“How can I help? Do you want me to send you pictures of the different samples they bring by? Or I can videoconference you in.”
He pauses. “You’re making me feel like an even bigger asshole.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m creating more work for you. Tell me you’ll see me when I get back and dust me off your plate. Instead, you’re being a sweetheart.”
“I’m just doing my job.”
He pauses again. “I’ve already left a message for the contractor regarding the floors. I want the tiles that look like slate, and as for the countertops, they didn’t have a selection for those when I called, but you can choose them. I don’t know how difficult it will be to talk with you, so just pick whatever you like most.”
This time when my heart accelerates, it’s not because of hearing his voice but from panic. “I’ll send you pictures.”
“No. Just pick what you like.”
“You might hate what I like.”
“I won’t.”
“You’re forgetting that I have zero experience with this. You should have Chelsea choose.”
“Brooke. Pick the damn countertop. Whatever you choose will be fine.”
“I don’t want fine. I don’t work eighty hours a week for fine. I want it to wow you.”
There’s a quiet chuckle from Levi’s end. “In a different context, those words would have me turning my car around.”
My cheeks heat, and my thoughts, which have been wandering all morning, struggling to remain focused on any one thing, stop with the realization of his words. He’s flirting with me.
Did he think I was flirting with him?
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be in New York. I’m hoping it’s only a day or two, but it’s tough to say without being able to see what’s going on. My mother’s dramatic, but my father is melodramatic. He always believes he’s a step away from dying.”
Disappointment chills my belly. I’d intentionally made our appointment for today so I could have a couple of days without seeing him in order to clear my mind—now I’m regretting it. “Don’t worry about work. I’ll contact the vendors on the project and hold their feet to the fire.”
“You have enough on your plate. You don’t need to worry about them.”
“Trust me, this is the one aspect of your grand opening that I’m comfortable and efficient with.” I jot a note down to look them all up, smiling as he laughs.
“What are your plans for the rest of the week?”
I glance at my calendar, the disappointment spreading as I slouch back in my chair. “It’s a busy week. I have a wedding Saturday, and the week leading up is always a little chaotic. There’s a lot of last-minute changes and speculation that takes place in these last couple of days.”
“So, it might be a good time for me to leave town?”
“I would have made time.” I would have sacrificed sleep.
Levi makes a sound that sounds too much like a groan.
Was I flirting?
I would have told any other client the same thing … right? Did my tone change? Did my intent?
I swipe a hand across my face, tugging at my lower lids.
“If you have the time to contact me today with which countertop you choose, we can select a paint color and get that sent over. Then we’ll see where things are. The lights are supposed to be installed tomorrow, and all the plumbing and sound equipment should be ready. Things are moving along.” The way he can navigate through emotions like it’s a high-speed chase leaves me dazed. I’m still stuck on him mentioning he’d turn the car around and considering trying to utter the words that might make him do that.
“I’ve also put together a brief menu. It’s small, but I think it fits the area. Everything’s a little more advanced with flavors but still simple, which has sort of become the theme of this place: simple and expensive.”
“Now you just need to charge each car forty bucks to park, and it will definitely feel like downtown.”
He laughs. “It would probably make some even more inclined to come.” He breathes a sigh. “I’m parking now. Like I said, this will hopefully be short, but if you need anything in the time that I’m gone, call me. Day or night.”
“I will.”
“And, Brooke…” He pauses, and my heart trips over reason and sense and then itself as I lean forward. “I’m really sorry again for cancelling on you. I was looking forward to seeing you this afternoon.”
“We’ll make it happen soon. I hope your dad’s well.”
And that you can come back really, really, really quickly.
“I’ll talk to you soon.” There’s a hesitance in his voice that I feel in my chest as well. Neither of us seems entirely certain of this conversation or how to properly end it, so I do us both a favor and do it swiftly.
“Have a safe trip. I’ll call you this afternoon.” I hang up.
“Brooke!” I jerk my chin up at the high-pitched tone of Catherine as she breezes into my office, a navy pantsuit elongating her petite features. She’s smiling. In ten years of working for her, I can’t recall a morning she’s rushed into my office with excitement rather than news of something that’s irritating her.
“My friend with the Herald just called. She has been following this blog her friend told her about, and she couldn’t find the woman anywhere. So, she sent me a picture and called me, asking if I might know who it was since I do so many events, and it was you! I didn’t know you were writing a blog!” She leans her thigh against my desk.
My mouth goes dry. I know I didn’t mention Levi’s name or add any pictures of him; however, I don’t doubt Catherine could use deductive reasoning and realize it was him I went to the baseball game with. I nod. “It’s new.” My head shakes as thoughts slowly percolate past my panic. “I’m not sure how she would have found it. It’s really not very…”
“Not very what?”
“Anything. It’s tiny, and I just … talk.”
“She said you’re inspiring and teaching women to take charge of their lives and try new things.”
I shake my head again, this time more firmly. “No. I’m not trying to teach anything. I’m just sharing my own experiences.”
