I’d been sitting in the restaurant for thirty minutes by myself, getting more annoyed by the minute. The battery in my cell had died, so I couldn’t even call Jake and ask where he was. Or if he was still coming.
“It’s about time,” I said when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and saw not Jake, but my ex- boyfriend, Porter.
Not just my ex. But THE ex.
Also known as my relapse. All I could do for a moment was blink, blink, blink, sure he was a mirage.
“I thought that was you.” Porter grabbed my hand and glided me into a hug.
His signature Acqua Di Gio cologne surrounded me, his hand pressed into the small of my back, and I knew it wasn’t a mirage. I took a shaky breath, trying to recover from the shock of seeing him. “In town for a visit?”
“Actually, I just moved back. New York wasn’t for me.” He looked me up and down and then his pale green eyes lit up as he flashed me a smile. “You look amazing.”
It was impossible not to relive a dozen memories of back when we were together and he’d give me that exact same look, completely undoing me with such little effort. I swiped a piece of hair behind my ear. “Thanks. You look good, too.” As usual, his clothing was impeccable. Tonight he wore a fitted, striped button-down that probably cost more than I spent on groceries in a month.
“There you are,” Jake said, coming around the table. “Did you get my message?”
I lowered my eyebrows. “Message?”
“I called to tell you I was running late.”
“My phone’s dead.”
Jake’s eyes flicked from me, to Porter, to Porter’s hand on my waist. Porter dropped it, and there were a couple of awkward seconds before I realized it was my job to make introductions. “Oh. Um. This is Porter. Porter, Jake. Jake owns Blue.”
“The little place on Fifteenth you like to take all your clients to?” Porter asked.
“That’s the one.”
“It’s a great place,” he said to Jake, polite as ever. “I suppose I better get back to my party.” He gave me another quick hug. “It was good to see you again, Darby.”
“Don’t tell me that was another one of your ex-boyfriends,” