The Single Life with Zola Patterson - Danielle Allen Page 0,16

chair, holding his gaze. “That’s what aggressively good-looking means.”

He searched my face from the middle of the room. “I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not.”

“It’s a compliment…”

“Thank you…” He looked at me warily. “But what?”

I smiled because he heard the silent ‘but’ that I purposely left out. “But I can imagine that being hard.”

“What?”

“Having eyes on you all the time.”

His smile faded a little. “There’s no real answer to that question,” he deflected. “Anything I say in response will come off as conceited on one hand or insecure on the other.” His smile grew. “And I’m neither.”

I tilted my head to the side. “Or are you both?”

“I’m neither,” he reiterated, not breaking his stare.

“Or are you both?” I repeated.

He shook his head as he made his way to the ladder. “I’m not doing this with you. Heaven told me that you were some sort of therapist and you’re not going to try to get in my head while I’m working.”

I laughed. “I’m not a therapist!”

“Oh.” He waited until after he measured the wall and made marks with the chalk to continue. “She said that you helped her through a rough time and that it was the advice you gave that changed things for her. I knew she was in therapy at the time. I assumed you were the therapist.”

I shook my head. “No. A writer and a relationship advisor.”

“You’re a relationship expert?” he asked as he put on a pair of safety glasses.

“That’s what they say.” I watched him as he went to his toolbox. “I just like to think of myself as a knowledgeable source of information.”

Pulling out a second pair of glasses, he chuckled to himself. “So, you’re in a relationship?”

“No.”

“You’re single.”

It wasn’t a question. But the sly smile on his face let me know he had something more to say. “I am.”

He walked toward me, offering me the glasses in his hand. “So, are you lonely or are you juggling men?”

I took them and slipped them on. “Neither.”

He licked his lips as he backed away from me. “Or is it both?”

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. “It’s neither.”

“Or…”—he cocked his head to the side— “is it both?”

I laughed. “I’m not doing this with you.”

He grinned as he bent down to take out the huge canvases.

“What about you? Are you single and in need of my services?” I asked, taking the opening.

“In need of your services?” he repeated as he rested the canvases against the wall. He looked over at me. “What services do you provide?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Advice.”

“Oh, okay. Just checking.” He picked up one of the pieces. “What do you think about this?”

I got up and walked around my desk. I stared at the place where he’d planned to hang the art. Just seeing it pressed against the wall brought a huge smile to my face. “A little higher.” He moved it up a couple inches. “That’s perfect.”

He nodded. “Okay, good.”

After he made the necessary adjustments, he picked up two different wall anchors and the associated masonry bits.

“And the answer is yes and no.”

My brows furrowed. “Huh?”

He took a step toward me. “Yes, I am single. No, I don’t need any advice.”

Single… noted.

“I’m a little offended you don’t want my advice,” I told him with mock indignation as I dramatically put my hands to my chest. “Why wouldn’t you want my advice?”

He gestured to my wall. “Why would I take advice from someone who doesn’t have any books on her bookshelf?”

“My books are in a box, so they don’t get dusty,” I argued, trying not to be amused by him.

He lifted his shoulders. “So you say,” he said with a smirk. “I’ll believe you once I see a book. Until then, I’m convinced you can’t read.”

I shook my head and covered my smile with my hand. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re questionable,” he joked, a light laugh escaping him.

“I’m questionable? What?”

“Not having books makes you questionable.” He took a few more steps toward me. “Do you have a preference?” he asked, holding out his hand.

“Always.”

His smile grew. “You’re not even looking.”

I glanced down at his open palm. “Um, what are those?”

“Earplugs. The black ones work the best, but they might be too big for your ears. The green ones are smaller. They may fit.”

“Do I need them?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” I picked up the green pair. Opening the little disposable plastic bag, I laughed under my breath. “I thought you were going to ask me to choose which wall anchor and masonry