Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Dara
“And that’s why I’m never, ever having kids.”
My off-the-cuff statement causes my best friend, Rusti Jameson, to laugh. Her shoulder bumps mine as we sit side by side on my couch and share a pint of ice cream.
“I mean it,” I say, thinking my new kid-free stance all the way through. “They’re so much work. Complicated. And gross.”
“You can’t rule out having children because one kid puked in your mouth.”
I dig my spoon into the chocolate chip mint container and free a chunk of chocolate. “Actually, I can. You would too if you tasted sweet potatoes two weeks later at the most unsuspecting times because some little cherub baby projectile vomited practically down your throat.”
Rusti gags. “Stop it. Stop it right now.”
I laugh and shove the spoon in my mouth.
“Maybe the problem is your subjects,” Rusti offers, shaking her head as if the imagery I painted is still in her brain.
“Maybe you should stop taking pictures of babies and focus on … firefighters.” Her eyes light up as she tosses a thick black braid over her shoulder.
“Think about it. Less drool, more body oil. Makes sense to me.”
I toss her a weighted look. “That’s great in theory. But have you ever seen a firefighter in real life—like, you’ve personally laid eyes on him—who’s nearly as hot as the ones on the calendars?” I scoop my spoon in the ice cream again. “The answer is no. No, you have not.”
Rusti flops back against my sequined throw pillows with her spoon hanging out of her mouth.
“They don’t exist,” I say. “Think about it. They can’t exist. It would be a public hazard. There would be women all over the world setting fires just to have a big red truck show up with muscle-bound hotties and their big hoses.”
I wiggle my brows, making my friend laugh again.
“What about men who chop wood?” she asks.
“Lumberjacks?”
She shrugs. “I think. I mean, lumberjack doesn’t sound sexy, but have you seen those guys on TikTok? Hello.”
With a giggle, I fall back next to her, squishing the pillows underneath me.
“Lumberjacks have modernized,” Rusti says, running the spoon along her bottom lip. “They’re not all red-and-black-plaid flannel with Paul Bunyan vibes. Could be a new niche.”
“We’d have to find out where the lumberjacks hang out, and I’m not tromping around the woodlands.”
“Eh. Good point. Maybe you should stick to babies and weddings.”
I hum in agreement because she’s right. That’s where the money is. That’s not where my heart is, but my heart doesn’t pay the bills.
Rusti leans her head on my shoulder and yawns. “I’m never going to be able to stay awake tonight, and I don’t get off work until eleven.”
“If you get too sleepy, call me, and I’ll come in and chill at the bar and throw ice at you.”
She snorts. “That’s so nice of you.”
We sit quietly with the ice cream slowly melting between us. I should feel more compelled to take it to the kitchen than I do. I’ll blame that on Wade Mason.
What the hell happened today?
I bite my lip and try not to smile as I think back on the time we spent together.
And his grumpiness.
And his lips.
And the way he tried to get me to crumple under his stare and wither against his words.
Damn.
It’s only when Rusti jabs me in the side with her elbow do I realize that she’s raised her head and is looking at me.
“What?” I ask, my cheeks flushing at having been caught thinking about the handsome architect.
“Don’t what me, Dara.”
Suddenly, the ice cream getting moved to the kitchen is of the utmost importance. I grab it and climb to my feet.
“Don’t walk away from me,” Rusti says, following me into the kitchen. “Now, I really want to know.”
It’s my fault she’s so curious. I didn’t play this off very well, and I always tell her everything that’s going on in my life. We’ve been best friends for six years. That’s how it works. She’s seen me through some great times … and some very hard ones too.
But I don’t know how to tell her about Wade. Not that there’s anything to tell, really, but this whole house-building topic in and of itself makes Rusti very opinionated. Throwing Wade into the mix will only make her more … just more.
The ice cream is nearly empty, so I toss the container in the trash. And then, after taking a deep breath, I look up at Rusti.
“I had an appointment with the architect today,” I say.
She climbs up onto a barstool. “Okay. I’m liking this. I’m liking this.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, you would’ve really liked it if you would’ve been at the meeting.”
“Go on.”
I walk away from her and go to the refrigerator. I take out two bottles of water and hand one to Rusti.
“The architect my grandfather chose is Wade Mason,” I say.
She sets the bottle in front of her. “Who is that?”
“I had a class with him at Georgia Tech. We were partners.”
She lifts a brow.
I start to grin. “He’s kind of a dick. Definitely a control freak. Mysterious.” My grin grows wider. “Tall. Dark. Ridiculously handsome.”
Rusti snorts. “Got it. He’s your catnip.”
My laughter barrels through the room.
“You’re screwed, my friend,” Rusti says, laughing too. “I don’t need to know anything else. Picture fully painted.”
I lean against the counter and try not to melt faster than the ice cream.
“He had on these black pants that hugged his ass.” I shiver. “A crisp white button-down shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows.”
“That’s it. Now I’m screwed too.” Rusti shakes her head, her blue eyes shining with humor. “If you tell me that he had a tattoo peeking out of that shirt, I’ll fight you for him.”
“I think he’s too …” I try to find the right word to describe what I mean but come up empty-handed. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s too serious to have a tattoo.”
