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.