Page 107 of Mr. Fixer Upper
Gannon led her through the heavy glass doors on the first level of a two-story, repurposed warehouse in Brooklyn, and she was immediately overwhelmed by the colors and textures of the cacophony of home décor and furniture that sat in organized chaos within.
“What exactly are we looking for?” Paige asked.
“I want your thoughts on shooting here. My mom’s ordered furniture from them before. Small business, family-owned, kick-ass stuff. I wouldn’t mind tapping them for some furniture.” Gannon cocked his head and studied a gilded birdcage.
“You don’t need a birdcage,” Paige insisted. “Why aren’t you dragging Cat around? She’s got the designer brain.”
“I don’t want my sister designing my house. It’s weird. I want stuff I like, not stuff that someone else thinks ‘works.’”
“So, are we looking for anything in particular?” Paige asked, running her hand over a cherry armoire with sinuous curves.
“A bed,” Gannon said, shoving his hands in his back pockets and scanning the store.
“You took me shopping for a bed? Seriously?”
“What? You know what I like.”
“I know what you likeinbed, not in a bed. Difference.”
He slung an arm around her shoulders. “Close enough. Besides, there’s this pizza place around the corner, and once you give the okay for shooting here, we can go grab a superior pepperoni pie and even some stupid salads if you insist on the green stuff.”
“This is work, Gannon. Not a date.” Her reiteration of their professional relationship felt more like an ingrained habit than an actual denial at this point.
He ignored her reluctance and dragged her further into the belly of the warehouse.He was right. It would be a great place to shoot, she decided. Tall, industrial shelving created makeshift aisles and housed everything from rewired light fixtures to fireplace screens.
The furniture section was organized without rhyme or reason, overstuffed leather couches sat nestled next to delicate writing desks and wire-framed baker’s racks in an array of colors.
Gannon flopped down on a four-poster with dizzying scrollwork.
Paige shook her head. “Nope.”
He opened one eye. “Why?”
“Too feminine,” she insisted.
He rolled to his side. “Okay, smarty pants. Let’s see what you’d pick.”
Paige browsed the selection while Gannon yawned from his mattress. She knew he wasn’t really interested in furniture shopping now. He was looking to distract her from her run-in with her mother. And she needed it.
He knew her whether Paige wanted to admit it or not. Gannon had taken the time to get to know her, and that knowledge hadn’t evaporated with her ending things or their breakup or whatever the hell it had been. He cared for her. Otherwise, why would he be here dragging her from store to pizza shop to keep her from wallowing?
He was a good man, a solid one.
He’d made a mistake, but Gannon King wasn’t the kind of guy to make a mistake more than once.
He’d ended up in bed with Meeghan and never let it happen again. He hadn’t been entirely truthful with Paige and when faced with those consequences had been nothing but honest since. He learned, adapted, and hestillwanted her.
She saw it then. Dark wood, the slight curve of the headboard, sinuous leather inserts. The frame of the bed sat up high enough to accommodate drawers on either side. It was big, solid, and—she tested the mattress—just right for Gannon’s muscular frame. Soft enough to comfort at the end of a long day yet firm enough to offer support. She relaxed against the pillows and closed her eyes, trying to imagine the bed in the space that would become Gannon’s master bedroom.
Against the brick wall, she decided. Two heavy nightstands with those sexy grey washed wooden lamps. Navy drapery and linens.Yeah, this fit him.
She felt the mattress dip, sensed his weight on the bed next to her.
“Okay, you win,” he sighed.
“I know.”
She opened an eye and turned her head to look at him. He lay on his side, one hand under his head, studying her with those serious greenish brown eyes. Those eyes said it all. Want, need, tenderness… and something stronger, sharper. Yet he held it all back, waiting for her to be ready, for her to make the decision.
