Page 63 of Idle

I squeeze her hand. “You certainly are.” Her quick wit and positive attitude are like a salve on my gaping open wounds. With clarity, I realize she’s what’s been missing from my life. For years. Slapping my hands on top of my knees, I say, “Let’s move out of the hallway, shall we?”

I scramble to my feet and offer my hand to help her up. She places hers inside mine and I pull her to standing. I must’ve overestimated my strength because she lands against my body. Closing my arms around her, I whisper, “I got you.”

She doesn’t move. “Promise?”

In that instant, I allow myself a piece of paradise and close my arms around her body. Holding this brilliant woman next to me, all the voices in my head flee, leaving an intense need to spend more time with her. Alone.

Stepping back, I sling my arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

Inside 1626, we go about collecting our things. Since we’re not allowed inside the primary bedroom, I pick up my sketch for the headboard and collapse onto the sofa. I can’t figure out what’s holding me back from working on it.

Paige comes up next to me. “Want to talk about it?”

I do and I don’t. After a brief internal debate, I toss the sketch next to me. “Nah. I think I need to take a break from it for a while. Want to get dinner?”

“Sure. Someplace quiet, though. I don’t want to be around a ton of people. And Idefinitelydon’t want to deal with Bo.”

Her mentioning the rival carpenter reminds me of what I witnessed in the lobby, and I relay it to my partner. After a moment, she says, “That is weird, right? She didn’t want to talk with us outside of this apartment. What do you think they were discussing?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t hear anything. And Mary Ellen wasn’t there either.”

Her eyebrows rise. “Do you think Quinn was talking some sense into him? Telling him his brand of assholery doesn’t play well on television?”

Her description of Bo makes me chuckle. “You didn’t seem to mind at the beginning.” Why did I say that? I sound like a jealous boyfriend. Which I’m not. Jealous. Or a boyfriend.Whoa.

Her eyes bounce to the wall of windows, then she focuses on me. “At first, I liked him because he was paying attention to me. He brought me flavored water, my favorite. He got overbearing fast, though. He eats with his mouth open.” She grimaces. “Then, at our dinner, he was awful to our server.”

“He never came across as anything other than a jerk to me.” I pause. “And he snores.”

Her fingertips rub my chest over the mark he left during our fight. “Let’s not talk about him anymore. We’ll find out what they were talking about, or not. None of our business right now.”

Can’t argue with her logic. “What do you think about Japanese? I remember hearing about a good sushi place near the High Line. Want to try it?”

“Let me wash up and we can go.” She disappears down the hall to the completed bathroom.

Alone, I enjoy the sound of silence. For once, Homer isn’t criticizing me. I’m aware I need to come clean to my parents about the changes I want to make to my life, but this can wait until after the results of the show are made. If we win, I’ll be able to celebrate with them and hopefully gain their approval. If I lose, no harm, no foul. I never told them about Handmade by JD and my Etsy shop. I can close them down and they’d never be the wiser.

I scan the room, sitting taller. We did a damn good job in here. Our plans for the primary suite are creative, too. I hope they’re enough to win this competition.

I hopeI’menough.

Before I can go down that road again, Paige re-enters the room. “I’m ready. Let’s get out of here.”

We go to the Japanese restaurant and sample a few different rolls. My favorite is the “Dynamite Roll,” basically tempura shrimp with a delicious sauce, while Paige favors the eel.

Blowing on the hot green tea, she says, “I’m not ready to return to the apartment building. Want to do something fun?”

I stare into her silky brown eyes and am lost. “What do you have in mind?”

“A club.”

I blink. I like clubbing as much as the next guy, but this isn’t what I expected to hear from her now. Especially since she said she didn’t want to be around a bunch of people. Yet, I can’t deny her anything. “I’m game.”

She whips out her phone, then drops it onto the table. “Shoot. I was going to call Jimmy, but I don’t have his number memorized.”

My stomach hardens. “Who’s Jimmy?”

“Our vehicle concierge.”

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