Page 139 of Desperate Actions

“Oh, yeah, sure you watch this for the interior design tips,” she mocks, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Right on cue, the host, Duke Anthony, fills the screen.

A hulking, silver-streaked man with rugged good looks, a devil-may-care smirk, and an Aussie accent so thick it could melt steel.

“Oh my God, Michaela,” Leanna bursts out laughing. “You’re such a thirst goblin.”

Michaela doesn’t even pretend to be offended.

“First, I am a happily married woman, and my husband is fine as fuck. Second, I am human and married doesn’t mean dead. I can appreciate fine craftsmanship,” she says, fluttering her lashes dramatically.

Andrea rolls her eyes. “That man sure as hell is fine craftsmanship.”

I grin, listening to them tease each other over the undeniably handsome host, but honestly?

He’s got nothing on my Sammy.

Still, I settle in, cozy and content, as the room fills with easy conversation, laughter, and the mindless comfort of a home improvement show no one is actually watching.

By the time the seventh episode ended and the last of the leftover snacks had been eaten, the house was quiet again. Midnight had come and gone, and the air outside had turned crisp with early spring rain.

I like watching it fall from the window wall, which I’ve since learned has a special sort of one way glass to it so others can’t see in. There’s something that also controls the glare from the sun during the daytime.

It’s actually quite amazing.

I hug my notebook to my chest, flipping through the pages already half full of ideas.

Ideas for our home.

I know the changes I want to make already. Bright citrus colors for the sterile, modern living room. A softer, more inviting couch big enough for lazy mornings curled up with Sammy.

Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves—which given my dyslexia might seem stranger, but the truth is I love books.

Maybe even a rolling ladder for extra drama.

We already have a ridiculously awesome entertainment system and ninety inch screen TV.

And I wonder how Sammy feels about video games. He doesn’t seem to have a system set up, but I used to play quite a bit and I think it might be fun.

There’s a working fireplace that I want to keep. And the polished wood floors are stunning. But I wonder if he’d mind an area rug just in front of the fire.

Then I think about romantic evenings spent lying there together. And the thought made something warm settle deep in my chest.

I want so badly to share all this with him, but he isn’t here. Something that brings a sharp slap of pain to my heart.

Sammy has his reasons I’m sure, and maybe he’ll tell me later. I mean, I hope he does.

I want him to know he can tell me anything.

I want him to know I’m not going anywhere.

Not ever.

Of course, that would all be easier if he knew how I felt.

And that’s on me. I know it is.

I sigh and stretch, weary now that tomorrow is here.

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