Chapter 6
There was no reason for Niko to be nervous. Everything had been going smoothly with the house so far, and even though Merritt hadn’t come to see it in person yet, he’d been sending her regular updates of his progress, so there shouldn’t be any big surprises.
Still, as soon as he got there in the morning, he was on edge, jerking his head up at any sudden noise, straining to figure out if he was imagining the sound of tires crunching on the gravel.
Finally, he put himself out of his misery by lugging his old paint-spattered boom box into the bathroom where he was laying tile and cranking up his Pure Disco compilation CD as loud as it could go.
Which was how, when Merritt finally did poke her head through the doorway, it scared him so badly he thought his stomach was about to eject itself through his mouth.
She held up her hands in surrender, laughing as he scrambled to turn the volume knob down.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I was calling your name, but I guess the music was too loud.”
“It’s okay.” He exhaled loudly, willing his pulse to return to normal—though now that she was here, that seemed unlikely.
A sly smile curled across her lips.
“I guess we’re even now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Now that we’ve both startled each other in bathrooms.”
He was confused for a moment, before remembering their first meeting. “Almost. I’d have to be naked for us to really be even.”
Fuck. Why had he said that? From the way her cheeks flushed and her eyes darted to the ground, he’d obviously crossed a line. He never wanted to be one of those creepy workmen, exploiting people’s trust after they’d let him into their homes. Especially his single women clients.
Actually, he didn’t even know if she was single. None of her rings looked like wedding or engagement rings, but she probably had someone back in California or something, waiting to move into this house as soon as Niko was finished.
He wasn’t sure why, but something about that thought made his stomach curdle.
She cleared her throat and took a step back, glancing around the living room as if seeing it for the first time. “Wow, you’ve really gotten a lot done in here. It looks incredible. The pictures don’t do it justice.”
He felt himself swell with pride. “Thanks. Let me show you the rest.”
Niko led her through the house, pointing out various details he thought she’d appreciate, suggesting options for things he still wasn’t sure about, and soaking up her compliments about what he’d already completed.
They found themselves back in the kitchen, discussing possible alternate configurations for the appliances. Merritt leaned against the island and crossed her arms, gazing into the dining room thoughtfully.
“I’m going to need a lot of furniture to fill this place. I got rid of most of mine when I moved in with…when I moved into my last place in LA,” she corrected.
Niko didn’t say anything, just squirreled away this new breadcrumb of information about her previous life, like he did all of them. Maybe one day she would feel comfortable enough to toss him a full slice.
She turned to him. “Do you know anyone who does custom pieces?”
At least that was an easy one. “Yeah. I do, actually. Nothing fancy, though.”
Her eyes flicked over him, appraising. “What don’t you do?” There was a shimmer of admiration in her voice, cut with something else—a little teasing, like she didn’t want to be impressed. Or didn’t want him to know she was. He chose to ignore it.
“I made a lot of the furniture in my house. I have some pictures, I think.” He pulled out his phone and began to scroll, before realizing. “Shit. That was my old phone.” He’d dropped it in a bucket of paint a couple of months ago, losing everything. Simon had helped him set up the cloud after that.
“That’s okay. I’d want to see them in person, anyway.”
Niko scrubbed his hand over his jaw. “Well, I’m just about done here. We could head over now if that works?”
She stared at him blankly. “To your house?”
A ripple of panic went through him. That’s what she’d implied, right? Was he being creepy again? Just hearing what he wanted to hear?
“…Yes? That’s how you’d…see them in person?” He spoke slowly, his eyes trained on her face, trying to detect where he’d gone wrong.
To his relief, she broke into a smile, a real one, though she quickly covered it with her hand. “Right. Of course. Sorry.” Her hand dropped back to her side again, the graceful arc of it mesmerizing him. “Now works. I could go now.”
“Great. Give me ten minutes. You can hang out here if you—”
“I’ll just wait in my car,” she interrupted, already heading toward the front door.
Twenty minutes later, Merritt pulled up to the curb behind Niko’s truck and turned off the engine.
Okay, maybe going over to his house was already crossing the line she’d literally just set for herself, but this was strictly business. She’d pop in, look at his furniture, and leave.
