit uncomfortably on couches. Don’t get me started on the magic of a secret passage.
But fireplaces … I couldn’t say much for those, other than appreciating a cozy fire every once in a while.
Yet here I was. Scrubbing.
“I thought the fireplace guys were coming today?” Oliver was crouched, peering at me as I squatted in one of the too many fireplaces in the estate. The current bane of my existence.
“Tomorrow. Their last job was on the other side of the country.” I sounded annoyed because I was, in fact, annoyed. This team was the best, which was why it was so difficult to get on their schedule—that was the only reason I’d agreed to this schedule so close to our deadline. They had fit us in between two jobs. But they still had to finish the first.
“But the furniture arrives tomorrow.”
Including the fireplace grates. “Correct.” Didn’t he have somewhere to be?
“This place will be perfect even if the fireplaces aren’t working yet.” His tone was soothing, but it was having the opposite effect on me. I knew what he was attempting to accomplish, but obsessing over the mansion and my deadline stopped me from fixating over other things. Like how we had been sharing a bed for a few weeks, and it had been the best time of my life.
His gaze concentrated on me. “I know this is scary. It’s scary for me too.”
“I’m not scared.” I was determined, calm. I’d even give him stubborn. But not scared.
“Talk to me. Take thirty seconds and talk to me.”
“I don’t have time right now.” It was simpler that way, to keep scrubbing until my fingers felt like they were going to bleed, the soot so thick it made my eyes water, my nose stuffed up.
“There’s always time if it means you won’t have soot-covered lungs.” He passed me a water bottle.
“Fine. Thirty seconds.” I took a gulp, finishing more than half before passing it back.
“Better?” His tone was full of concern.
“Maybe.”
“What’s wrong?” The vulnerable wobble in his voice made me pause.
“My dad called. He wanted to discuss next projects.” I took another swig of the water, my throat still too dry. Dad’s call was normal—usually we’d already have something lined up by now. Give ourselves maybe two weeks before we were on to the next.
“Oh.” Oliver let out a shaky chuckle, gripping the back of his neck. “What did you say?”
I shook my head. “Told him I had to think about it.” This should be an exciting time—my career was taking off. Instead, I was off-kilter.
“Because of us?” He was getting just as dirty sitting in the chimney with me as I fiddled with the water bottle cap.
“I—” He reached for my hand, and I yanked it away, wincing. “You promised.”
“We break that rule all the time.”
“No, we don’t.” I scrubbed harder. Each layer revealed more dirt.
“Yes, we do.”
“When?”
“In bed last night.” His voice burned through me, calling up memories, forcing me to close my eyes until I could get my erratic heartbeat under control.
Last night, he had intertwined my fingers with his, pushing our hands up against the headboard as he thrust inside of me, his eyes never leaving mine. But that didn’t count. Sex hand-holding wasn’t real hand-holding. Even if all my blood had rushed to my wrists as his thumb brushed along there.
“Well, we don’t during the day.” My protest sounded weak even to my ears.
“I thought it was because I was respecting your boundaries.”
“Yes, boundaries are good. They make things defined.” It was easier to operate in black and white. Nothing blurred. Blurred created this feeling in my stomach. Blurred involved me staring off in a daydream. Blurred made me wonder if something could truly happen between us after the repairs on the estate were finished. What were we going to be once I no longer was staying here, no longer in his bed every night? He hadn’t given me any hints as to what he planned to do at the end of the summer, whether he was going to accept his grandfather’s demands or explore an unknown future.
“And that’s how things are between us? Clear?” He grimaced, displeased with his own word choice.
I had zero experience in being a person with a relationship and a career. I was so close to my goal, I couldn’t allow myself to be distracted, or to be a distraction when he had his own life-changing choices to make. “What’s with all the questions today?”
He saw right through my bullshit. “We sleep in the same bed every night, we have sex, we talk. I’ve told you things I’ve never shared with anyone else. I know you’ve done the same.” He scooted closer. “This means something to me. You mean something to me.”
I gulped. “You mean something to me too.”
“But?”
“But I’m terrified.” I confessed, wringing my hands. “I’m overwhelmed that we’re not going to finish on time. I’m overwhelmed by my feelings for you. I lo— like you a lot. But we’re both leaving.”
With a single nudge, he had prodded everything that had been swirling around inside of me to come pouring out. Everything I had battened down and tried to ignore. What use was it to think about it? I needed to push through. There was too much out of my control. But I could clean this fireplace.
He scooted until he was sitting next to me in the filthy chimney, the space tight enough that we were shoved up against each other, not that I minded.
