Page 29 of Single Mom's Guide to Love

And this is just the entryway. I can’t wait to see the rest.

“You can follow me,” Katherine says, and as if she has me in a trance, I blindly follow her down the hallway and into a room that I’m guessing is going to be a formal living room.

“He’ll just be a few minutes,” Katherine says as she gestures to a seat that looks out of place in this massive space. “Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Tea? Coffee? Diet Coke?”

I start to say water when I realize she offered me my favorite beverage. “Diet Coke, please.”

She gives me a friendly smile as she turns to leave the room. I put my bag down but don’t sit in the offered chair. I can’t. This room has me under a spell. All I can do is walk around and imagine everything I could do and design with a space like this.

I slowly walk in a circle, memorizing every detail of the room before closing my eyes, trying to visualize what I want the end result to be. Because I’m likely competing against other designers, and this is a newly built home, I’m guessing I’ll have to pitch something modern to the point of edgy. A lot of metals. Sneak in pops of color sporadically.

But if I had my way…oh, the things I could do…

The first thing I noticed in this room is the fireplace with the accent wall that seemed to go on forever. Immediately I felt a rustic vibe. I’d want the wall to be brick, with a custom wood mantle that would sit between the high arched windows. I’d want cream furniture to go with the hardwood floors. Normally I’m not a fan of the brown base color palette, but that’s what I’m envisioning. It would be finished with a custom-made wood coffee table that would be long enough to cover the length of the two extended couches I’d get. Top it off with the perfect lighting setup to make the room bright without feeling clinical or needing an ornate piece of overhead lighting. Chandeliers have their purpose, but not in this space.

But this isn’t my dream world. I keep my eyes closed as I slowly come back to the present, where I’m Maeve Banks: Designer for the Rich and Douchey.

If I was called, that means there’s no wife or girlfriend, which means these beautiful white walls are about to become a dark gray. Maybe I’ll get to keep the white crown molding. I might as well make the call to my favorite furniture guy, who can make me a hell of a leather sectional. Oh! And while I’m at it, I should probably start tracking down an original Spud McKenzie portrait. And a pool table. Which I don’t have anything against the game of pool, but in a man cave it’s so cliché.

But cliché is what keeps the bills paid.

I’m glad my eyes are closed as I feel myself smile at my internal use of that word. Will I ever think of that word the same way again? Maybe one day. But not today. Not when I can still feel his touch. When I could still pick his cologne out of a lineup. And maybe my mind is playing tricks on me, but I swear I can smell it now.

“Beautiful, isn’t it, Love?”

9

logan

I grappledall morning with what my first words to Maeve were going to be. The options were, but not limited to:

“Surprise!”

“Long time, no see!”

Not saying anything, instead just gasping and acting shocked that she’s here.

Or, my personal favorite, pulling her into my arms, sending Kat on a senseless errand, and kissing the hell out of her.

I would’ve preferred that option.

As I was walking into the space that will eventually be my formal living room, I still didn’t know how I was going to tell her that I, in fact, was the asshole client that kept canceling.

Shit…she’s really going to want to call me an asshole, isn’t she?

Honestly, though? I deserve it. Even if I would’ve told her on the plane who I was, I was still going to be an asshole. Canceling on her as much as I did? I’m a proper prick. It’s why I opted not to tell her. Maybe, just maybe, I thought, if she saw me today she’d laugh about it. It was about a two-percent chance of happening, but it was still better odds than admitting myidentity to her on the plane. That was a zero percent chance of success.

I knew I had one shot to get this right, which is why I rehearsed lines all morning. What I didn’t expect was to walk into the room and have every line I practiced disappear. I stood in the entryway, just watching her. Did she get more beautiful in the twelve hours we were apart? I mean, it’s not possible, but somehow she is. Her hair is slicked back in a bun again, showing off the perfect lines of her face and neck. The power suit she’s wearing is professional, yet somehow sexy. Probably because of the stilettos she’s wearing with it.

Lord, how I love a woman in heels…

She’s the whole package, which is why I hate that this is likely going to be the last time I see her. Because in a world where I canceled on her six times, she’s embarrassed from our night together, and I lied to her about being the mystery client, I don’t see how she agrees to take this job, no matter what kind of money I offer her.

My opening line finally hits her as I watch her slowly come to the realization that I’m in the room with her. It starts with a freeze in her body. It continues with her eyes opening and slowly turning toward the sound of my voice. And it ends just the way I thought it would—fire in her blue eyes and redness on her cheeks.

“You.”

Because I can’t help but get under her skin, I go along with it. “Me.”

---