Page 39 of In Love with Lewis Prescott
I hold back a growl.
“Anyway, my grandma, she always wanted to have a big, fancy chandelier displayed in the house with the pretty crystals she found.”
A smile that’s equal parts sad and wistful appears on her face. “But she never got around to it, obviously. When I planned this remodel, I wanted everything to be perfect—everything from the veranda to the chandelier to the direction of the hardwood floor planks to the color of the walls. My grandma and grandpa worked so hard for so many years and dealt with so much crap to establish themselves here in the US and start a life for their family. They always wanted to remodel their house, but they never had enough money. But I do. And I want everything in this house to be perfect. For them, for their memory. Even though they’re not here anymore, they deserve that.”
She bites her trembling bottom lip, then goes quiet and stares at our joined hands.
“Harper, first of all, I’m so sorry that racist prick said those things about Mina. That’s horrible. And I’m sorry that your grandparents were treated that way. They deserved so much better.”
She murmurs a thank-you.
“I know that I never knew your grandparents, but I remember your FaceTime conversation with your mom and great-uncle. It’s obvious how proud they are of the work you’re doing on this house. I promise you, your grandparents would be so proud and blown away at what you’ve done with their house.”
Her shoulders rise and fall with the breath she takes. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”
“I’ll tell you as many times as you’ll let me. I’ve never seen such a thoughtful gesture as what you’re doing with this house. This is one of the most selfless things I’ve ever seen anyone do.”
Her full cheeks turn pink, and I lose my breath. Harper is gorgeous when she blushes. Right then and there, I make it my life’s mission to make her do it again.
“My cousin tells me the same thing,” she says. “But I guess I kind of dismiss her because she’s family, you know? Your family’s job is to build you up, always, no matter what you’re doing.”
I clear my throat as I process what she’s said.
“I guess that’s true,” I manage. “But your cousin isn’t building you up. She’s just telling the truth. And hey, I’m so sorry for messing up the chandelier.”
“It’s okay. It still looks really nice.”
When she starts to smile, it feels like a victory. In the short time I’ve known Harper, I’ve become so drawn to her, so invested in making sure this renovation goes exactly how she wants it. Seeing her sad and hurt makes me want to rage. Seeing her happy is the highlight of my day...and I want make her happy every single day that I’m here in this house with her.
I focus on Harper’s gaze, how there’s an intensity that wasn’t there seconds ago. I get lost in those pools of rich hickory. All I can do is focus on her eyes, the touch of her hand.
And that’s when I realize... I really,reallylike Harper.
“Thank you, Lewis. For everything.” Her soft tone is laced with the most delicious rasp.
“It’s my pleasure.”
Part of me wants to stay on this couch, holding her hand, drowning in her beautiful eyes for the rest of the evening. But then my brain catches up. I’m here to do a job: fix her house while I repair my professional reputation. Giving in to this crush I have on her isn’t serving either of those goals. Besides, I shouldn’t be thinking of her in that way right now. She was upset and crying just minutes ago. She’s vulnerable. What kind of creep am I to be fixated on how attractive she is in this moment?
I slip my hand out of hers and scoot away from her on the couch. “I’m gonna get back to work.”
When I stand up, Harper hops up and throws her arms around me, hugging me tight. I hug her back, wondering if she can feel my heart as it thrashes in my chest—if she can feel just how much I like her.
Chapter Eleven
Harper
Wow. This hug...it’s...just wow.
I close my eyes and relish the scent, the feel, the warmth of Lewis. He is absolutely perfect.
And not just physically, but the way he supported me just now blew me away. No boyfriend I’ve ever had has doted on me like that. Sure, I’ve cried in front of the guys I’ve been with when I’ve been stressed or sad. But they’ve always had the same reaction: visible discomfort. There must be something about the sight of female tears that sends them running for the hills.
But not Lewis. He comforted me. He held me. He gave me the space to talk about what was upsetting me when I was ready. And when I did, he listened intently.
You really, really like him.
I let the realization echo in the privacy of my mind, knowing full well that I’m not going to do a damn thing about it. Because this setup between us is purely professional, and I don’t want to ruin it or make things awkward by admitting out loud that I’ve got a serious crush on him. I’m certain that most of the people he’s ever come into contact with have a crush on him. He’s talented, hot, and so freaking sweet. Who wouldn’t fall for a guy like that?
