Page 37 of How Dare You

Allie: I was right, wasn’t I?

Bea: Highly interested in a gray sweatpants update.

Devon: I’m resuming hating all of you.

Bea: It was nice a break while it lasted. We’ll try again tomorrow.

“I’ve done as much of it on my own as possible,” Rhett fills me in as he pulls away the canvas that covers five or six pieces of neatly stacked furniture in the corner of the garage. I’m beginning to get an understanding of his personal style, and the squared edges and walnut wood tell me these are all things he’s made himself.

It’s not common to finish the garage first, but he has it set up as his workshop with all of his tools, a table saw, workbench, piles of materials, and this little stack of furniture. There are even a washer and dryer out here, which must help with trailer life.

“When did you buy the property?” I ask.

“About eight years ago now, was a bit of an impulse thing when I was visiting Bradley.” I’m disappointed when he cuts off his story in favor of holding up two slightly different chairs, one in each hand, asking, “Do you have a preference?”

There is the tiniest flutter in my stomach at his question. He’s inviting me to give an opinion on work he’s created. “Preference visually? For resale? For my personal taste?”

He smiles, laying the full force of his devilish good looks on me. “All three.” He moves closer, setting them between us so I can inspect them.

He steps back as I run my hand along the top edge of the first chair. “The wicker detail on the backrest is nice, if maybe a little trendy. But personally, I love wicker detailing regardless of trends. You could try it with a tighter weave to make them more durable and a touch more sophisticated.” He doesn’t say anything, just watches me, listening intently as I move on to the second chair. “For resale, this one is classic. It’s solid, thought out, but not edgy, and the seat depth and back height are more accommodating.” I come around to stand in front of it, measuring with my hands to guess the width. “You could get away with making the seat about two, maybe three inches wider without sacrificing the ability to use six of them at a standard size table. That would make them more comfortable and useable for a broader range of customers.”

“That was thorough as hell, Dev,” he says, brushing his hand along my low back, the touch intimate and familiar in a way he hasn’t dared since the night we met. “I might have to ask your opinion on all of these.”

“It’s a good thing you hired me.” I say, pulling my lips into a coy smile. Am I flirting on purpose now?

“It is.” He holds his hands open above both seats. “Now tell me which one is more comfortable.”

I sit in both and make a selection and he carries my pick into the house, leading me all the way to the framed-in primary suite where he already has a small table set up for me. “I’m working on exterior kitchen walls today. It’ll be loud, so you’ll probably do best back here. Anything else you need?”

“To design the entire interior of your house?” I ask, a little flabbergasted.

The way his eyes dart to the side is almost shy. “Yeah.”

“You know better than this.” I push lightly against his arm. “I need your opinions, your desires, your intention with the space. All of it. I can’t just make decisions on your behalf.”

“That’s fair. Give me five minutes.” He abandons his plans for the day without a second thought and walks away down the hall. He returns carrying a chair hooked on one arm and holding a giant glass of iced tea in each hand. “Hotter than Hades out here. Got to do something to cool off.”

Rhett

“When’s your move in date?” she asks, pen poised above her notebook.

First question, and I’m already stumped. “Don’t have one yet. Been working on it whenever I can, but it’s pretty slow moving.”

“Hmm,” she taps her pen on the table. “You don’t have to stress about lead times as much that way, but let’s come back to that eventually.”

Coming back to it, making a decision with her has me more motivated to finish this house than ever before.

She sips her tea slowly, then leans forward. “This isn’t a necessary question, but I’m curious.”

I try not to sound eager when I respond, “Lay it on me.”

Devon’s adorable when she’s curious. Her nose scrunches up the smallest amount. “How did you end up out here? Why Palm Springs?”

She listens intently as I explain about my family vacationing here when I was a kid, how Bradley and I stayed friends long after. I offer up my whole story without thinking of where it’ll inevitably land. “Living out here was always a dream, and I bought the property after I got my first big promotion. The bonus was burning a hole in my pocket, so I bought this massive pile of dirt and hoped future me would know what to do with it.”

“Promotion?” she asks.

This is the first she’s hearing of my history, and it’s invigorating to watch her eat up every detail. I haven’t seen her this engaged in conversation since the night we met. “I’ve always done woodwork. My dad’s a carpenter, so he taught me. I worked with him during the summers while I was in college. But after school, I had this engineering degree, and it seemed a shame to waste it. I worked at the same place for a decade.”

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