Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Lars turned a frown on him. “Way to be professional, Connor.”
“What?”
“This is Mateo and Connor.” Lars introduced the two new arrivals. “Like I told you, they’ll be helping me out today.”
“Hello,” I said with a smile.
Mateo was a handsome man in his forties with dark hair and brown skin. He gave me a brief nod before beginning to unload the truck. This was it; I’d at long last be rid of the gruesome gold wallpaper and brown shag carpet. Hallelujah.
“I moved as much stuff as I could into the basement.” I picked up the abandoned milk bowl. The cat bolted as soon as she heard new voices.
“Great,” said Lars. “We’ll deal with the rest. You heading out?”
“Got a meeting with a client then lunch with a friend.” My smile was the perfect balance of friendly and boundaries. I knew this because I’d practiced it in the mirror the night before. “Thought it would be best if I got out of your way.”
Connor strolled past me and headed into the house. That he managed to leer at my legs while balancing a variety of tools forever silenced the debate about men’s ability to multitask. Bless the little creep.
“Keep your eyes to yourself,” barked Lars.
Mateo shook his head and muttered something in Spanish.
“Sorry about Connor,” said Lars. “He’s the owner’s kid.”
I just nodded. “Better grab my bag and get going. I’ll be back before you finish for the day. If you need me for anything, you’ve got my number.”
Lars tipped his chin.
We hadn’t talked much after he received the call from the Ex yesterday. Which was fine. I needed to remember to keep my distance. The Ex wasn’t my first mistake. But I was determined that he’d be my last. And Lars was tainted by that association. It was best for everyone if we kept things on a professional level.
* * *
Aunt Susan’s house was in the heart of Ballard, an up-and-coming Seattle neighborhood with plenty of bars, restaurants, and cool little shops. There was a nice park nearby and plenty of trees. I liked going for walks, and working in cafes was a fun change of scenery.
I met with my client then joined Cleo at a place near the water. She wore a white denim outfit that complemented her dark skin. If I attempted that color, I’d have spilled something on myself within the first five minutes. Guaranteed. But Cleo was far more graceful than me. We ate fried oysters with a pea vine salad and semolina cake for dessert. Good food and company went a long way toward making up for the fact that my uterus not only chose violence this morning, but committed wholeheartedly to the cause. A couple of Advil didn’t hurt either. Once we established there’d been no update about the mystery divorce certificate, conversation moved on and I didn’t think of Lars once. Twice, maybe. But definitely not once.
Confusion was my predominant emotion when it came to Lars. He annoyed me, but he also made me laugh. What perplexed me the most, however, was how someone who seemed like a semidecent human most of the time could be best friends with someone like the Ex. A male for whom the term raging asshole had been created. Which raised the question of why I even dated him?
Lars and the Ex both had a lot of forward momentum. Lars with his plans to start his own business, and the Ex busy climbing the corporate ladder. He was all about getting that fancy condo downtown. I just never thought he’d try to upgrade me too. Guess the girl who was fun could easily turn into a distraction. Especially when you had your eye on the prize.
When I arrived home, Lars was sitting on the front steps waiting. A whole lot of tired, dusty, and sweaty, but he was smiling. Impossible not to smile back at him. “Hey.”
“You’re finished?” I asked, flustered. “You should have called me. I would have come home sooner.”
“The other guys just left. You’re fine.” He rose to his feet. “Let me take those.”
I handed over my grocery bags. “Thank you.”
“I think you’re going to like what we’ve done.”
I followed his broad back into the house. Whoa. The white walls of the living room were a bit battered and marked, but no longer covered by ugly gold-flecked wallpaper. Honey-colored wooden boards covered the floor instead of that insult of a carpet.
“It feels totally different,” I said, setting my purse down on the floor and turning in a slow circle. “Like there’s room to breathe.”
“We thought it was going to take a couple of days, but another job got postponed so we had extra help.” He placed the grocery bags on the dining room table. “You’re happy?”
“I’m happy.”
Without all of the dark colors and unfortunate patterns, the place seemed more open. I hadn’t kept much of the original furniture. Just the round mahogany midcentury dining table and chairs that had been a wedding gift to my grandparents. The old floral couch had been on the verge of collapse and the beds peaked sometime in the last century.