Page 4 of Late to Love

Well…she’s not a child, but she’s around Harrison’s age, and whatever age that is, it begins with the number two. Considering my age begins with the number four, I think it’s a safe bet that I should keep my eyes the hell off her tits.

Along with the rest of her.

“Mr. Hall suits you.” The way it comes out, it seems as though she’s had an entire conversation with herself about what, precisely, I should be called and decided that her way—which is the exact opposite of my way—is the winning option.

My jaw ticks.

“How do you want it?” she continues.

I blink.

“The water heater, Mr. Hall.” She smirks. “Your place of business is open, and I assume you don’t want my guys delivering the water heater through the arcade to get to your loft door. Is there another way? Outside stairs or anything?”

How is it that on anyone else, a bandana wrapped around her hair would look absolutely ludicrous, but on Darcy, it looks perfect? She’s like a twenty-first century Rosie the Riveter. I’d never paid too much attention to her until she started coming in to bowl, and suddenly, there was no escaping her. “Stairs outside,” I agree.

She smiles brightly. “Excellent! We’ll get started.” With that, she swivels away from me, hips swaying in denim overalls that I swear were made specifically for her.

I force my gaze elsewhere.

Half an hour later, I find myself upstairs, unable to handle people in my space without supervision.

Darcy. Darcy is people. The guys aren’t any big deal, but Darcy can’t be left alone up here. I can’t explain why. But she can’t.

“Mr. Hall.” She raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Just wanted to see progress.”

“We’re installing a water heater, not painting a masterpiece. But speaking of painting, when did you move in?” She walks into the wide-open loft, casting a dubious gaze across its expanse.

I don’t like her tone. “Why.” No need to sound curious when I’m not.

She smiles brightly, eyes crinkling, and when she speaks, it sounds as if I’ve unknowingly walked right into a trap. “Because I think I should handle the renovation.”

“What renovation?” To be honest, the place needs about a million years’ worth of work. It’s simply too overwhelming to think about. I moved into the loft because I was tired of paying rent when I knew there was a perfectly acceptable area up here, and I own this building. Not outright, but still.

“The renovation you clearly need.” She walks farther into the sparsely furnished space. “I’ve got a ton of ideas on how to turn this into a gorgeous, livable home.”

“It’s already livable. I’m up here, aren’t I?” I grumble.

She twirls back to me, her aquamarine eyes glittering. “Aw, Mr. Hall. Do we need to talk about the difference between living in a space and loving the space you live in?”

The hell is she talking about?

She pivots and gasps, walking to the windows. “Holy shit, this view! Sorry. I mean, this view is amazing! How do you not have the entire place configured to maximize it?”

I move toward her, my eyes locked firmly on the incredible view—the one outside,nother body. Massive windows overlook the ocean and the white strip of sugary sand just in front of it. There are days when it almost looks fake, like now, when cotton candy clouds dot the cobalt sky and seagulls swoop and dive for their meals.

See? It’s so beautiful that it turns me into some kind of poet, talking about cobalt skies and shit. Or maybe Darcy’s got me befuddled. Wouldn’t be the first time. I clear my throat. “The view is exactly why I bought the building. That, and the fact that it was right on the boardwalk.”

She turns to look up at me, and I catch a whiff of her scent. Cherries, maybe? Jesus. I donotneed to be wondering about this. “You’ll let me do it? I’ll keep costs low—this will be my first time doing something like this so I’ll discount my services, but of course I can’t give you any kind of deal on materials—and?—”

“Stop.” I don’t think twice about interrupting her.

She does, but her eyes flash. She didnotappreciate being told what to do, that’s for damn sure.

I don’t care. Not when it’s about something this important. “Do not ever—and I meanever—discount yourself or your expertise for anyone. Why would you do that?”

Her head jerks back, as if I’ve slapped her. “Excuse me?”

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