Except it might hurt my feelings a little.
“It’s not that at all. I’m usually working near here anyway, so this isn’t out of my way.” He sighs and wipes his hand down his handsome face, and then he pins me in that whiskey-gold gaze of his. “Okay, I’ve been wanting to ask you to come to the house and give me some help. I want to spend the day with you tomorrow, if you’re up for it.”
“Okay.” I frown up at him, completely confused. “Why does that make you mad?”
“Because I’m fucking nervous as hell, and I don’t get nervous, Callie.” He chuckles and paces away two steps and then back again. “Because I don’t know how you’ll take it when I ask, and I really just want to enjoy your company in my house tomorrow. That simple.”
“Sounds good,” I reply with a smile. “Is ten in the morning okay? Given how late it is now, I’d like to get a little sleep.”
“That works,” he replies and sighs, and then breaks out into a laugh. “That was way easier than I thought it was going to be. I thought I’d have to really do some fast talking.”
“I’ve wanted to get my hands on your house since I first saw it,” I remind him. I’ve wanted to get my hands on you since I first saw you too.
Damn Declan for being so damn hot.
“Well, there are two rooms that I don’t know what to do with, and I figure you’ll have some ideas.” He opens my door as we approach my car, and I lower myself inside before I do something stupid like lean in and kiss him.
We’re friends.
“I’ll come up with something awesome,” I assure him. “See you tomorrow morning.”
***
Declan opens the door at exactly ten o’clock sharp and my mouth goes dry. Why, for the love of the baby Jesus, is he shirtless?
“Are you early?” he asks, eyeing the coffees in my hands and the bag full of bagels and cream cheese. “And is that food?”
“No and yes,” I reply and shove past him before I start to drool. “I’m right on time. And this is breakfast.” He follows me into the kitchen and reaches out to help me, but I wave him away. “Shouldn’t you go put a shirt on?”
Please, God, go put a fucking shirt on.
“You don’t like me like this?” he asks with a teasing smile. When I simply stare at him, he shrugs. “Fine. I’ll be right back.”
As he jogs up the stairs, two at a time, I divvy up the bagels and coffees, and lean against the island counter as I nibble my plain bagel with jalape?o cream cheese and give myself a pep talk to forget Declan’s almost nakedness.
He’s a friend. Just a friend. You’ve seen him shirtless before. Get over it.
“It smells great,” he says as he rejoins me, in a flannel button-down this time, and digs in to his bagel. “Sorry, I overslept.”
“It’s okay.” I can’t help but watch his jaw work as he chews, the muscles flexing in his neck, and I wish with all my heart that I’d worn underwear.
So much for that pep talk.
“So, what rooms do you want to work on?” I ask to distract myself.
“I’ll show you,” he replies as we both finish our food. We grab our coffees and walk into a series of small, awkward rooms on the first floor. They’ve been closed up, so they smell a little musty. There’s carpet—yellow shag—that needs to come up. “I have no idea what to do with these three rooms.”
“What’s on the other side of this wall?” I ask, turning a circle.
“The kitchen.”
I turn my back to the wall facing the kitchen and survey the windows to the back and side yards. “These were probably butlers' quarters back in the day,” I mutter and chew my lip as I think. “Do you have much of a pantry in the kitchen?”