7. Leah
LEAH
Focusing on work today is hard. I adjust the book cover graphics on my screen several times, and it still doesn’t look right. I change tabs to work on a different formatting program, and all I can see is Emmett’s smile.
I still think he came to my condo for another reason last night. And when there’s a knock at my door, I halfway expect it to be him again.
I get up from my desk and go to open it, and my heart does a flip in my chest when I see Rowan standing there.
I know that he looks like my ex, but I don’t see him as resembling Kian at all.
What I see is a stunningly handsome man in designer jeans standing in my doorway with a wrench in one hand and an unreadable expression on his face.
“Rowan?”
“Morning,” he says, staring back at me with those piercing blue eyes again. “I came to fix your window.”
“My window?”
“Yeah.” His dimple divots as he gives a small grin. “I heard you mention it last night during dinner. It’s letting a draft in.”
I honestly forgot I had even mentioned the drafty window. I was trying to make small talk with Mr. Oliver. I told him how much I liked my apartment, but I also mentioned the draft.
“You heard that?”
Rowan nods as he walks in and heads toward the window in question as if it’s no big deal. “Yeah, of course I did. I’m not much of a repairman, but I think I can probably handle a drafty window. Oh, and I brought you this.”
He turns and reaches into his pocket. My eyes linger on the bulge at the front of his pants, and I have to literally shake my head to collect myself. I hope he didn’t notice that. Considering the reappearance of the deepening dimple when he smiles, I think he might have.
Rowan pulls a few small sachets out of his pocket and hands them to me.
“What is it?” I ask before the delectable smell hits my nose.
“Peppermint tea. You’re all out.”
I look back toward my kitchen, where an empty canister of peppermint tea still sits on top of the counter. I was getting ready to throw it away last night, right before Rowan had shown up at my door to pick me up for the family dinner.
“I noticed it was empty last night. Figured you could use some more. Peppermint is good for relaxation,” he adds.
“Yes, I know. It’s my favorite, actually. Thank you.”
Rowan smiles and turns toward the window without saying another word. He assesses the misfitting frame like an architect and then goes about the repair with surprising efficiency.
It’s fixed so quickly that I almost wish it had taken longer.
“That’s it?” I ask, putting on my best impressed face so the disappointment doesn’t show. I want him to stick around for just a little longer. He’s a nice distraction. “I thought architects were better at drawing schematics than fixing windows. Clearly, I was mistaken.”
“I mean, it doesn’t come with a warranty or anything.” A smile hints at the corners of his mouth. “But I do need to understand some of the more basic elements of construction to design buildings. If I didn’t, then I’d be designing things that were likely impossible to construct.”
Rowan gets ready to leave, and I’m half-tempted to ask if he wants to stay and share a cup of peppermint tea with me, but I know that would be a bad idea.
After all, this whole thing between us is nothing more than a ruse.
I need to keep reminding myself of that, even when the sight of Rowan’s broad shoulders walking toward the door makes me want to reach out and turn him back around.
“I’m sure you have a lot of work to do,” he says, sounding almost reluctant as he opens the door and steps out into the hallway. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Thank you again,” I call quietly after him. “For the window repair and the tea.”
Instead of saying anything in return, Rowan’s head tips into a slight nod of acknowledgment as he steps into the elevator.
And for the entire rest of the day, I’m consumed with thoughts of a man I shouldn’t want—the one who looks almost exactly like the guy who broke my heart—at least on the outside.
I have to talk myself down at least a dozen times and remind myself to get back to work before I miss the deadline for the book cover that I promised a client.
After dragging myself through my work until it’s finally finished, I take a walk to clear my head.
It’s dusk, so the sky outside is gray and still and teasing at a rain that doesn’t come.
The air is balmier than it normally is in the city, like a held breath against a windowpane.
I think it’s probably just me, wrestling with the fact that I am having real feelings for men that I’m only supposed to be pretending to care about.
I’m almost too lost in my thoughts to notice that the same stranger keeps crossing my path over and over again.
I suppose it’s not unusual in the city to circle back on the same pedestrians, especially when the blocks are so filled with establishments that everyone is using all the time—bars, restaurants, shops.
After it finally registers with me that I keep seeing glimpses of the same man’s profile, though, I make a point to pay a bit closer attention to my surroundings.
