Page 21 of Walking Red Flag

I looked at the space with him and said, “I don’t have one.”

He turned to me and I twisted my head to look at him.

Damn, he was closer than I thought, and it made my mouth dry.

Which was, of course, when my stomach started to make itself known.

My stomach felt so bloated today after the pizza I’d inhaled last night when I got home that it’d been churning with it all morning.

I pressed a hand to my stomach and felt the pressure start to build.

I steeled my stomach and reiterated, “There is no limit. I want this done right. I don’t care how much it costs. If I cared, I would’ve gone with the builder’s recommendation. Instead, I called around and had you suggested to me well over four times. So I called you.” I paused. “I was aware that you weren’t cheap. I was warned. But the work that I’ve seen of yours…it’s phenomenal. And I want this place exactly how I want it.”

“Good,” he said. “Now tell me what you want.”

I did, explaining how I wanted floor-to-ceiling shelving behind the register. How I wanted the register/counter area to be one huge island with glass blocking the public from the product. I told him about my wants and desires with the side of the room.

I told him about how I wanted the bathrooms to look. I told him about the window from my back area to Maven’s kitchen area, so we could pass her product back and forth, along with the coffees that were ordered on her side.

And after I was done, my stomach was now so bloated with gas that I didn’t dare move too much from where I was planted.

During the entire discussion, the man—Cutter—walked around and took note of everything.

Only when I was done with my explanation did he say, “I’m going to take a lot of measurements today. I’ll do that now if you’re okay with it.”

I was.

“Sure,” I said a little bit desperately. “When you get done in here, let me know, and you can measure my office, too.”

I seriously needed to visit a room that was far away from him.

Far, far away.

Because the gas in my belly was about to explode.

“I’ll be in my office if you need me.” I smiled.

He jerked his chin in the affirmative.

His eyes followed my movement from the main room to the back hallway.

I walked slowly, disappearing into my unfinished office.

The door closed, and I counted to thirty, hoping that my stomach would get under control.

But, of course, it didn’t.

I had trigger foods.

Pizza and beer were two of them, and both of those I’d consumed in volume last night.

I didn’t want to say that I was lactose intolerant, because I wasn’t.

I was more gluten intolerant than anything else.

But in my opinion, the gas was worth the pleasure of eating pizza.

Not to mention, this morning before leaving, I’d had a protein shake that never failed to add to my gassiness.

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