He cupped my face, thumb brushing against my cheek, which had to be covered in soot. “I believe in you. We keep doing this, and when it comes time, we’ll figure it out—no pressure, no rush, okay?” My fingers met his.
“Yeah, I can do that.”
“Will you tell me why you doubt your ability to be in a relationship?” Of course he had been paying attention and realized there was another layer.
I trusted him; it was my heart I didn’t trust. “The project I was working on over a year ago now. His name was Dan, and we … well, I thought we … connected. He worked on-site too, and—well, you get the idea.”
His narrowed eyes conveyed he did, lips softly brushing against my forehead.
“I had assumed it would last, but he made it clear it was a short-term thing for him. He’d never even considered it being something more.” I shrugged, my shoulder knocking into his. “My profession, my personality, everything about me screamed to him it was casual. I’m not the forever girl.”
He shook his head, snorting, ignoring my soot-stained clothing, and hauling me closer by my suspender. “Thank you for sharing with me.”
I leaned my head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping around my back, drawing me into the comfort, the warmth his body offered.
“I dismissed change for a long time. I’m a mess. But you, my Petal, are someone who deserves to have the world set at your feet. Your every dream coming true.”
Tears welled in my eyes, my fingers digging into the cotton of his shirt, overwhelmed by his words, by him.
“And if at any point you change your mind or don’t want to do this anymore, promise you’ll say so.”
“Don’t you mean both of us?” I brushed my nose against his, liking how I left a mark behind. Mine, mine, mine.
“No chance of that.”
“So smug.”
“Confident, Petal.”
“Yeah?”
“Confident in you, too. The woman I met a couple months ago wouldn’t have dropped everything to help me pack up my family’s section of the house. She definitely wouldn’t have taken advantage of a day off to let me explore every inch of her body.”
I blushed, unable to contradict him.
“She would have told me to shove it. Clearly, meeting me has made you a better person.” The chuckle he released vibrated through me. The man I’d first met wouldn’t have laughed to save his life.
“But I would have felt bad after I did it.”
He tilted my chin. “You know this is the room where we met?”
I picked my head up, glancing around, realizing he was right. The wainscotting had been fixed, same with the hardwood floor. The room was entirely empty of any furniture, but just like this room, we had come a long way. “You mean the room you first banished me in?”
“I remember it being much more romantic than that.” His nose wrinkled in that cute way of his. “We got this, Petal. We’re the icing. But it’s okay to ask for help.”
I gave a brisk nod, wanting to hug him, kiss him, bring him upstairs, lock the door and never leave.
The more comfort he offered, the more my body eased into his. A memory of its own, fitting into all the grooves and nooks that I wanted to call my own. The shoulder I leaned on when we made it through the end of Lord of the Rings, and he asked to check out the sequel. The hip that bumped mine when a magazine reached out to interview me as an “Under 30” to watch. The hand I held every chance I got, and he knew it. The lips that kissed away every single one of my tears. Somewhere along the way he’d burrowed himself under my skin.
After a lifetime of having it ingrained in me to always answer no when asked, I tried something new. “I could use some help, yeah.”
And the world didn’t end. He didn’t look at me any differently.
He leaned in, brushing his lips against mine, smiling. “All you have to do is ask.”
“That’s hard to do,” I grumbled, snuggling further against his soft cotton shirt.
“I know.” His lips brushed my forehead. “But someone really stubborn taught me it’s okay to not be so alone all the time.”
“Sounds like someone really smart.”
“Brilliant. Devastatingly gorgeous.”
I snorted. “We’re not having sex in a chimney.”
“And you think I’m depraved.”
I breathed him in, giving myself this for a minute. “If we’re going to knock everything off the lists, we need all hands on deck.”
“You figure out what has to be accomplished. I’ll worry about the additional hands. My grandfather wants to show off. Even he realizes you’re going to slam this one out of the park.” There wasn’t a hint of doubt in his voice.
It was time to get me out of the hot seat. “How are you doing with your own choice?”
“It’s hard, but I’m embarrassed to say it’s hard because if I don’t take it, I’m not sure what else to do with my life.”
“Can you still be involved in the company, but not in a way that puts you in the public eye? I don’t enjoy picturing you miserable unless I’m the one making you that way.” He had spent too long in his grief, not allowing any joy into his life, believing he didn’t deserve it. I could ease things with his grandfather by completing the estate, but I couldn’t fix this for him, as much as I wanted to.
“It might be possible for me to offer him something else.” He appeared lost in thought for a moment before shaking his head. “Petal, you make me angry, not miserable.”
“A significant distinction.” I snorted, but I was hopeful he wasn’t resigned to his fate.
“A very important distinction. No one gets under my skin like you do.” His words burned with something.
