Chapter 2
Rhett
Meeting Devon Blake.
-From Rhett’s June 10th notebook entry, where he writes down the most important thing that happened to him each day.
Devon’s navy eyes don’t even flicker with recognition as she extends her slender hand, introducing herself to me like she didn’t just have her tongue down my throat and those long, shapely legs wrapped around my torso a matter of hours ago.
“Rhett McCoy, nice to meet you,” I answer, searching her eyes for acknowledgment that this isn’t new information. I get nothing. Instead, she introduces me to Bea, a designer who works for her. I’m overwhelmingly relieved to know she’s okay, but more confused than before. After Devon ran from me last night, the last thing I expected was to find her on my jobsite this morning. She said she owned a business, and that it wasn’t going well, but she never said she was a designer.
“The living room is through here,” she says, leading us through the house. Early morning light shines through a wall of windows, lighting up each of her striking features. She looks amazing. Dark brown brows arch perfectly over her deep blue eyes. A straight nose, prominent cheeks, full peach-pink lips, and a narrow chin outline her striking, fair-skinned face. Her white-blonde hair is smooth and styled into loose waves exactly as it was last night. Gold earrings, necklaces, and a bracelet catch the sun as she moves through the room. Wide-legged khaki pants hug her hips and her fitted white shirt is just low enough I have fight myself not to stare. Who wears white on a construction site?
She looks like she got a full eight hours followed by a leisurely morning and even had time to stop for coffee. How? I barely got three hours. Once I found my damn pants, I ran through the country club’s grounds, retracing every step we took, trying to find her, trying to make sure she was safe. But she was gone. I must have finally passed out after lying in bed for hours worrying about her because I woke up to an alarm and a throbbing headache.
“This is the where the built-ins go,” Devon says, pointing to a long wall with a stone fireplace in the center. “They’ll start here—”
“And end here.” I point a wooden carpenter’s pencil to the correct place where the shelving will end.
Displeased at my interruption, she tilts her head, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips at me. Last night, I saw her fire, mostly directed at the guy she walked out on, but with me she was more open, a woman who desperately needed some fun in her life and rose to every challenge I could throw at her. Until she got scared and ran off. This morning, it’s like she’s put a wall up between us, and I don’t understand why.
I tap my chest, where folded papers stick out the top of my front pocket. “I’ve reviewed the plans.”
“The plans changed three times last week. Which ones are those?” she asks, moving toward me with an outstretched hand until she’s close enough that the scent of sweet peppermint and laundry fresh from the dryer wafts up to me. Where does she get off smelling so good? There’s still chlorine in my hair and pool water dried on my skin. “The plans. I’d like to check them.”
“Sure.” I pass them over, the feel of her skin when our fingers brush reminding me how smooth she felt last night. Again, her eyes give away nothing.
Alex, the general contractor who hired me for this job, sent the plans and elevations over yesterday morning. They’re some of the clearest and most thorough I’ve ever worked from. I even checked to see who made them, Friday West Interiors, which must be the name of her company.
“These are correct,” she says handing them back to me after reviewing, tone flat. “Any questions?”
Where the hell did you go last night? Why did you leave so suddenly? When can I see you again?I shake my head. “No, ma’am.”
She narrows her eyes, skeptical, but doesn’t say anything.
Bea, who would probably be considered tall for a woman if she weren’t standing next to Devon who has to be almost six feet, joins the conversation, pulling out her phone and nodding for me to do the same. “Let’s make sure you have our contact info in case anything comes up. Devon did all the work on these, so it’s best if you reach out to her. If you can’t get ahold of her, you can try me too.”
If Devon’s displeased, she doesn’t show it. “I’m going upstairs to check on the progress,” she says, boots echoing on the wood floors of the mid-construction house as she leaves the room. Pulling out a tape measure from my toolbox, I start double checking measurements and pencil marking the wall. It takes almost an hour of listening for those booted footsteps to return, but eventually she walks back through the living room with Bea on her way out the front door. I follow her, calling her name.
“Yes?” the word is clipped.