Catherine smiles. “She was really interested to learn more. I gave her your number, so you’ll probably be hearing from her.” Catherine leaves before I can ask her why.
I pull out my phone, searching for sanity as I text Felicity.
Me: Do not freak out. This is not a bragging message. This is an SOS message.
Felicity: …
Me: Supposedly the Herald called Catherine, asking if they knew the woman who’s writing Tales of Being Single.
Felicity: As in your blog Tales of Being Single?
Me: Yeah…
Felicity: WHAAAAAAT!?
Me: She gave them my number.
My phone rings as I’m working to type out my next message, and a picture of Felicity, Theo, and Gemma that I took this weekend appears across my screen.
“I told you, you can’t freak out.”
“Books! The freaking Herald! I’m freaking out. It’s too late.”
“I don’t understand why they’re looking for me. Or why they’re even looking at my blog. How did they even find it? I mean, I’m not doing keywords or any of the fancy stuff.”
“Word of mouth. I’ve been sharing it with everyone I know. I’m sure the yoga studio is sharing it since you featured them, and so is Cara with her pottery studio.”
“But it makes no sense! It’s an online journal, for all intents and purposes.”
“I don’t understand why you’re panicking.”
“Because I started this for fun. I don’t even know why I considered sharing it. Maybe a small part of me had just hoped that Gabe would find it and he’d see that I was fine. That I was moving on and didn’t need him.”
“Who cares what it was initially intended for. If others are finding it helpful or inspirational, that’s great.”
/> “I don’t want to be a self-help book.”
“Books. Breathe. You don’t even know what they’re going to say.”
I take a deep breath in through my nose. “Levi had to fly to New York this morning.”
“Is that why you’re so stressed?”
“I don’t know. I might have to find a book to read on how to flirt as an adult.”
She laughs. “Yeah, but once you master flirting, you’re still going to be questioning each of his reactions. Good thing you brought all those books with you.”
I close my eyes and lean back in my chair. “I’ve been thinking a lot about Levi, and I think after the grand opening, assuming things remain as they are, I’m going to ask him out.”
“Really?”
“I figure these next few weeks will be a great test to discover what kind of person he is. We’ll have to work together; there will be stress, deadlines, distractions…”
“What about Catherine?”
I sigh. “I’m not sure yet. Maybe I can talk to her first or with him? I don’t know. I mean, this is assuming that he still likes me after all is said and done as well. You know?”
“It’s verging on being too logical, but I’m proud of you, Books. I’m ready for details now, but if you want to wait, then I respect that.”
“I’m so glad I have your approval.”
She snickers. “Don’t get smart with me.”
I chuckle, appreciating the calmness Felicity brings me even when we’re miles apart. “I have to go. I have to measure lengths of ribbon for the chairs because I’ll be damned if this wedding looks like a Halloween party. I am adding class one way or another. Then I have to go to Levi’s new bar and meet with some contractors.”
“If you need anything, Theo and I will be home all day.”
“Wait,” I say, sitting forward. “Your appointment. Remind me when it is.”
“Next Friday.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“Won’t you be too busy?”
“Not for you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is you. I will always make time for you.”
“It’s at ten.”
I scroll through my calendar and flinch when I see I have an appointment at the same time. I make a note to reschedule and fill in the space. “Perfect. I’m booking you now.”
“I love you. Thank you for doing this.”
“If you want me to watch Theo and you have Dan go, I can do that as well.”
“Gemma is off next Friday. I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Okay.”
“Let me know if the Herald calls you. I want to know every word. Every. Word. I expect detailed notes. Tone, inflection, insinuations—all of it.”
“You’ve got it.”
“Love you, Books.”
“I love you, too. I’ll see you tonight.”
Catherine returns moments after I hang up with Felicity, a grimace replacing her earlier smile.
“I swear,” she says. “I’m moving. I’m so sick and tired of Chicago. The mess. The noise. The ridiculousness.”
“What happened?”
She shakes her head. “Not a particular thing—it’s just a generalization of what this city has become.”
“How was the boat cruise?” I ask, pulling a bag of silky black ribbon from beneath my desk.
Catherine sits in the chair across from my desk, her knees gaped open. Her posture is one of the most telling signs since Botox often restricts her expressions. She’s relaxed and in the mood to gossip and chat. I don’t mind her like this. In fact, I sometimes even enjoy our time together when she’s in these snarky and sometimes even goofy moods.
“He said it was amazing. Loved everything.” She raises her hands, making a wide gesture. “I also met his boyfriend,” she sighs deeply.
I crinkle my nose. “Sorry.”
She shoos my apology away with a wave of her hand. “I should have known. Every pair of shoes that man wore were worth several hundred dollars. Very few men have that good of taste and style unless they’re married, have a personal shopper, or are gay.”
I laugh, measuring out a long trail of ribbon.
“How are things going with Levi?”
