“Okay, hon. Take care.”
“Love you. Bye.” I hung up and set the phone on the counter. Then turned it to silent. Then facedown.
I answered the front door, not to IKEA deliverymen, but to Jonah. My face broke out in a huge smile as if I hadn’t just seen him two days before, and the blood rushed to my cheeks.
Jeez, get a grip.
He looked handsome as hell in simple jeans and a dark green t-shirt. He stood with his hands jammed in the front pockets of his jeans, a bemused look on his face.
“You’re not my couch,” I said, feigning confusion.
“Not since last I checked. But speaking of bulky household furnishings, I got a very interesting delivery yesterday,” he said, rocking back on his heels.
“Did you?”
“I did. You wouldn’t know anything about an expensive-as-hell-Sleep-Number-adjustable-state-of-the-art-remote-controlled-mega—bed I found on my doorstep would you?”
I pretended to be alarmed. “On your doorstep? God, I hope not. That bed sounds awesome. I would’ve thought it’d come with actual people to set it up.”
“Oh, it did. A whole team of technicians who were ‘under orders’ to not take no for an answer.” He sighed and shook his head, his expression turning grave. “Kace, it’s too much. Too expensive. You didn’t need to do that.”
“Yes, I did,” I said. “I wouldn’t have quit the band if you hadn’t given me a place to crash and get my head on straight. This is my thank you.” I planted one hand on my hip. “Are you going to stand in the door all afternoon? You’re letting in all that godawful heat.”
Jonah stared at me a moment longer, eyes narrowed.
I stared back. “What?”
“I’m debating whether it’ll do any good to argue with you.”
“It won’t,” I said. “In or out? You’re like a goddamn cat.”
He relented with a small laugh and a shake of his head, and bent to pick up something from the ground next to him. “So, this is your house-warming present, of which I was quite proud until you sent me Mega-Bed.” He arched a brow. “I should’ve made you a damn chandelier.”
I ignored his sarcasm, too busy staring at the beautiful lamp in his hands. It was two lamps, actually, made from square-shaped, antique amber whiskey bottles. The bottom had been cut out of each, and oblong, Edison light bulbs were attached to the neck inside. The cords came out the bottlenecks and were woven through small links of a wrought-iron chain that connected the two lamps as a pair.
“Oh my God.” I stared at the lights, then at him. “They’re beautiful. You made these? What am I saying? Of course you did.”
“Want to test them out?”
I bit my lip, glancing around. “I don’t know where… Oh, the balcony.”
We went to the sliding glass door that led to my tiny balcony overlooking the street. “I plan to have a sitting area out here. Potted plants and a little chair and table to have coffee in the morning.”
Jonah gave me a look. “You? In this heat?”
“I need to get used to it. No one likes someone who bitches about the weather every other minute.”
“You got that right,” he muttered.
I gave him a little shove toward the balcony door. “Out. Lights. Hang.”
He strung up the whiskey bottle lamps on two plant hooks—one slightly lower than the other—and plugged them into a covered, outdoor socket. Lit from within, the amber glass glowed as if still filled with whiskey.
“They’re gorgeous,” I said. “I can’t wait to see them at night.” I glanced up at him beside me. “Now I have two Jonah Fletcher originals. I won’t have to work at Caesar’s after all. EBay, here I come.”
His eyes rolled. “I wouldn’t put in your two-week notice just yet.”
“I’d never part with them anyway. But I think it’s only a matter of time before the world learns how talented you are.”
He looked down at me. “I could say the same about you.”
The air thickened between us, and his brown eyes were soft. When his eyes held mine like this, I felt like he was looking down deep, to a place I rarely examined myself, but where I might have a good song lurking if I did.
The seconds ticked. I was supposed to look away but I didn’t look away and neither did he, until a passing car screeched at a red light, the sound tearing the moment. Jonah jammed his hands in his pocket and my eyes roved for something to look at besides him.
“So, the whiskey bottles,” I said, nodding at the lights. “Are you repurposing my bad habits?”
He smiled. “No, just a friendly reminder.”
“Of what?”
“That you can find beauty everywhere, even in the things that scare you the most.”
A warmth spread in my chest, and I almost teased him for being deep, but my phone call with Lola came back to me, and how she’d voiced what actually scared me the most: being lost in the dark.
I turned my eyes to my new lamps, then to the man who made them. Lola’s wrong. Somehow, some way, his lights will stay on and I’ll never be lost in the dark.