Page 13 of Late to Love

I shimmy up the ladder, forcing myself to forget everything except the job at hand, and position myself in the perfect spot to nail the first piece of trim. “Hand it up.”

A long, five-foot piece of trim comes into view as I pop some nails between my lips. Grabbing it, I nestle the wood into place and keep it steady with one hand, then pull my nail gun out of my tool belt with my other. One well-placed aim later, the first nail is in. I stretch to the right to get the next nail in, then reach the opposite way to get the third. That’s enough to keep the trim in place while I move positions, so I put the gun in my belt and climb down.

“Let’s move to the right,” I instruct Anthony, who’s remained incredibly quiet during this entire portion of the morning. He does as requested, and we repeat the pattern. In no time at all, we’ve got the kitchen done.

“There.” With no small amount of satisfaction, I stand back to inspect my work. The trim is tight against the ceiling, the nails invisible to the eye from down here already, and of course, I’ll putty over them to smooth the surface before they get painted.

“Looks good,” Anthony remarks. “How long would it have taken you without me here?”

“Longer,” I laugh. “That’s all you need to know. Ready for more?”

His eyes flash, and I swear he’s thinking something dirty. “Sure.”

“Time for a music change, though.” I throw on an 80s mix, and his lip curls in amusement.

“How old do you think I am, Darcy?”

Laughing as I make my way to the next area of the loft we’re going to focus on, I answer, “Your age has nothing to do with what I chose to put on. I like this music. But for the record, I have no idea. Fifty? Fifty-three?” I’m ribbing him, and when I turn to him, his jaw is wide open.

“What?” he sputters. “You don’t honestly think I’m that old, do you?”

I grin. “I don’t know, Mr. Hall. Why don’t you tell me?”

There goes that flash of heat in his eyes again. I think he hates me calling him that because helovesme calling him that. Wonder what would happen if I called him Daddy?

“I’m forty-one.” He delivers it in a gruff voice, as if he’s both proud of the number but also maybe a bit embarrassed.

“Forty’s a great decade,” I shoot back. “Or so I’ve heard from my grandfather.”

His mouth quirks, and something suspiciously like a laugh comes out when he says, “You little brat.”

I should get an award for how diligently I ignore the almost-smile, the almost-laugh, and the word he used. Because my insides just turned to lava. “C’mon. Bring the ladder over here.” I point him in the direction I want, then head to grab more trim.

Forty-one years old. He’s seventeen years older than me.

It’s way hotter than it should be.

Chapter6

Anthony

I’M NOT SAYING I’m disappointed that Darcy didn’t show up again today.

But…maybe I’m alittledisappointed. I check the time. Reid’s texted me yet again about going to yoga, and even though I’m positive I’ll look like a complete and total ass, I figure, why the hell not.

Throwing on a pair of old shorts and a fitted tank—which Reid told me I’d want unless I wanted my shirt hanging in my face during some of the positions, which, frankly, almost made me second-guess the entire thing—I take off at a brisk walk. It’s probably ten minutes at the most, given that the studio is at one end of the pier and Hall’s Balls is at the other.

Reid’s waiting for me when I get there, his black cat Midnight strapped to his chest in a baby carrier or something. It’s absolutely ridiculous, but I’ve given him hell about it enough that it no longer fazes him. Not that it ever did. It makes sense, I suppose; the guy moved to town after working undercover with a Miami drug cartel for years. If the man wants to wear a cat because it brings him joy, who am I to tell him no? The dude has seen plenty in his lifetime.

He smiles broadly. “Wondered when I’d finally talk you into this. What changed your mind?”

“Figured it was the only way you were ever going to shut up about it,” I grin back.

He slaps my shoulder and gestures for me to go in ahead of him. “You’re right. We’ve got you set up with a mat next to us toward the back.”

I nod to the owner, Samantha, who gives me a warm smile in return.

“Anthony Hall! Never thought I’d see you here. First class is always free. Take it easy and I’ll make sure you don’t overdo it, okay?”

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