As she slammed her car door shut behind her, she realized she’d never given much thought to where he lived.
She knew affordable housing was scarce. But when they pulled up to the stately, charming three-story house, she realized she’d been overcorrecting, imagining a small apartment split among several roommates.
He led her into the kitchen, which was homey and earth-toned and endearingly cluttered. She immediately gravitated toward the table.
“You made this?” This time there was no attempt to hide her admiration behind irony as she ran her hands over it. It was made of reclaimed wood, the formerly rough texture smooth and polished, with smaller planks interlocking across the surface in an intricate pattern.
“Yeah.” He rested his hand on the edge of the table, directly in the path of hers. She stopped short of touching him and glanced up, just for a split second, before kneeling to inspect the legs.
“Where’d you get the wood?”
“Barn door.”
Merritt straightened back up. “How much would you charge for something like this?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Two hundred, maybe?”
She did a double take. “Two hundred?”
“What? Is that too much?”
“If this was in a store in LA, it would be going for at least ten times that. Or at a store here, even.” She shook her head, then met his eyes again, resting her hand back on the table. “It’s beautiful. Really.”
As soon as she did, he lifted his hand to gesture toward the living room. “I also made that chair, the coffee table, the end table, the TV stand…” He paused. “And my bed.”
She looked at him but didn’t say anything, pursing her lips. He looked right back.
Under any other circumstances, it would have been an obvious line. But he seemed hesitant to complete the invitation up to his room, and she wasn’t about to invite herself.
Finally, her curiosity won out. “Can I see it?”
“Sure.”
She followed him up the stairs, her eyes trained firmly on the spot between his shoulder blades, fighting the temptation to dip lower. When he pushed open the door, she felt her heart skip a beat in anticipation.
His room was sparse but cozy. The scent of him wrapped around her, clean laundry with a hint of musk. Her attention immediately went to the easel over by the window—currently empty, she noted with disappointment.
She suppressed the urge to go to his dresser, to examine the handful of photos stuffed in the edges of his mirror, and instead approached the bed.
It was almost too large for the room, covered with a rumpled, faded plaid bedspread somewhere between made and unmade.
She tentatively placed a hand on the carved wooden footboard and pushed. It didn’t budge.
“Sturdy,” she commented.
“Uh-huh. It’s pretty quiet.”
The air in the room seemed to thicken.
Her mind raced. She must have misheard him. There was no reason for him to bring up how quiet his bed was unless he wanted her to think about him fucking in it, think about him fucking her in it.
But of course that wasn’t what he meant, if that was even what he said. He was just trying to be a good salesman. It wasn’t his fault that was where her mind went, though it was, admittedly, a very compelling sales tactic.
She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, just brushed her thumb over the engraved border and murmured a little in the back of her throat.
Downstairs, the front door slammed, and they both looked up. Merritt’s eyes flicked to his, questioning.
“One of my housemates.”
“Right.”
Neither of them moved. A voice drifted upstairs, singsongy and playful. “Niiiiiko-laoooos…you up there? Wanna roll up?”
Niko raised his voice slightly, his eyes still fixed on Merritt’s. “Yeah, I’ll be down in a sec.”
He descended the stairs first, Merritt following behind him.
A lanky young man was already seated at the table, long legs outstretched, grinder in hand, rolling papers and lighter on a tray in front of him.
She was startled at first by how young he was before remembering that Crested Peak was a popular destination for recent college grads looking for a stopover before starting their real life—including Niko himself, once upon a time.
When he caught a glimpse of Merritt, his hands froze on the grinder, and he barked a short, surprised laugh. “Oh. It’s you.”
That kind of reaction could mean a lot of things.
Most people his age didn’t care very much about her unless they were superfans, and he seemed too bro-ey to fit the profile.
Plus, she had no idea what, if anything, Niko had told him about her—although she was suddenly desperate to find out.
“It’s me,” she responded, cool but not unfriendly.
Niko took the seat next to him, while Merritt stood behind an empty chair, draping her hands over the back. She tried to look relaxed, but inside she pulsed with nervous energy, ready to bolt the moment anyone made a sudden move.
“Merritt, this is my roommate Simon. Simon, this is Merritt. Remember, I told you I’m working on her house?”