Thankfully, my head is down, keeping me from having to look at her. I have no idea if she knows he’s on his way to New York to see her ex-husband or that I have feelings—rip your clothes off and want to stay till breakfast feelings—for her son. “They’re good.”
“He mentioned he wants to let Chelsea go. He said he preferred your vision.”
“I … uh…”
“I think it’s a good decision. You have an eye for style. You could easily put Chelsea out of business.”
I glance up, surprise rounding my eyes. “I don’t know anything about design.”
Catherine lifts her narrow shoulders. “You didn’t know anything about wedding planning or blogging until you started doing them either. Some things just come naturally to people. Style makes sense to you.”
I want to divulge how nervous I am to be making decisions about Levi’s bar. How I don’t feel competent and fear he’s going to hate them and that his business might be negatively impacted by my errors. If it were another client, I might—but even that’s a stretch. I know how Catherine stresses about finances and already believes everyone is incompetent and weak in comparison. There’s no need to prove she’s right.
“Also,” she says. “I received a message from Mrs. Abergal. She wanted to personally tell me how wonderful the bar mitzvah was this past weekend. She said it was flawless and still can’t get over how wonderful everything turned out.”
I hold my breath, praying the food isn’t mentioned. There’s no way I can tell her that Levi and Jerry picked up that mess for me.
“You do great work, Brooke.”
I look up, my eyes meeting her bright-blue gaze. She smiles, and I slowly reciprocate the expression. “Thanks. I really appreciate that. It was a great event.”
Her grin widens with acceptance. For Catherine, it’s a foreign expression, yet I realize I’ve seen her eyes dance with humor and lips relax before. Perhaps more times than I’d consciously realized.
I’m standing in a sea of dust and debris. The bar doesn’t seem any closer to being done than it was last week.
“You need something?” A stout man with a thick Chicago accent appears in front of me. His surly attitude and cold stare make it obvious that his question is an attempt to make me leave.
I stand taller. “I need a lot of things, actually. Starting with this place getting done.”
He barks out a laugh. “Go find your fairy godmother then, sweetheart.”
“I’d be glad to. Want to know my fairy godfather’s name?” I lean closer to him, my voice dropping conspiratorially. “Hans Blackwell.” I drop the name of the president of complaints for the contractor’s board, who happens to live in Grammy’s neighborhood. I’ve been delivering Christmas cookies to the man for over a decade. He adores me.
The man closes his mouth but narrows his eyes defiantly.
“Oh, so you know him?” I giggle. “I thought you might.” I pat him on the shoulder just to prove to him how unintimidated his glare and gripped knuckles have me. “You guys quoted that this would be completed yesterday. I’m on a schedule just like you. Make it happen.”
His mouth puckers.
“I can be pleasant to work with or a complete bitch. You get to decide. Choose wisely.” I turn on my heel and head for the exit. My stop was an impromptu decision, made only because I had a few extra minutes and it was on the way to Chelsea’s office. The hint of adrenaline from confronting the contractor has my hands feeling restless as I continue the two blocks.
“Brooke!” Chelsea chimes as I step into the small showroom. “How are you?”
The air conditioner is up, making the space fe
el cold in comparison to the mild day. I smile, running a palm down my chilled arms. Levi hadn’t mentioned firing Chelsea, and though a part of me is relieved to hear it, a bigger part feels guilty and concerned. “I’m well. How are you?”
“Is Levi with you, or is he coming separately?”
“He actually had to take an emergency trip this morning, so it’s just you and me.”
Her perfect eyebrows rise. “Oh.” She recovers with another smile and waves me toward her desk. “Well, let’s go over these samples and make some decisions, shall we?”
My unease grows with each step. I consider telling her she should just choose, but then I think of Catherine’s words, assuring me I have enough talent and knowledge of Levi to at least contribute.
We stand shoulder to shoulder as she points out the different samples and what they’re made out of. “I think we should suggest he choose the glass countertops,” she says, running a hand over a thick piece of glass. It’s opaque, reflecting hues of blue and white like a worn piece of sea glass. “It’s modern, durable, and beautiful. Plus, it will be easy to clean.”
I could see him liking it. It has a masculinity that makes it sexy and clean, but it’s definitely modern, and from what I’ve learned about Levi and his love for this city is that he isn’t typically drawn to modern. “I think we should stick to wood. I saw some last week where they’d attached textured concrete along the edges. I think it would be really fitting. It would prevent any liquid from falling off the edge. The wood can have a polyurethane coating to make it shine and easy to clean. Plus, I think the contrast of a wood with the tiles he chose will look really nice.”
“It would have more of an outdoorsy, woodsy feeling. I think for this area of town, we should be focusing on making it feel industrial.”
“I think we can still give it some industrial touches, but for this being such a focal point, I think we should stick to a classic vibe.”
Chelsea’s eyes grow round as she presses her lips together. Her silent objections make me doubt myself. Before I second-guess myself further, I take a couple of steps away from the samples, needing space from her and the confidence she exudes. Somehow, it seems to be absorbing every remaining ounce of my own.
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