“I’ve got some questions,” I say.
Before Devon can answer, Bea interjects, “I’ll see you at the office later, angel.” She waves at me on her way out, saying how nice it was nice to meet me, a friendly opposite to Devon’s prickly demeanor.
Devon waits for the front door to close before facing me, “Have an issue with the design?”
I scoff, “You know what I have an issue with.”
Two guys from the crew working in the kitchen walk by, and Devon clenches her jaw, giving me a keep-your-mouth-shut glare.
“I’ll walk you out.” I hold the door open for her. She maintains her glare but nods and walks outside.
“You’ll have to leave room for expansion—” she starts.
“I was relieved to see you this morning.” I disregard her attempt at changing the subject by giving me basic advice about carpentry. “You worried me when you ran off last night and I didn’t have your number or any way to check on you.”
She furrows her brows, jutting her chin out accusingly before looking around the cul-de-sac, making sure no one else is around to hear. “I had to get home,” she says, far quieter than necessary.
“Bullshit,” I answer at a normal volume. “Tell me what I did.”
She sighs, like this is the most annoying conversation she’s ever been a part of. “It wasn’t about you.”
The urge to reach out and touch her, hold her hands in mine, force her to slow down and look at me is almost impossible to ignore. Where did she go last night? Physically or mentally. The woman I laughed with, listened to, got to kiss and hold is tucked away safely behind those navy eyes right now, and I’m dying to get her back out. “You were naked in my arms one moment and running scared the next. In what way is that not about me?”
“Keep your voice down,” she whispers as she stops in front of a gunmetal Lexus SUV. I step closer, backing her against her car door with my proximity. She tilts her chin up, finally looking me in the eyes.
“There, now only you can hear me,” I say quietly. “Tell me what happened.”
Most people look off to the side while they’re thinking of an answer. Not Devon, she stares at me for long moments, maybe trying to will me to back down. But I don’t. This intensity, her self-assured confidence is what attracted me to her in the first place, the way she put that washed up frat boy in his place. Try it, mama. Try to put me in my place.
“You’re a bad kisser,” she finally says, and the laugh that rises from my chest echoes throughout the cul-de-sac.
“Try again,” I say when I’ve regained my composure.
Her chest rises and falls on a frustrated breath. “I had a good time with you, but it wasn’t real. I needed to get back to reality.”
It’s not the whole truth. But it’s something.I shrug, “Next time we go out we’ll do something that suits your reality.”
“Being involved with you is what’s not realistic.” She doesn’t know me, but the last woman who did know me ended up saying the same thing. I try not to let it hurt. “You make me feel like—” She leaves me hanging, instead saying, “We are never going out again.” If she did know me, she’d realize what she just said only makes me want her more. I never back down from a challenge.
She’s not quick enough to hide her excited little gasp when I step closer, bringing our faces inches apart. “I wouldn’t be so sure, mama.” She wants me, and I will find out why she’s denying it.
“It’s up to me.” Her voice is steady. Face calm.
“It is up to you,” I agree. “And you won’t be able to stay away long.”
“I don’t date in our industry.” She stands up straighter. “Palm Springs is not a large market. We will be on projects together again. It’s inevitable.”
“You’re wrong.” Her face tightens at the words. She’s hiding the curious, flirtatious part of herself from me, but I doubt she realizes how easy it is to figure out the part she is willing to share. “You didn’t date in our industry until last night. Now you do.”
“I never agreed it was a date,” she argues, almost petulantly.
Lowering my voice, I ask, “Are you in the habit of getting naked with men you’re not even on dates with? You’re wilder than I thought.”
Her eyes widen and she looks toward the house.
“No one heard. I got you.” I whisper the same words that caused a hitch in her breath last night and get the same tempting reaction.
She shakes the moment off, her blonde hair settling around her shoulders. “You told me you were on vacation.”
Where did that come from?“I never said that.”
“Yes, you did. You said you were—” Her voice trails off when she realizes I’m right.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here as soon as you’re ready, Devon,” I say, taking a step back, so I’m no longer caging her in.
