door. “There’s history in those walls. I could feel it.” I lower my hand, looking at Hazel. “And I know it sounds crazy, but the second I stepped inside that house, I sensed I was about to be part of something greater than merely designing a home. And I didn’t even tell you the best part.”
Hazel smirks, inwardly laughing at how excited I am over a house. But to me, it’s not just a house. “What’s that?”
“Look.” I scroll through the photos until I find the one I’m looking for. “Pocket doors!”
Hazel bursts out laughing, the sound echoing through the open living space. “Only you would get all hot and bothered by a door.”
“You don’t see stuff like that anymore. There’s even a butler’s pantry. And a few hidden closets behind bookcases. I’m going to turn one of them into a laundry room, since there isn’t one.”
Her eyes widen. “No laundry room?”
“The place was built in the 1850s. Apart from a few updates here and there, not much has been done to bring it into the twentieth century, let alone the twenty-first. So that’s what I plan on doing, while keeping with the original character.”
“So you’re taking the job.”
“I am,” I say, unable to mask the hint of reluctance in my tone.
“What is it?” She pushes a few strands of her chestnut hair behind her ears.
“Nothing,” I answer quickly. “It’s nothing.”
“No. There’s something. A minute ago, you were practically coming in your pants over pocket doors and hidden closets. Now, you don’t seem so…certain.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, unsure what to tell her about Weston. Wes. All week, I’d convinced myself the spark I felt when we first met was because of my near-death experience. But that same electricity was there today. It was even more powerful, if that’s at all possible.
“Come on, Lo.” She rests her hand over mine, her gesture comforting. “You can tell me anything.”
“I know. I just…” I tilt back my head and stare at the ceiling, wracking my brain for the words I need to explain Wes. “Julia, the woman who hired me, well… She has a brother.”
Amusement dances in Hazel’s eyes as a grin lights up her face. “Go on.”
“And I know him.”
“Who is it?” She straightens, brows knitted together. “One of your previous clients? Please tell me it’s not the same prick who came home drunk and thought it was a good idea to try to get you into bed, because I’m still pissed—”
I hold up my hand to cut her off. “No. Not a former client. Nothing like that.”
“Then who?”
“Remember that guy I told you about? The one who saw me slip in the crosswalk and came to my rescue?”
“Weston, right?”
“Yes.” I push out a long breath, running my sweaty palms along my yoga pants. “He’s Julia’s brother. And an architect, so he’ll be quite involved in the renovation and remodel.”
She studies me for several protracted moments, analyzing me in a way I’m sure gives away all my secrets. I hadn’t told her much about Wes. About the way my body lit up, making me want to lower my defenses for the first time in over five years. I’d simply told her what happened, then of the Good Samaritan who came to my aid. Nothing more. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. I guess I was wrong.
“Why do I get the sense there’s more here than him simply being the guy who helped you?” she comments just as my ringing cell phone pierces the room.
I dart my gaze to it. My heart ricochets into my throat, my eyes widening when I see Wes’ name pop up on the screen.
Worse, Hazel sees it, too.
“I think that just answered my question,” she taunts.
I feign irritation and stand, swiping my phone off the coffee table and heading into the kitchen area. On a deep inhale, I straighten my spine, trying to subdue the butterflies taking flight in my stomach.
“This is Londyn,” I answer with all the professionalism I can muster.
“Hey, Londyn. It’s Wes.”
“Hi. Is everything okay? Or are you calling to tell me your sister changed her mind and decided to go with another designer?”
“What? No. No way am I letting you slip through my fingers.” He inhales sharply. “I mean, her fingers.”
I fight back my grin as a warmth spreads over my cheeks. I could listen to him speak for hours and not tire of his deep voice and refined Southern drawl.