Page 89 of Love You, Mean It
“Find out for yourself.” He pushed the door open.
My mouth fell open, because all my furniture had been moved back in. We were supposed to do that this weekend. I’d had it all in storage.
“When did you do this?” I just stood there, moving my head slowly and taking it all in.
“I had the guys bring it all here over the last two days. I remembered how you’d had it set up, and Montana met me here early this morning to help me get it all arranged just right.”
“She said she had a meeting.” I shook my head with disbelief because it looked so good with the new floors, the farmhouse chandelier hanging above, and the area rug that I’d purchased a few weeks ago.
“She did. She was meeting with me.” He laughed, but I could hear the hesitation.
This was why Charlie seemed so nervous.
“Were you nervous that I wouldn’t like it?” I turned to face him.
He didn’t even deny it. “No. I’ve just never done anything like this for anyone. I mean, aside from Harper.”
I took his hands in mine. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before, so thank you.”
I stood up on my tiptoes and kissed him.
When I pulled back, he smiled down at me. “Come on. Let me show you your new home.”
I nodded.
Because as much as I wanted to pretend that I was fine.
This was so much more.
I. Was. Happy.
For the first time in my life, I was really happy.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Charlie
I’d never been a romantic guy. The few women I’d dated before I had Harper had let me know that.
But home renovations were my thing, and I wanted to make this perfect for Violet. She’d worked hard to buy her first home, and then having it flood shortly after had been upsetting, to say the least.
So I’d asked Montana to help me first thing this morning, and we’d spent several hours pulling it all together to surprise her.
All the guys had shown up to help me get the furniture in the right places. Montana then directed us about where to put everything, and where to hang everything as well.
“Charlie,” Violet whispered when she saw the chandelier hanging over the kitchen counter.
Yes, she’d changed her mind multiple times, and I’d hung the second one two weeks ago. But then last week she’d sent me a photo from an antique store of yet another chandelier. She said that she’d never seen anything in her life that was more perfect for the kitchen. I’d of course acted annoyed and told her we were done hanging light fixtures, and she hadn’tpurchased it. But I’d gone down the next morning and bought it for her and hung it up yesterday.
“I hope that’s still the most perfect chandelier you’ve ever seen for the kitchen, because I swear I’m not changing it again.” I chuckled.
She lunged herself at me and wrapped her arms around me. Her body started shaking, and I realized she was crying.
“Hey, it’s a chandelier. It’s not that big of a deal. I agree it’s perfect for the space.”
She pulled back and swiped at her tears. “That was really nice of you. Really, really nice of you.”
“Maybe we’re both nicer than we think. You did blow up a couple hundred balloons for Harper’s birthday.”
