Page 16 of She Was Made for Me

“Hey, whoa.” He strides over and snatches my cup off the mantel. “That’s antique black walnut. Don’t throw your coffee down on it.”

I narrow my eyes. Is he referring to me dropping my coffee yesterday? That was anaccident. I’m not some klutz—I tripped in my sandals. Today I’m wearing much more sensible Converse sneakers.

“No, that’s not—” He shakes his head, clearly frustrated with himself. “Just—that mantel is over a hundred and fifty years old. We need to be careful.”

“Oh.” I take my coffee from him and step back to assess the mantel. It’s a large wooden structure with small decorative columns running up each side. A layer of dust covers a thick slab, once painted in what I think may have been white, but now appears to be a dirty taupe color, soot-blackened in places. I can imagine what it looked like back in the day, though, a roaring fire inside the black cast-iron grate, maybe some oil lamps or pictures or whatever it was people put on their mantel a hundred and fifty years ago.

“Got it. Don’t touch the priceless mantel.” I glance from the fireplace to Kyle, who’s standing right beside me. He’s much taller than I remember—almost a foot more than me, which would make him around six-four.

Which is not relevant, I remind myself.

I shake the thought from my head, gesturing to the elaborate mantel. “Will this be staying, though? It’s not very modern, and Dad said—”

“I’m not removing an original mantel in good condition like that,” he says gruffly. “We’ll make it work.”

“Okay then.” I glance around for somewhere safe to set my coffee down. There’s a spot on the dirty floor in the corner, and I gingerly tiptoe across and place my cup out of harm’s way. On closer inspection, I notice the floor is quite damaged in places. “Have you seen this floor?” I ask, turning to find Kyle watching me.

He heaves an exasperated sigh. “Yes, Violet, I’ve seen the floor.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I didn’t mean itquiteso literally.

“No, I mean the damage to the wood. Will we replace this? Maybe put down some vinyl, or…” The horror on Kyle’s face makes me stop short.

That’s a no, then.

Admittedly, it wouldn’t be my first choice, because the wood is beautiful and worn in that way that only old wooden floors can be. But some of these boards are really damaged—how would we even find replacements that match? And old wooden floors don’t exactly feel modern…

“We’ll restore the floors,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “We can take spare boards from a closet or something upstairs to replace the damaged ones. That way they’ll match.”

Huh. That’s clever.

I grab my pen and note this down, along with what he said earlier about the structural engineer and architect. I’m assuming we’ll need a plumber and electrician at some point, probably a landscaper and decorator as well, so I note that down too without saying anything.

Kyle and I talk for a little longer, him pointing out things that are apparently obvious but I completely miss, me taking notes as he talks. Ultimately, we both agree that we can do nothing until a structural engineer assesses the place, so I leave with a promise to organize one as soon as possible. Kyle tries to insist on contacting one himself, but I remind him that, as the project manager, liaising with contractors is one of my main tasks. He reluctantly relents.

It’s a relief to get out of there. If I thought yesterday was uncomfortable, today is worse. What happened to the sweet man I met in Joe’s? I get that things didn’t start off great, but I don’t know why he’s so touchy. And the fact that he wouldn’t admit to flirting with me yesterday…

I shake my head as I walk back to the subway, dropping my empty coffee cup in a trash can on the way. I’m not full of myself—it’s not like I think all men want me, or whatever, but I feel kind of… ripped off. We definitely had a connection at the coffee shop. I haven’t felt a spark like that in a long time, and I know I didn’t make it up.

Anyway, that’s the least of my problems right now. I felt like an idiot in there, not knowing about the mantel or the flooring—or anything else, for that matter. I need to contact a structural engineer as soon as I’m back at Sadie’s, then I’ve got some serious research ahead of me.

7

Kyle

To clear my head, I’ve started running early in the mornings. Though I’m generally fit from my work, I haven’t gone running in years. It’s taken me a few days to get back into it, but it was like muscle memory—throwing on my shoes at 6 a.m. and heading up Central Park West, cutting into the park through Strawberry Fields and Cherry Hill. In a way, it’s almost like I never left my life on the Upper West Side, four years ago.

Almost.

At least my anxiety is nothing like it was then, although it’s definitely increased since being back in the city. I can tell by the way my ears ring like they used to, the way my thoughts race more than usual. The Violet debacle certainly hasn’t helped.

Things with Violet have been as difficult as expected. It started when she confronted me about the fact that I was flirting with her before Rich showed up. I didn’t want to lie, but what was I supposed to say?I thought you were beautiful and interesting and yes, I was about to ask you out? What if she told Rich? No way could I risk that.

And she knows nothing about the house. It’s not like I expect her to recognize black walnut on sight, but to at least havesomeknowledge of a renovation like this would be useful. I’ll have to hold her hand throughout this whole damn project, all because Rich wanted his daughter to have something to do while she was out of a job.

I sigh, turning to head back to Rich’s place, reminding myself that it doesn’t matter. I owe Rich big time, and I want to be there for him like he was for me. Even if being there for him really means being there for Violet.

Still, if I wasn’t here doing this for Rich, I’d be pulling animal feces out of Murial’s cabin back in Maine, and this is much better.

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