Of course, as soon as I do, the coincidence seems to disappear, like taking your car to the mechanic only to have the rattling sound suddenly become nonexistent.
I shake my head at myself. I’m letting my imagination get the better of me. It’s probably a coping mechanism, like humor, to keep myself from noticing what I really can’t stop pretending doesn’t exist—the chemistry that I feel building between Rowan and me every time he’s around.
By the time I get back to Koi Tower, I head straight to the kitchen, brewing a pot of peppermint tea to relax my racing mind, and then focusing on a good book to put my mind elsewhere for the night.
That entire plan is blown out of the water as soon as I step inside the building and see Rowan waiting in front of the elevator. I wasn’t expecting to run into him.
I was hoping I wouldn’t.
Well, that’s a lie. I was hoping I would, but I knew it would be bad if I did.
For two people who are supposed to be playing the roles of a head-over-heels romantic couple, we both seem to be trying hard to avoid the tension building between us.
“Hey,” Rowan says with a half-crooked smile as I glance up at the elevator floor numbers.
“Hey,” I return the simple greeting.
My mouth stays shut, but my thoughts are anything but quiet. He looks like he just came from a workout, his muscles taut beneath his shirt and a few beads of sweat still clinging to his brow. And now I’m wondering what the rest of him looks like when he’s hot, sweaty, and out of breath.
Oh my god—STOP.
The elevator saves me with a sharp ding as its doors open. I follow Rowan and step inside, noticing how he hesitates between pressing my floor and his as if he doesn’t really want to go back to his home quite yet.
I’ve honestly never really paid much attention to the panel inside the elevator before, but I do now. My eyes land on a button that looks like it’s a “hold,” and for a second, I wonder what would happen if I press it.
Rowan catches my eye and suppresses a grin.
“Afraid the elevator is going to get stuck?” he asks, knowing full well that’s not what I was just thinking in that moment. “I can assure you, it won’t. We don’t make buildings with cheap elevators.”
I glance up at the numbers changing as the elevator ascends, and I can’t help myself. I want to see what he’ll say.
“What if there was a power outage?” It’s an innocuous question on the surface.
“We have backup generators in place for that. Even if the power went out, the elevator wouldn’t stop running.” Rowan’s answer is factual, perhaps too factual, as if he’s making a concerted effort to keep it that way.
“What about if something else unexpected happened?”
Rowan’s brow raises, and instead of answering, he reaches his finger out and pushes the very elevator button that I was looking at before.
Instantly, the elevator lurches to a stop.
Since I wasn’t expecting it, I didn’t have my feet planted solidly underneath me. I lose my footing and stumble right into Rowan, pressing him up against the wall as his arms wrap around my waist to catch me and keep me from falling.
For a moment, there’s that deep uncertainty, that intense feeling that we’re both definitely pretending at something, but it’s not the thing we should be pretending at. Instead of performing fake feelings in front of an audience, real feelings take over in the privacy of this stalled elevator.
Rowan looks down at me, his face so close to mine that I can feel his breath against my forehead.
Our bodies are pressed tightly together, which is mostly my fault since I haven’t made a move to pull myself back onto my own two feet yet.
And when the rise and fall of his shoulders becomes a heaving, jagged progression of labored breathing, it’s all I can do to keep from pressing my mouth to his.
For a moment, I feel like he’s going to kiss me. And if he does, there’s not a damn thing that I will do to stop it.
“Leah,” he says with a pained expression flooding his eyes. “I’m not Kian.”
His words strike ice into the heated moment, and I feel almost as if I’ve somehow hurt him without even trying to.
“I know you’re not.” I’m still leaning against his chest, still not wanting to pull away. “I don’t see you as Kian at all. I see the same color hair, the same shade in your eyes, but that’s where the similarities end. I look at you, and I see Rowan.”
I can almost feel Rowan wrestle with himself.
His arms haven’t let go of me yet, and neither have his eyes. But despite the rising, palpable chemistry filling this elevator now, the kiss that I shouldn’t want never comes.
Rowan reaches one hand out to resume the elevator, still holding onto me until we reach my floor. As soon as the doors open again, he lets go.
“Take care, Leah,” he says with a soft, uncertain voice. “Have a good night.”