Devon takes a deep breath and shifts her leather planner from one hand to the other, reaching for her door handle. “Goodbye, Rhett.”
§
The search results for this address are a mess. Turbine Café, Voyeur Motors, Voyeur Café, Station 19, but it’s the address Bradley gave me. He and his wife just had a baby girl last year, and things have been tough for them, both financially as well as managing the workload of their home and family. He just got a second job bartending at this place that’s evidently also a coffee shop. The owners mentioned needing some custom tables built in a hurry—so here I am.
“Oh, good!” A short, bubbly woman comes out from behind the counter when I walk in. “You’re the carpenter, right? You look carpenter-ish.” She waves a hand in the direction of my gray shirt that’s likely covered in specs of sawdust. “I mean that as a compliment, by the way. You are, right?” she asks, her brown ponytail bouncing as she talks.
“I am,” I laugh, extending a hand.
She introduces herself as Allie and insists on making me a drink.
A stocky, dark gray pit bull with a thick white stripe running from her nose to her ears walks up to me and leans her heavy head against my leg. “Who’s this?” I ask, leaning down to pet the dog.
“Oh, did Betty find you?” Allie asks from inside a refrigerator.
“If she’s a sweet pit bull, then yes,” I laugh.
“That’s her. She’s an excellent judge of character, so that’s a good sign.” A good sign for what? The dog nuzzles her head into the palm of my hand. “Did they talk to you about the cabinets?” Allie asks, as she pulls a plastic cup off a tall stack.
“Not yet.” Who’s they?
“I’ll ask our designer to go over it with you.” The mention of a designer has my mind shifting to Devon. It’s been well over a week since I last saw her, long enough that the only reason I’ve seen Bea at the Cactus Street project and not her, has to be that she’s avoiding me. “She’s in my office,” Allie continues. “She should be out any second. Have you seen the plans for the tables?”
“No, ma’am.” I smile.
“Well shit. We’ve got lots to catch you up on. I have the plans. Gimme just a sec.” She pulls some papers from a stack on her back counter and sets them down with my drink on the counter. “I’ll go get her.”
After giving Betty a final pet, I lean on the counter to check out the plans. They’re meticulous and thorough, so it shouldn’t surprise me when I find Friday West Interiors in the bottom left. She’s here. Allie wasn’t just talking about a designer. A moment later, the leggy blonde I haven’t stopped thinking about since I first laid eyes on her emerges from the back room with Allie. She looks perfectly put together again today. Not a hair out of place and cream leather planner in hand. Something flashes in her navy eyes when she sees me, but it’s too quick for me to read.
Allie starts to introduce us for the third time, but Devon stops her, “We’re working on a project together. I know Rhett.” I’m half-surprised she didn’t want to keep pretending she doesn’t know me.
“Lucky you,” Allie smiles broadly at me. “Devon is my best friend in the whole wide world. She designed Turbine as it currently is,” she lifts her hands proudly referencing the coffee shop we’re standing in, “and just wait until you see everything she has planned for the remodel. She’s amazing, the actual best interior designer ever.” Devon smiles, wide and unrestrained at Allie’s compliments. I had thought Bea and Devon were an interesting pair, but Devon and Allie are an even more curious duo.
Devon’s friend goes to the register to help a customer, leaving her and I to go over the design. The tables are a fairly standard; four-legged, bar-height design, with a few well-designed functional details. The turnaround is quick, but I was already planning to prioritize the work when I thought it was just a favor to Bradley.
When I look up from taking notes on the plans, Devon is watching me with the same sincere, twilight gaze she held me captive with one night last week. “It’s good to see you again,” I say, keeping my volume low enough to avoid her friend’s attention.
Devon pulls back, icy demeanor sliding into place. “You’re doing a solid job at Cactus Street, so I trust you can handle this.”
I tap my pencil on the plans. “Mama, I can handle anything you throw at me.”
She levels me with a glare. “Why do you insist on calling me mama?”
My mouth spreads into a broad smile. “You’ll be calling me daddy soon enough. It’s only fair.”