Page 47 of Rewind It Back

“Should we talk about design concepts?” I ask instead. “I brought some color palette examples so I could get an idea of what speaks to you.”

He glances at his phone one more time before he focuses back on me with a quick nod of his head. “I have no idea what that means, but yeah.”

I chuckle, taking a seat at the table while he chooses the one directly next to me, regardless that there are about six other options that’d give us some distance.

I allow him a moment to scan the books out on the table, some showcasing light and airy aesthetics, others a bit darker and moodier. Some have character in every inch of their designs and others are more simplistic and modern.

“Do any of these draw your eye? Do you see anything that you’d like to wake up to every morning?”

Waiting for his response, I pull my attention from the books to him.

Only to find him already looking at me.

“Do you still listen to music?” he asks out of nowhere.

“What?”

“When something big happens. Do you still attach a song to it so you can remember it when you relisten? The first day of a new house project, for example.”

Nostalgia floods me. All those nights on the roof between our houses. All the mixtapes and CDs I gave him over the years.

But there hasn’t been much good that’s worth remembering of late.

I shake my head, quickly averting my attention back to the design books. “I don’t do that anymore.”

Out of my periphery, I watch him grab his phone, tapping away on the screen before, suddenly, a smooth and steady rhythm begins to play over the surround-sound speakers in his house. The song is soft and melodic before a keyboard filters in, accompanying the beat.

I recognize it as a popular song we used to listen to growing up, but it never made one of the yearly playlists. He mentioned a few times that he felt it should’ve.

I turn his way, but now he’s fully fixated on the design books sprawled across his dining table.

“Focus, Hart.” He doesn’t look at me as he says it.

“Have I told you that you’re infuriating, DeLuca?”

“Not today.” A smile tugs at the corner of his lip. “I’m not sure what I want. Regarding the house.”

“What catches your eye?”

He hunches over the table, roaming the different aesthetics, unable to land on one.

Green eyes look back at me. “If this were your house, what would you do?”

The answer sticks in my throat.

Because there was a time I thought Iwould bedesigning our house.

“I um...” I hesitate, finally pointing to a few of my favorite design books. “I like a mix, personally. Some traditional, and a combination of mid-century modern and organic modern. If it were my home, I’d add color and dimension to the walls with moldings and wallpapers and give each space its own story while also making it cohesive and functional, so that it’s livable but interesting.” I pause my rambling because this is something I’ve thought far too much about. “But this is your home, so it’s about what you like.”

He checks the different books I referenced. “I like that idea.”

“Which idea?”

“All of them.”

“Well, you have time to think it over. You don’t need to make a decision today.”

He shakes his head. “You’ve always had good taste, Hallie. I like your vision. I trust you.”

---