Chapter Twenty-Seven
▲
Emerson and Almond are book three, by the way.
Poem
“Emerson Wright, I love you,” I declare, eyes wide as I take in the absolute wonder that is my home.
“This is incredible,” I gush. “Gracious, you can’t even tell there wasn’t a floor here last week!
And the walls! I can’t see the patches at all.
” I approach one of said walls, running my hand over its smooth, pale pink surface.
“You matched my paint,” I breathe. I whirl and drop, placing both hands on the firm, solid, existing floor.
“You guys are magical miracle workers. Look at this!”
Standing by the stairs, Emerson grins. “You’re satisfied?
” he asks. “The floors aren’t the same as what you had before, but we sprung for a hardwood we thought would look good with your furniture and decorations.
If it’s lighter than you want, we can restain it for you no problem. We’d just need a few more days.”
“It’s perfect,” I insist. “If you change a single thing, I’ll sue you.”
“How many times can you restain it before it starts costing you money outside of the special fund?” Fox asks, toeing at a board.
I stick my tongue out at him.
He huffs, and his ruffled feathers flash at me as his arms cross over the Blackwood Brew logo stretching across his chest.
“I live less than three minutes from you,” I remind him. “Not on the moon.”
“It might as well be the moon,” he grumbles.
I roll my eyes. “You’re being rather dramatic, don’t you think?
” Nevermind that I don’t love the distance being introduced, either, and am already turning cogs on how to get him to move in with me.
Shouldn’t take much—a flutter of my lashes, maybe.
But we all know I’m a drama princess. This sort of behavior is expected of me.
“I’m being incredibly dramatic,” Fox answers.
“Because this is an incredibly dramatic situation, wherein you’re leaving me for what?
Some hardwood floors? I have hardwood floors at the apartment.
” He pokes at the wall. “I have pink walls, too. And plumbing that’s never rebelled against me of its own accord. ”
Curiosity piqued, I perk. “Pink walls?” I ask. “Pink walls where?”
“I’ll show you if you stay with me another week,” he offers.
“Sold,” I agree. There’s only one room in the apartment that I still haven’t seen—Fox’s bedroom. It wouldn’t have taken much to sell me on an extended sleepover, even with the freezing nighttime temperatures, but a chance to see his mysterious bedroom? I am all the way sold.
He starts. “Just like that?” he asks. “That’s all it took?”
“Well, yeah.” Duh. “I want to be around you, Fox. I’m excited my house is fixed, but that doesn’t mean I’m excited to leave you any more than you’re excited to see me go.
” I sigh, shaking my head at the silly boy.
“Not to mention I really want to see what you’re hiding in your bedroom. My money is on something scandalous.”
He blushes, and suddenly eye contact is better made with the walls. “I’m not hiding anything,” he lies.
“Sure, buddy. We believe you.” I wink at Emerson as I stand.
“You don’t have to change a thing,” I tell him.
“Can I give you anything for this? Literally anything at all? My savings isn’t huge after all the renovations she needed when I first bought her, but I have a little bit, and my recent tips have added to it enough that I could afford to put at least some of it into the fund that I just depleted. ”
He waves me off. “Just enjoy your home,” he says. “Whenever you get back to it. That’s payment enough.”
Ugh. “I’ll find some way to repay you,” I tell him. “If not monetarily, then I’ll push so much business toward you that you won’t know what to do with it.”
“We’re the only construction company in town,” he says wryly. “How much more business could you possibly find us?”
That’s… fair enough. Still. “I’ll convince all of the DIYers to hire you instead,” I offer.
“There’s a whole market of them out there.
We just have to tap into it, make them feel incompetent and incapable, then wham, hit them with a referral.
A little light manipulation to pay back the goodness I’ve received. ”
“While the offer to manipulate on my behalf is sweet, it’s really not necessary. We get plenty of work, and we like being able to help. Take the boon, Po.”
I harrumph. “If I have to. But I’m going to be a little bad-tempered about it, if you don’t mind.”
“By all means,” he replies. “I’d love to see you trying to pitch a fit.”
Well. “I can be cranky,” I tell him. “Just talk to me before the clock strikes noon.”
“No one is talking to you before the clock strikes noon,” Fox interrupts. “Except for me.”
“Wow,” I breathe, captivated by the envy shade of green he’s turning. “Do that again,” I request. “Ten out of ten enjoyed.”
He huffs. “If you’re done, can we go back home? Being here is giving me the heebie-jeebies.”
I press my lips together in an effort not to laugh. An effort I lose, because this large, broad-shouldered, tattooed, certified grump did not just say the phrase heebie-jeebies. There’s no way.
“Shut up,” he grouches. “And don’t you say anything either.” He points to Emerson, who is winning his battle against mirth, unlike me.
Emerson’s hands raise in surrender. “I wasn’t going to,” he promises. “I, too, am getting the heebie-jeebies. Much heebie. Very jeebie.” He nods. “I totally agree.”
“And he’s not just saying that because he’s in love with your sister,” I assure Fox. “He really means it. A certified heebie-jeebie detector, this guy.”
Fox glares at both of us in turn, then spins on his heel and walks out the door, slamming it behind him.
“I already agreed to another week of sleepovers,” I say. “He doesn’t have to make more work for you.”
Eyeing the door, Emerson shrugs. “It looks fine to me, but I wouldn’t mind extra fixes. I’m waiting on Almond to get done with her last client, and until then I’m basically kicking rocks around.”
“You and Almond have a date?” I ask, flabbers ghasted. My bestie snags a date with her crush and doesn’t tell me about it? I’m crushed.
“Not exactly,” he hedges, and I re-inflate.
“Oh?” I ask, sniffing at the air. “Is that a scheme I smell?”
His lips twitch. “I’m just going to pop by to see if she can fix my hair for me. There’s a little unevenness in the back.” He turns around, and I cackle.
It’s not just uneven. It’s sabotaged. His gorgeous hair has an entire chunk taken out of the middle. “Did you hack at that yourself?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Not sure what happened,” he claims, cool as a lying cucumber. “But I know just who can fix it for me.”
I am so sure he does.
I tell him he can hang out and watch my TV if he wants until Almond is off work, then I leave my house giggling, thrilled for my friend. Catching sight of Fox leaning against his truck waiting for me, my giggles soften into a smile.
“You ready?” I ask.
He nods. “When you are.”
I reach him and stop, stretching up on my tiptoes to lay a kiss on his chin. “I’m always ready to be with you.”
His breath catches. “You make a man hope,” he mutters. “You dangerous thing.”
“It’s only fair,” I counter. “Since you make a woman hope, too.”
We stand there together, hoping, until a car rattles past and Fox shifts. “Let’s go home,” he murmurs, opening the door for me to climb across. I do, settling into the middle seat so that he can wrap his arm around me for the short drive.
Under his arm, cozy against his side, and full of hope for a life where I’m wanted so badly that three minutes away is too far a distance, I beam.