Page 78 of I'm Your Guy
But I’m staring. I tuck into my breakfast without a word.
“You have practice?”
“Yeah. A short one. Then video. And a flight tonight. Last major road trip before the holidays. Don’t forget—we’re doing the Christmas tree the night I get back.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” he says, amusement in his voice. “I’ll call some tree lots ahead of time to see who has Fraser firs. Then I’ll text you a place to meet me.”
“Cool,” is all I say, even though I can’t wait to get that tree up. It was only a few weeks ago when furnishing this house felt like an insurmountable hurdle. And now it’s almost done.
“I have a long list of details that still need fixing,” Carter says. “Want to see?” He pushes his legal pad across the table toward me. “There’s a few questions for you.”
“Of course there are.” I scan the list, and it is long. It’s all stuff that I don’t ever think about—welcome mats and soap dishes. A dresser for the guestroom.
“I’m buying wrapping paper and tape for you. Is one roll enough?”
“Yup. And thanks for helping me pick out that gift for my mom.”
“Of course.” He makes a note on his pad. “Okay, I need to size the table for the back porch. Two-seater or four?”
“Two is plenty.”
Another note on the pad. “There’s still nothing on your walls. Literally nothing. Do you have any family photos you’d like to hang up?”
I give him a glare. “Maybe one of Gia and the kids, and one of my mom. But that’s not going to cover much wall space. Not speaking to the rest of my family, you realize.”
He flinches. “Oops. Okay. Art?”
I shrug.
He moves on. “You’ll need a TV console. But do you mind if I order it later—when I’m ready to move my bookcase? Or when I find a buyer for it?”
I swivel in my chair and peer into the living room where the sleek wooden piece is holding up my TV. “If that one is for sale, just sell it to me and be done with it. Looks nice there. And I have some books in a box somewhere that I could put on that lower shelf.”
“Hmm,” he says. “It’s midcentury, though. Not exactly the vibe of the living room.”
“It’s not ruining my vibe,” I say, mostly because I enjoy arguing with Carter about furniture. “You think replacing a wooden piece with another one about the same height is going to change my life?”
He buries a smile in a bite of waffle. “That’s a fair point. Except that shelf is worth at least five grand, and you don’t need to spend that much. It’s an antique. I’d never sell it if I knew my next place will have a wall for it.”
“Won’t it?” I press.
He plays with his fork and fails to meet my eyes. “Not if it’s in Montana. If I can’t find a reasonable apartment in a short amount of time, I might have to move home and regroup.”
My stomach drops. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He lifts his chin. “Starting over isn’t so bad. I’ve done it before.”
“Why don’t you just leave that there for now?” I hook a thumb toward the low-slung bookshelf. “Eventually you can take it back or sell it. But it’s not causing any trouble.”
“Okay,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”
I shrug. “Furniture is still invisible to me, Carter.”
“Bullshit.” He pretends to cough into his hand. “I’ve noticed that you already claimed one end of the couch. There’s an empty coffee cup on the coaster, and the pillows have been rearranged.”
“My ass loves the couch, and my back likes those fuzzy pillows. They’re comfortable as fuck. But I’d like them just as much if they were ugly,” I lie.
“Uh-huh.” He gives me smug eyes over the rim of his coffee mug. “If it makes you feel better to say that, sure.”
