Page 4 of We're One

She waves her hand in the air. “You have to say that as my bestie. I really do love cooking though, and it’s so fun to have an audience. I figure why fight it since I spend hours looking at recipes and trying to figure out how to make them better. We’ve always been told if we do what we love, we’ll never truly work a day in our lives.”

“I know, that’s why I’m doing design. It’s so satisfying,” I say.

“As long as we always remember who we are, we’ll be happy. Too many people settle. I think we’ll be home within two more years. Then we can do jobs we love and still spend days at a time on the beach. I think I’ll do some shows on the beach. There’s nothing like food cooked over a fire,” Nikki says. She beams at me. “I don’t even need a kitchen for the cooking vlog. I just need some form of heat.”

“I love it. Let’s do a test run when we head back home. Campfire cooking is wonderful and having the ocean as a backdrop will draw lots of people in,” I say as I stand. It’s time to head out, as much as it scares me. I’d much rather stay right here with Nikki where I’m safe. Who says a bubble is a bad thing? Crazy people, that’s who.

“I’ll plan something now,” Nikki says as she grabs her computer.

I laugh. I’ve already lost her now that the wheels are spinning in her head. It’s one of the many reasons I love this woman so much. She’s motivated and can accomplish anything once she puts her mind to it. She inspires me to always push the limits of what I think I can do. We’re good for each other.

I say a quick goodbye after gathering my bag, and then head out of our tiny apartment. We don’t mind the small space as we love being together. We never feel crowded in the small space. I’m glad I have a forty-minute drive to Zach’s place because I need to mentally prepare myself. Focusing on the future is a good way to calm myself. That always makes me happy.

Nikki and I have been planning our lives since middle school, sitting at our desks sneaking chocolate together, trying to avoid schoolwork. We were always big dreamers. Sure, it’s taking us much longer than we’ve wanted, but we’re okay with that. We’ll get to the end of the rainbow eventually. We have perseverance and drive.

As I drive the busy roads out of Seattle I assure myself that Zach won’t recognize me. I’m in a business suit, my hair’s in a tight bun on the back of my neck, and I’m wearing my oversized glasses I don’t need, but make me look more professional. I want this job, and after this initial meeting I won’t have to spend much face-to-face time with him. I just have to send him samples. Most clients aren’t around as I’m putting a place together. It will all be fine.

I can separate my past from my present. I have to. I’m not that same naïve little eighteen-year-old girl anymore. I’m a successful business owner, and I’ve done it all on my own. No one has handed me a thing. I’ve built this business from the ground up and this is just one more steppingstone on the path of my life.

The drive to Zach’s place takes longer than expected; I’m glad I left early. It’s still going to make me a few minutes late, which I despise. I’ll never get used to the hordes of people on the roads in this part of the country. Sure, I grew up in California, but our little secret neck of the woods was small and quiet. I don’t know what I was thinking, moving to a huge city. I’ve hated it from the moment we arrived, but we’ve been determined to stick it out, and we have so far.

I wind through the last part of the lush green hills then turn down a long driveway. When I climb the hill, the house comes into view, and I let out a gasp. It’s enormous, made of stone and wood with a huge circular driveway. This home is beyond anything I’ve ever decorated before, and my mouth waters at the thought of redesigning it.

This is my chance to prove myself, to step into the big leagues. I can’t blow this interview. I have to sell myself, have to get this job. There’s no longer an option to dwell on the past. I can and will look Zach Callahan right in the eyes and sell my services.

This thought makes me cringe just a tad. I’m selling my decorating services. That’s all. No other services will be sold or given. The slight tingle flowing through me with thoughts of servicing Zach is quickly pushed down. No. No. No. I won’t have dirty thoughts about Zach Callahan.

I don’t have time to sit in my car and give myself pep talks. I hate being late. I park, take a deep, cleansing breath, step out, and walk to the front door with confidence. I can do this. I can remain professional, composed, and focused. He’s just a client, a huge client, but still, just a client. This is simply a job. I ring the doorbell and wait for what comes next.

