I kneel in front of him and flick the mud off Cleo’s head. “I’ll have to get with my grandfather about it this weekend. I know he was looking forward to working with you.”
The energy between us roars as it tries to find an equilibrium. I don’t dare look at him for fear of tilting the balance of power his way.
My throat goes dry as I wait for him to reply. Cleo’s fur hides the subtle shake of my hand. It’s not a nervous vibration pulsing through my veins, but more of a vigorous surge of adrenaline. An anticipation. The response to a curious suspense.
Where is this going? What will he say? I have no idea, but I’m dying to find out.
“Granddad mentioned before that if things didn’t work out with you that he could just use Moss and Oak—his regular architects,” I say, looking up at him.
“Their business isn’t in home design. It’s in commercial construction.”
I stand and swear I see a wave of relief flash through his eyes.
“There’s a new guy, Johan I think it is, who focuses on homes,” I say. “Granddad said we’d work really well together.”
This is news to Wade. It’s also not what he wants to hear.
A dark shadow passes across his face as his arms drop to his side. He shoves off the bench and stands tall as if he’s just now giving this conversation his undivided attention.
I lick my lips. “I’ve heard Johan has a lot of time to focus on my needs.”
“I bet he does.”
Wade’s voice is tense. His face, though, is passive for the most part. He stares at me like he’s trying to work something out, but I’m not sure if he’s annoyed by my declaration or if he’s bored with the conversation.
I tug on Cleo’s leash. “We should be going.”
“You do realize how personal it can be to design your home with someone, right?” he asks as I turn to go.
I smile before I face him again. Glancing over my shoulder, I lift a brow. “I figured.”
“Your architect needs to know how you’re going to use your space. What you value. The things in life you prioritize.” He stands slightly taller. “They need to know your dreams.”
This feels like a warning. It sounds like he’s projecting that Johan can’t do all of those things.
Is he implying that he can?
But as I stand in front of Wade and feel the weight of his gaze and consider being vulnerable with him—vulnerable enough to work together on this level—every cell in my body misfires.
It’s overwhelming. The mere idea makes me want to run and hide. But, at the same time, a strange sense of excitement, of possibility—of completing this process with Wade Mason—feels like the best solution.
“I guess Johan and I are going to become great friends then,” I say. I throw in a shrug that I hope looks apathetic because, under my clothes, I’m sweating. “Good talk. Thanks for the tips.”
“You are impossible.”
I smirk. “You are difficult.”
Cleo barks. We both ignore her. Instead, we eye one another as though we’re in a standoff in the Old West.
It’s Wade’s turn to lick his lips. “I can design a house a hundred times greater than anything Johan can even imagine.”
So Wade has a competitive streak? This should be fun.
“Can and will are two very different words, Mr. Mason.”
“They most definitely are.”
“You say you can. Johan says he will. I like do-ers.”
The corner of his mouth flicks toward the sky in something that resembles a mixture of a grin and a smirk. It makes my knees go weak, and I struggle to stay in control.
If I’m even in control. I’m not sure anymore.
“It’s a good thing I can do things then, isn’t it?” he asks.
“It would be if it mattered.” I smile. “At the moment, you’re just an architect who made a very weak first impression.”
His eyes narrow. “Stop lying.”
“Who? Me?”
“Yes, you.”
He takes a step toward me, effectively cutting the distance between us in half. The energy rippling off his body is enough to render me speechless.
My blood pours through my body, and waves of his cologne wash over my senses. I barely remember to hold tight to Cleo’s leash as I lose myself in the depth of his green eyes.
“You know I didn’t make a weak first impression,” he says, his voice low. “You know that if I told you that I could fit you on my schedule that you’d be there on time …. ready and willing.”
I lift my chin. “And you know that if I said that I would relinquish control … you’d be all over it.”
I actually don’t know if that’s true. What I do know is that I’m playing with fire.
He sucks in a deep breath, running his tongue around the inside of his cheek. I hold my breath and wait for him to volley something back.
Finally, he sighs.
“I have an opening Monday at four o’clock,” he says.
“Not in your office.”
“Where?”
I think quickly. “Hillary’s House. Google it.”
He pauses before extending his hand. I pause even longer before giving him mine.
The contact of our palms together sends a ripple of goose bumps across my flesh. It also sparks something in his eyes that makes them two shades darker.
“I’ll see you Monday,” he says, letting go of my hand.
“See you then.”
He walks away like nothing of importance just happened.
I watch him like it did.
SIX
WADE
“What is this? A daycare?” I ask as I shut the door to Boone’s office.
“Wadeeeeeeeeee,” Rosie screeches before launching herself at me. I buckle from the force. She attaches herself to my leg by sitting on my foot and wrapping her limbs around my shin.
Do I have a sign on my head asking to be jumped on today?
I lift my gaze to Boone. He has the audacity to grin.
“I love you, Wade,” Rosie says, pressing her cheek against my knee. Her eyes focus on me so intently that it makes me itch. “I just love you so much.”
“That’s … nice.” I glare at Boone and then at Holt. “I thought you guys were running a reputable company over here?”
Holt laughs. I want to tell him that he’s getting soft in his old age, but I don’t bother. He’ll just laugh even more, and that will extend my time here.
“Boone … can you get your kid?” I shake my leg, but it only makes Rosie giggle. “You’re going to have to let go of me at some point, you know.”
She shakes her head. Each swipe to a side causes her forehead to thump against my shin. It can’t feel good.
“Wade?” Rosie asks.
I look down at her. I would never admit this to anyone, but she’s actually kind of cute when she’s not covered in chocolate or sticky. She also has an affinity for me, and I have to give her credit for that. At barely five years old, she can tell which one of us is the one to buddy up to—me.
“What, Rosie?” I ask, sighing.
“Will you marry me someday?”
I reach down and try to pry her off my leg. She fights me, protesting both verbally and by fisting the fabric of my pants in her little hands.
“Rosie,” I say through clenched teeth. “I can’t marry you because I’m your uncle. That’s illegal in every state. Also, you’re five.”
“But I’ll be bigger someday!”