Page 9 of Designs on You

Then she set out flooring options, so many it made his head spin.

“If you go with wood flooring, you’ll want to choose kitchen tile that blends both with your wood floors and with the kitchen cabinets and counter.”

Natalie offered several options for wood and tile. All were good ones. But he found himself gravitating toward the wood-look tile.

“These look like wood. I’d bet they’d clean up easier, too.”

She nodded. “They would.”

“And then we could lay these all the way into the kitchen, making the whole area feel larger.”

“Yes.” She smiled, and damn, that lit up her face. He’d like to see a lot more of that smile.

“Okay, let’s do that,” he said, running his fingers over one of the smooth, cool tiles. “This one.”

“Excellent choice. Now on to the bathrooms.”

He couldn’t hold his groan in. “This is going to take an eternity.”

She laughed. “We’re almost done.” She pulled out more selections.

“Couldn’t you just choose for me?”

“And what if you hate what I put in the primary bath? Or one of the other bathrooms?”

“Based on the samples you brought, I doubt I’d hate anything.”

“This will go fast.” She shuffled some of the selections around so there were fewer options. “This for your primary. These for your secondary bathrooms.”

He looked them over and liked them all immediately. “Done.”

“We still have to choose lighting and paint, but I’d say we’ve got a good start.”

“Great. Let’s go have lunch.”

“I have to make notes of your selections. And don’t you have to work?”

“I can work tonight. And I’m hungry. You can make notes while I’m driving.”

“I have my car.”

“I’ll drive you back here after we eat. Which hopefully we can do soon.”

She cocked her head to the side. “You’re cranky when you’re hungry.”

“I am not. But can we go now?”

Her lips curved. “Yes. Let’s go.”

Finally. He pulled his keys out and led her to the door, already tasting the juicy hamburger he was planning to eat.

• • •

During lunch, Natalie glanced over on occasion to watch Eugene devour a hamburger, fries, and a side salad like he hadn’t eaten in a week. And he did it while talking a mile a minute about anything and everything, which was fine with her because while she half listened to him going on about something baseball, she made notes about his selections.

“How’s your chicken salad?” he asked.

She didn’t look up from her notes. “It’s fine, thanks.”

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