She makes a face.
“I could be wrong,” I say, holding out my hands. “I didn’t get a full-body shot, you know?”
“But there are plans for that, right?”
I sigh, my shoulders dipping as I pull away from the counter. I walk around Rusti and sit next to her, noting the vase of sunflowers that have seen better days.
As I get settled on the stool, I think about her question.
“Dara?”
“I don’t know,” I say, staring out the window on the other side of the kitchen. “We kind of left things at an impasse.”
“Why? Clearly, you’re into him, and there’s not a guy on the face of the planet who wouldn’t be into you.”
I smile at her. “You are being too nice.”
She rolls her eyes. “Also, he’s the guy your granddaddy hired to build you the house of your dreams. I’m not seeing the problem here.”
Rusti might not see the problem, but she also wasn’t in that room today.
There was an intensity between us, a fire in Wade’s eyes when he looked at me—one I could feel in my core but couldn’t quite read.
He reminds me of the time I was driving to Atlanta for a Tennessee Arrows baseball game because my crush, Lincoln Landry, was playing.
It was raining, and the semitrucks had created so much smog that it was like oil on my windshield.
I could see through it, just not clearly—not enough to make out a brake light from a taillight.
I had to slow down and get a hotel room until things cleared up.
“I need to get a hotel room,” I say without realizing that Rusti wasn’t privy to my thoughts.
She slow blinks.
I shake my head. “Let me try this again—”
“Hey, I’m not judging you. Want me to get you guys one? An all-nighter or one that takes hourly customers.”
“What? No!” I laugh. “What are you—? That’s not what I meant.”
She laughs. “I know. Continue.”
“I just mean that I’m not sure if we’re even going to work together. Things were going well, and then—boom. He was like, ‘I’m all out of time. You can think about this and call my secretary to see if I’m available again,’ and … I don’t know what that was all about.”
“That’s odd.”
“You’re telling me.”
Rusti’s phone rings, and she takes it out of her pocket. I can tell by the look on her face that it’s her boss. She answers it with a look like she’s being tortured.
I get up and mosey into the living room while she tries to explain where a jar of mushrooms is in the storeroom. As she gets into the specifics, my brain floats back to Mason Architecture and this whole house situation.
“Sometimes, it’s a blessing, and sometimes, it’s a curse,” I whisper to the vacant room.
In some ways, I think it would be easier to work with someone new, an architect I absolutely don’t know. This project has the potential to get emotional for me, and having some third party who doesn’t know me or my grandfather from a hole in the wall might be the best answer for everyone.
But something about that setup feels like most everything else in my life—lonely.
It feels like there’s no potential for laughs or long conversations about where the best spot is to put the window seat that I’ve wanted since the third grade or which direction my bedroom should face so that I can see the sun rise from my bed.
Even though Wade certainly has the potential to be a pain in the ass, working with him at least seems … exciting. It gets my blood pumping—even if it’s for the wrong reasons.
“Sorry,” Rusti says, coming into the room. “You’d think the guy who owns the damn place would know where things are. He should pay me more.”
“Yes, he should. Want me to come by tonight and tell him that?”
She grins. “No, but thank you for the offer.”
“Anytime.”
“I need to get down there before they just call me again looking for something else. It would totally help if the day shift stocked everything like they’re supposed to.”
I grin. “Want me to come tell them that?”
Rusti laughs. “So, are we working with Catnip?”
“We don’t know.”
“Figures. But I vote yes if for nothing else so I can meet him.” She picks up her bag off the floor next to the sofa. “What are you doing this weekend? Want to go to Xavier Park and help me walk Cleo? We could grab a sandwich and people watch after.”
I fake cry.
“Come on,” she says. “Cleo loves you.”
“Cleo peed on me the last time she saw me. She’s a menace.”
“She’s sweet.” Rusti gives me a look as she makes her way to the door. “So, yes to Xavier Park on Saturday afternoon?”
I rearrange the pillows we knocked over earlier. “I have a quick photo session in the morning, but I can meet you around one. I vote without your Jack Russell terrier, but I’ll be there regardless.”
She pulls the door open. “Perfect. See you then unless you come by tonight.”
“I’ll let you know about that. I might be in bed by the time it’s officially tonight.”
“In bed with visions of a hot architect …?”
Laughing, I pick up a pillow and toss it at her. It hits the back of the door as it swings shut.
While the house feels distinctly quiet without Rusti, my head is unmistakably loud.
Every clashing, thorny emotion that swirls inside me on a daily basis picks up speed. It’s as if my feelings have seats on a Ferris wheel, and I have to wait and see which one will get off and take precedence this time.
Because they all exist. They all matter. They’re all relevant.
“I just wish you were here to help me work through this, Mom.”
I give myself a minute to miss her, to mourn the loss that blindsided me over a year ago. To grieve the loss of the only person who ever loved me for me without expecting anything in return.
And then, because I’m my mother’s daughter, I pick myself up and dust myself off. I might not know what to do with so many things in my life—well, apart from my photography business—but I’ll figure it out.
But will I figure it out by calling Wade Mason’s office or letting him come to me?
I shrug, a smile playing on my lips, and head to my office to edit pictures.