Chapter Two

Zach

The creak of the floors beneath my shoes echoes though the silent ranch house as I make my way to the window. I’m drawn in by the distant hum of an approaching vehicle. I look at my watch and note that my appointment is five minutes late. She’s not off to a good start. I appreciate punctuality. I remind myself I’m farther away and she most likely miscalculated the time to get here before I’m too harsh about a late arrival. Still, I’ll have to see how professional she is. This is a big project, and it takes a lot of trust for me to have someone in my home, going through my things.

The box may have sent me to Sia Rivers, but that doesn’t mean I have to use her for this project. The challenge is to give the place a makeover, and she was the name in the box, but if I choose, I can shake up the game and pick another person. Hell, I could pick a man to do it and have zero fear of matchmaking. I don’t want some entity puppet stringing me, but I’m also picky about who comes into my home, not that I’m necessarily staying on the ranch. I’m not sure why I’ve been here since Gramps passed. Maybe because I miss him, and being here is comforting. I hate this as I’m not a person who needs comforted. Still, I haven’t left, and though my brothers aren’t living here, they come weekly. We all seem to be circling our childhood home.

I push the curtain aside, parting it so I can steal a glimpse of my visitor. She quickly parks, then hurriedly steps from her respectable vehicle. She must realize she’s late and doesn’t appear to be happy about it. That’s a bonus point for her. She pats her hair and quickly moves forward with a large bag hanging from her shoulder.

As I see her and think of her name, something flickers across my brain like a barely remembered dream. Do I know her? I gaze at her as she rushes forward, her demeanor as stiff as the starched collar of her blouse. I shake my head. I don’t recognize her. The woman’s hair is wound into a tight bun that looks pressed back so hard I’m surprised her hair isn’t snapping. The oversized glasses perched on her nose look about two sizes too big and her lips are pressed together, not a smile in sight. She looks professional and severe, just what I want in a professional... right?

When she rings the bell, I move away from the window and make my way down the hallway, not hesitating before opening the door. Sia looks up, her gaze meeting mine. There’s a brief flash in her eyes before she pushes her reaction away and gazes at me with detached professionalism. Interesting. There’s something familiar about her eyes, but this has to be because I’ve looked into many green eyes before. I’d know if I’ve seen this woman before . . . wouldn’t I?

“You must be Sia,” I say, offering her a friendly smile.

Her lips slightly turn up into a polite smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yes, and you must be Zachary Callahan.” The way she says my name sends a slight tingling down my spine as if I’ve heard my name on her lips before. What in the actual hell? I stare a bit too intensely for a moment and see her shift on her feet. It’s a tiny break in her armor, but it does let me know she’s not as unaffected at our meeting as she’s pretending to be.

She doesn’t hold out her hand to shake and I don’t press the issue. She’s piqued my curiosity. We’ll be together for at least the next hour. Maybe I’ll figure it out by then. Only time will tell.

“Come on inside,” I say as I step aside to let her enter. We move through the house to the kitchen. It seems like the best place to talk. The large windows in it bring the morning sun inside, making it the heart of the home. “May I offer you a glass of wine?”

“No, thank you. I don’t drink on the job,” she quickly tells me. I hear the slight edge of disapproval in her tone, which amuses me. It’s not like I’m an alcoholic, but I’ve conducted many business meetings over a drink. There’s nothing wrong with it.

“We can get started then,” I tell her as I lead her to the table.

She seems relieved with my words. She wastes no time in getting down to business, her demeanor professional and knowledgeable. She knows what she’s doing. She pulls out a notebook and pen and begins asking me questions.

“I have some initial notes from the email you sent, but how much of the home do you want redesigned?” she asks as she looks around the kitchen at the out of date appliances. I glance around trying to see it through her eyes. The cabinets are oak which is long out of style, and the counters are tile. At the time my grandfather last remodeled the home, this was top of the line. That was a lot of years ago though.

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