Page 21 of She Was Made for Me

As much as I hate to admit it, I think Kyle might be right. The modern houses, while beautiful in their own way,docompletely eliminate the history of the building. Sure, from the outside they look like the original—they have to, thanks to the Landmarks Preservation Commission—but inside they could have been built yesterday. They lack the charm and character that the house’s façade promises.

I think back to the buildings I’m used to from the commercial hub in Silicon Valley—almost all of them modern, with little character or history. There are plenty of places like that in the world, and we have a rare chance to preserve something that has meaning, that holds stories from years gone by.

But when I think of Dad insisting on the place being modernized, my stomach wobbles. Plus he wanted it to be split into multiple apartments, not kept as one big home. How can we please him and also preserve the building’s history? Can we reach a compromise that somehow does both?

“There you are.”

I glance up to find Sadie, her arms piled with romance novels. I blink. “Oh, hey.”

“I was calling you. It’s been over an hour.”

“What?” I pull my phone from my bag, surprised. I shouldn’t be, though—I often lose track of time when I’m working.

Which I’m not supposed to be doing today. Whoops.

I give Sadie a shamefaced smile as I push to my feet, stretching out my back. Kyle’s right, sitting on the floor all the time isn’t good for my posture. I think it’s giving me headaches.

Dammit. I hate that he keeps being right.

“Sorry.” I grab a handful of books from the floor and hold them to my chest. “I got distracted.”

“Working,” Sadie says, but her tone is affectionate, not judgmental. “You really love this project, huh?”

I consider this as we make our way to the register. Admittedly, I wasn’t sure about it when Dad first proposed it—awkward Kyle issue aside—but the more I learn about buildings, especially these old ones, the more interesting it becomes. In tech, so much of what we did was intangible, but with a project like this, I can look at the house and envision how it can be different. Be better. We haven’t started work yet—we’re still waiting for the go ahead from the Landmarks Commission—but I’m excited to begin. I’m excited to watch something physically take shape in front of me.

“Yeah,” I say, placing my books on the counter. “I didn’t expect to, but it’s interesting.”

Sadie smiles. I wait for her to make a joke about Kyle, ‘my dad’s hot friend’ but she doesn’t, and I’m relieved.

I’m going to have to do some serious groveling on Monday.

9

Kyle

Violet looks nervous when she arrives Monday morning.

I don’t blame her. I’ve felt shitty all weekend after the way we left things on Friday. I still stand by not modernizing the building, but I hate that we yelled at each other and that she looked so upset. I had to distract myself with a project to make sure I didn’t text her.

“Hey,” she says warily, closing the front door.

I grunt in response, doing my best to appear aloof. Like I haven’t been waiting for this moment for forty-eight hours. But then I ruin it: her arms are piled with books, and on instinct I step forward to grab them.

I am so bad at this.

“Oh.” Her eyebrows pop up in surprise. “Thanks.”

We stand in the entry hall, staring at each other awkwardly. She’s wearing skinny jeans that cling to every inch of her generous curves, a loose Nirvana T-shirt tied at the waist. I wonder if she’s actually ever listened to Nirvana or if it’s just one of those trendy shirts young people wear because it’s ‘vintage.’ It occurs to me that Kurt Cobain died before she was even born, and I feel ancient.

“So, um.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “I owe you an apology.”

Guilt trickles through me. I sigh. “No, you don’t, Violet. You want to do a good job on this project, and your dad—”

“No, hear me out. You were right.”

Okay, I can’t have heard that correctly.

“Come again?”

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