Page 66 of Forty and Fighting Dirty
“We’ve got one more armchair and then that yellow couch.”
Piper straightened, frowning as she met Ollie’s gaze. “Yellow couch? That was delivered here?”
“Eric said you requested he work on those first.”
“Oh no,” Piper groaned. “The couch is for the house.”
“We can drive it over,” I said.
Ollie glanced out the window. “Better be quick about it. Looks like a storm’s coming in, and I’m not sure it’s wrapped well enough to survive the outdoors.”
Piper jumped into action, and within minutes she was in the passenger seat beside me as we drove back to town, a big yellow couch strapped to the bed of my truck. Soft countrymusic played on the radio as Piper’s fingers flew over her phone screen. I glanced over and saw a to-do list and a few emails flash across the device. She worked hard and got things done. I admired the hell out of her.
“We’re ahead of schedule,” she announced. “For the house, I mean. The lodge is still pretty tight if we’re looking at finishing before the new year.”
“Good work, Darling.” I reached over and put my hand on her thigh, squeezing gently as we lapsed into silence. I could get used to this. The energy that Piper injected into the office—into my life—made me feel like anything was possible. I wasn’t on my own, trying to build my business year after year. Right now it felt like I was working on something meaningful.
Her palm slid over mine, soft and small, and she curled her fingers around my hand. We stayed like that until we got back to town, and I had to take my hand away to snake through the streets that led to Lovers Lane.
Our house waited for us, surrounded by a lawn dusted with snow. The trees had lost their leaves, the evergreens looking vibrant against all the white, gray, and brown of the landscape. The snowfall had grown heavier, with thick clouds clinging to the tops of the mountains.
“Let’s get this thing inside,” I said.
We got the couch down off the truck and up the porch steps. Getting it through the front door was a challenge, and we banged two walls and the doorframe before we finally set it down in the living room in front of the fireplace. Piper closed the front door, then collapsed onto the plastic-wrapped sofa with a long sigh. “I need to work out more,” she said.
I took a seat next to her and threw my arm around her shoulders. “I can help you out with that,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows.
She laughed, elbowing me in the ribs, then gave in and melted against me as I kissed her. The protective plastic crunched under our bodies, and Piper pulled away. “Help me unwrap this thing.”
We revealed a dark yellow sofa with soft curves, its back, legs, and arms framed in rich wood. Piper tossed the plastic away and let out a gasp of delight. “Oh!” Her smile was blazing as she looked at me. “What do you think?”
“Beautiful,” I said, but I wasn’t looking at the couch.
“It’s better than I imagined,” she said, running a finger along the arms. “Eric did such a good job. I’m going to have to go thank him personally. Look at these buttons on the tufting. He wrapped them all individually.”
“I don’t remember this in our spreadsheet,” I said, finally tearing my gaze away from Piper. “Where’d you get it?”
“The boys and I went antiquing a few weeks ago,” she said. “I paid for this—and for the upholstery—because I’ll keep it when we’re done.” She took a few steps back to look at the sofa from another angle. Her eyes were on the delicate, spindle-like legs when she said, “I’ve made a pact with myself to stop delaying making a home. Since the divorce, I’ve been trying to save money to make sure the boys and I are secure. But it means once we move out of Mrs. White’s place, our house will look like a bachelor pad. It’s been long enough now, and I want to be surrounded by things I love. I want my home to actually feel like home.”
My chest squeezed. She’d been through so much, and she still found the courage to start over. Piper had to be strong not just for herself, but for two young kids. There was so much more on the line for her than there was for me, and yet she managed to be genuine through and through. I respected that. Maybe one day, I could be a little bit more like her. A bit more honest, more myself. I cleared my throat, overcome with emotion. “And your lease…isn’t it up soon? Have you found somewhere else to live?”
“It’s up in a week. I’ve reserved a short-term stay at a condo for a few weeks, and I’ve got a line on a place over in Ridgeview, but the lease doesn’t start until January.”
I frowned. “Ridgeview?”
Lovers Peak was safe overall, but there were pockets of it that were higher in crime. The town hugged the valley between mountains, with the freeway and a set of train tracks separating the main part of town from a smaller, less affluent area. Ridgeview was literally across the tracks; the houses were more run-down, and break-ins were common.
“It’s not ideal, but the house looks pretty secure. It’s all I can find on short notice. Once the ski season ends, I’m hoping I’ll be able to get somewhere longer term.” Piper met my gaze, her shoulders straightening. “That’s the downside of living in a ski town, I guess. I moved here at the wrong time. Right before peak season.”
I opened my mouth, wanting to invite her to move in with me. My house was too big for one man, and it had never felt like home to me. I already missed Piper when we were apart—having her by my side day and night would be no hardship.
But something stopped me. If I were generous with myself about my intentions, it was the idea of making Piper uncomfortable that stayed my tongue. But if I were honest, I might admit that it was my own fears that stopped me from inviting her to move in.
Things had progressed quickly with Sarah. It was my only real long-term relationship, and she’d moved into my place within weeks, and then my whole life had started revolving around her moods. She’d demanded more and more and more, and I’d been so desperate for affection that I’d wanted to give it to her. Then she turned around and left me for another man, making sure to tell me it had been my fault that she’d fallen for someone else. I hadn’t been present enough, even though I’d been working to give her what she wanted. I hadn’t been good enough, or strong enough, or generous enough. I’d been exactly what my parents had always told me I was: worthless.
Maybe I still was.
“I’ll see if I know anyone who has a place this side of town,” I finally said. It wasn’t enough; I wanted to give her the world.
