Page 32 of She Was Made for Me

Violet’s too busy fawning all over him to notice how I’m glowering at her. She didn’t know the first thing about any of this two weeks ago. While I’ve enjoyed teaching her things about the house, and the extent of her own research is admirable, I can’t say I love that she’s using it to impress another man.

In fact, I downright hate it.

She leads Owen to the fireplace, explaining the details of the mantel, and I remain rooted to the spot, arms folded across my chest, grinding my molars. If he asks her out in front of me, I’ll kick his ass.

I catch myself, turning away.

Jesus fucking Christ, what is wrong with me? I’m supposed to be focused on the house, not Violet, but I’ve never felt this protective before. As much as I tell myself it’s because I’m looking out for her for Rich, I know damn well that’s not true.

I just… I think back to the day we met, when we talked about the buildings in this neighborhood and I felt the first buds of hope begin to unfurl; that I’d met a pretty woman who shared an interest of mine, that maybe I was ready to ask someone out again for the first time in years. That maybe I had been lonely up in Maine, as Muriel had pointed out, and I only realized that when I met a woman whose company I wanted more of.

Then I find out she’s Rich’s daughter and just like that, it’s over. I lost her before I even had her, which I know is an irrational thought, but also… that’s what it feels like. It feels like I lost something that should have been mine. Something thatismine.

But she’s not, is she? She never will be, and I have no choice but to accept that.

I follow Owen and Violet to the top floor where the guys are working, and Violet introduces him to the team. Dale talks him through the bedroom layout up there, and how the bathroom will be remodeled, but Owen’s eyes barely leave Violet. He watches her like the proverbial cat that got the canary, apparently forgetting I’m even here, and I swear any minute he’s going to ask if she’s free tonight.

Which would be completely unprofessional, I might add.

Eventually they head back downstairs, and it couldn’t come a minute too soon.

Owen pauses at the bottom of the staircase in the foyer. “This balustrade is nice. Will you restore this too?”

“Definitely.” Violet hovers beside him, gesturing to the decorative swirl at the top of the last baluster. “Isn’t this newel post lovely? Did you know that there’s a chamber inside where they originally stored the deed of the house?”

I lift my eyebrows, impressed that she knows this little historical tidbit, though she doesn’t notice of course.

“I didn’t.” Owen flashes her his trademark grin. “You have such an extensive knowledge of these buildings,” he adds, and she beams back.

The scowl on my face deepens as they gaze at each other. They may as well begin fornicating on the stairs right now.

I cough loudly, reminding them I’m here.

Violet glances back at me, a blush staining her cheeks, then she pulls her gaze back to Owen. “Would you like to see the basement and the yard?”

“I’m sure he’s got other things to do today,” I interject sullenly.

“Actually—” Owen begins, but I’ve had enough.

“It’s your standard Brooklyn backyard,” I say flatly. “You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.”

Violet narrows her eyes at me. I ignore her.

I climb down a step, my closeness forcing Owen to step back onto the floor of the foyer. “We won’t take up any more of your time.” I step down again, noticing I’m still half a foot taller than Owen when we’re on the same level. I extend my hand, which forces him to back up further, until he’s almost at the front door.

“Uh—” He glances at Violet and she folds her arms, giving me a look.

“Thanks for stopping by.” I pump his hand firmly, not budging.

He squares his shoulders and reaches for the door handle. “I’ll be in touch,” he says, looking past me to Violet, and I resist the urge to clock him in the jaw.

“Great. Bye.” I close the door behind him, breathing hard.

Pull yourself together.

I wait a beat before turning around, directing a tight smile at Violet. “He was nice,” I say, but it doesn’t sound convincing, even to my own ears.

She stares at me, mouth hanging open. “What the hell was that?”

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