Page 31 of Upshot

His head cocks slightly as he studies me for a few more seconds. Then he’s helping Brontë down the stairs. They disappear from sight, and I can breathe again.

He’s right, she is good at design. I opened up the kitchen the way she envisioned. It’s made a world of difference. She doesn’t belong stuck in this small town, pregnant with some stranger's baby. I did this to her. She was a rising star in the modeling world. Her whole life was ahead of her. Then she made the mistake of sitting next to me.

“Hey, pity party. I was sent up here to get you,” Geneva says from the stairs. “You need to see how brilliant your girl is. She’s creating magic down there.”

“My girl?” I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, not yet maybe. But we’re getting there.”

* * *

BRONTË

I can’t believe I’m throwing ideas at Peter Winsloe. And he’s listening. I looked him up last night. He’s no slouch in the world of architecture.

His specialty is restoration. He would prefer to take something old and beautiful and make it even more amazing. I recognized some of the projects he’s worked on.

Rand has been pretty amazing today too. It seems he likes everything I suggest. Peter has been throwing him some strange looks, but I’ve barely noticed. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m doing something more than just surviving the day.

Maybe interior design is a path I could follow. I mean, I can’t sell gifts at the boutique forever. Once this baby is here, I’ll need to figure out how to support it.

“What do you think about a window seat in the hallway window?” Pete asks.

“That would be amazing. I can just visualize sitting up there reading a rainy day away.”

Pete smiles at me before his eyes cut to where Rand hovers close, sanding the window casings.

“Can you draw?” he asks.

“I can. Not nearly as good as you though.”

“Here, draw out your idea. You should start taking some art classes if you’re interested in design. There are always companies interested in hiring skilled designers with vision. Right, Rand?”

Pete smirks at Rand. I’m not sure what secret code they have going. I guess it’s like my sisters just knowing in their minds what I mean. Rand did mention they had been friends for a long time.

Pete slides a piece of paper over to me. Carefully, I draw out the window seat. The seat itself, should open so there is extra storage. Around the window is a large casing to give it a cozy feeling. I already know what the material for the seat should look like. When I’m done, Pete takes the paper.

“This is pretty good. Let’s shape the window, though, to match the architecture.” He redesigns the window slightly. “I have some good books on different styles if you’d like to borrow them. Or make Rand take you to Austin over the weekend and buy you some.”

I watch Rand’s back straighten. I’m sure the last thing he wants to do is spend more time together. He turns slowly toward us.

“Sure,” he says.

“Better yet, Geneva and I have to go back Wednesday. Maybe you can get a couple of days off work. You can drop us at the airport and then spend more than just the day,” Pete suggests.

“That would be amazing. I’ll see if Mrs. Rios can spare me. I might ask for Thursday morning off, in case we get back late. Is that okay with you, Rand?” I’m sure one day with me will be plenty for him. He still seems a little leery around me.

“Sure,” he answers. He returns to sanding the casing.

I’m not positive, but that one looks like it’s half the size it was from all the sanding. I stare at his back muscles, bunching under his T-shirt as he works. I wonder if he’d take the shirt off if I asked politely. I hear Pete chuckle. Please tell me I didn’t say that out loud.

By late afternoon, everyone has slowly drifted out. I’m slumped on the couch. I’m exhausted but in a good way. Pete and I spent all day talking about design. Rand hands me a bottle of water. His face looks concerned.

“Are you okay? You didn’t overdo it today, did you?” he asks.

“No. My feet are just a little swollen is all.” He sits and pulls my feet into his lap. Gently easing my tennis shoes off, he begins to work on my left arch. “Oh god, that’s amazing,” I moan. His hands falter. I hear Pete snort across the room as he walks into the kitchen. “I like your friend and your sister.”

“Yeah?”

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