“I do like being under you,” I murmured, before scanning the room. Our thirty seconds had long passed. Any minute we were likely to be interrupted by someone searching for one of us.
“Careful, Petal, it’s not nice to tease a man with what he can’t have,” he growled, my stomach flipping and tumbling in anticipation.
“Delayed gratification, baby.”
He grunted, and my grin only got bigger.
But I couldn’t send him away—not yet. “What do you want? What do you picture when you dream at night?”
“Impossible things.”
“With that trust fund, I’m positive most things are possible.”
He reached for my hand, tracing along the lines of my palm. “It’s not something you can buy.”
It was silly. There were a million things he could be talking about, and none of them had to be me. “Shoot for the stars.”
“Yeah?” Was that hope in his voice?
“Yeah. What do you have to lose?”
He scrubbed his knuckles against his jaw, the sound making my skin hum with memories. After a moment he said, “I should let you get back to work.”
I kissed his cheek before shifting out of his lap, reluctant to release him. Every second that drew us closer to the deadline drew us closer to goodbye.
There was no missing the mischievous look in his eyes, his lips making contact with mine too briefly before he stood up, swiping his palms together and mostly producing a mess with all the soot that now covered both of us.
He gave me one final, searing glance. I was still nervous, but the conversation had helped.
I wanted to do what Oliver had asked. Worry about my project first, figure us out after. Easier said than done.
“Tell me you ate today?” Oliver was there, caging my body against the door. We both knew that I hadn’t, too distracted by work. It was nine PM and the last few workers, including Jeff, had only just left.
I shifted to my tiptoes, moving closer, until my mouth was a hair’s breadth away from his. Oliver’s beard scratched my face. I could see every speck in his eyes, the freckles that dotted across his nose from all the sun he had been getting recently. I tugged on the lock of his hair that had fallen out of his ponytail. “Tell me you weren’t waiting for me?”
“No, I ate, but we’ve kept something warm for you.” His kiss was too brief before he interlaced our fingers, pulling me to follow him.
“I’m going to inhale whatever it is. I need a shower and sleep badly.” My mind was shifting to tomorrow’s tasks, things I had to add or remove from the list. I needed to send another update to Dad, consider whether an ottoman a contact had thrifted was worth trying to restore, and rinse away all this soot.
“Well, hold off on that for a bit.”
Nick, Rue, and Ambrose were all seated in the newly installed breakfast nook—larger, cozier, and with additional padding. Oliver promised it was a vast improvement, but not comfortable enough for me to sleep on.
The moment we stepped through the swinging door, Rue shot up, grabbed a plate and silverware, and set it down as Oliver ushered me toward the bench.
“Welcome to a meeting of Team Bellamy,” Nick announced, shuffling papers in front of her. “The first order of business—”
“Team Bellamy?” I searched the surrounding faces, trying to understand.
Oliver plopped down next to me. “We’re at your disposal.”
I’d figured he’d go to his grandfather and ask for additional workers, which would help, though this place was already overflowing with hired contractors. But this was better. None of them would need explanations. It was the easiest, most obvious answer, and one I hadn’t considered.
Oliver reached for a chip on my plate, and Rue smacked his hand away. My jaw dropped. “When you work as hard as Ms. Price, you can steal her food. Until then, remember your manners.”
Nick snickered until Rue glared at her.
“We are at your service.” Ambrose bent his head in my direction.
“All of us,” confirmed Bl8z3.
“Oh, right, thank you. Are you sure? These next two weeks will be busy for you all as well.”
But four eager faces met mine. It was late; it had been a long day, and that they were so willing to help meant too much.
Oliver passed me my iPad, our fingers brushing, as I tried to get my composure back.
Ambrose nudged my plate closer and cemented it for me. I talked them through the broad strokes. I had always struggled to delegate, needing to be everywhere, oversee everything at once. I trusted Jeff, but he was only one person and had a specific role in all of this. Now that we were in the end game, and with the deadline, it was going to be impossible to be in every room to ensure that they were being set up exactly as designed, to answer every question and troubleshoot.
But they cared about the house as much as I did, probably more. Oliver’s thigh pressed to mine, Nick already ahead of the game while Rue and Ambrose needled each other over who would be more helpful.
Requesting help, needing someone else, admitting my weakness always gave the impression I wasn’t enough—too young, too female. It was also lonely.
But I hadn’t accomplished this alone. Finn’s amazing mural, all of Dad’s advice, everything Oliver, the staff, and my friends, had already done. Maybe I wasn’t in this alone.
Nick placed her hand in the middle of the table, waiting until everyone, even Ambrose, did the same, our hands piled in, each one supporting the other. “Go team.”