Page 37 of Four Dates and A Forever
She swallowed hard. “I remember.”
Their gazes locked for a long, heated moment, then he smiled. “Does this party happen to take place at a strip club?”
“No,” she said primly, then leaned further forward to tug the sign, placing her breasts in Lola 2.0’s face. The sign still didn’t budge. “And where are you going?”
“I was actually going to work, but I thought you could use this.” He held out a to-go cup of coffee and she nearly moaned as the scent of hazelnut and vanilla wafted into her car. It smelled like morning sun and angel tears.
She’d had a cup at five that morning but had been so busy she hadn’t had time to refuel. He handed it over and she nearly ripped his arm off getting it. She took a big sip. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Her unexpected hero wore dark gray slacks and a tie, looking fit for the cover ofGQ, with a leather jacket that added a touch of edge to the rock star, and a pair of ocean-blue eyes that did something to her belly. They’d always reminded her of a calm, crystal-clear lake. Today they were warm, like hot summer nights.
“Now, why don’t you hop out and let me see if I can help. If it doesn’t fit, we can take my Rover.”
She eyed him but didn’t move.
He ran a hand down his face. “Good God, you are the most suspicious and stubborn woman I’ve ever met. I saw the other boxes in the hallway, know that you are stuffed to max capacity, and that this party is important to you otherwise you wouldn’t have agreed to do it,” he said. “Why did you agree?”
She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Here it went. “Modern Masterpiecemagazine is dedicating an entire issue to interior architects in Portland and the senior editor is going to be at the party.”
“That could be huge. Congrats. Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
She waved a hand. “Nothing’s concrete and it’s such a long shot.”
“Els,” he said in a tone that brought her right back to that weekend. Right back to the moment she told him about her dream to be a world-class interior architect featured inModern Masterpiecemagazine. As if his mind had taken the same nostalgic journey, he said, “You’re looking at a long shot, remember? Who knew back then that I’d be this now?”
“I did,” she said honestly. “Even back in college. The moment I heard you on stage I knew you were special.”
He flashed her that bad-boy grin. “You think I’m special, huh?”
“Don’t brush it off.” She put a hand to his chest and pushed. He didn’t move and neither did her hand—which stayed steadily on his pec. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I.” He placed his hand over hers and she shivered. The jolt was enough to have her pulling it back. “Just from your sketches and what you’ve done to this house,” he said in a tone that carried a genuine belief. It made her wonder if maybe she did have a legit shot at being chosen. They were going to choose ten people, why not her?
He looked over his shoulder and she followed his gaze to her house. It represented three years of her life.
Three years of hard work and passion. She’d invested every last dime of her inheritance, every spare hour, doing as much of the renovation as she could, even laying the tile in the kitchen and sheet-rocking the entire downstairs. She’d mainly bring in crews when the task was too big for one person. It was how she spent her time when Axel was on the road for long stretches. Every year marked another milestone, taking her one more step closer to her goal of creating a showcase home that was worthy of her dream. And it was almost complete.
But she couldn’t get there on her own.
“I need your help then,” she said, her stomach churning over the fact that she had to, once again, rely on a man.
“Shoot.”
“If I am chosen, the house I’d enter would be yours.” And here came the hard part. “They’d need your permission to do a shoot here.”
She waited for him to make some crack about her finally admitting it was his house, waited for him to reject her plea immediately like Axel would have, but as she waited none of that came. Instead, his gaze gentle with understanding and a flicker of pride—for her. “Then permission granted.”
“You know what you’re committing to. A couple days of fifteen-plus people overtaking every corner of the house. There’d be equipment everywhere, and they’d be loud and intrusive. I know how sacred a musician’s space is when they’re creating.”
“It can’t be any worse than Big Pete.”
She grimaced. “Full disclosure. I may or may not have told Big Pete to come at six instead of eight tomorrow.”
“Full disclosure, I paid him a hundred bucks to use the kitchen as the new thoroughfare.”
She bit back a smile. “You know he got sawdust and tiny chinks of Sheetrock all over my foam house. I had to re-glue the steps leading to the studio twice.”
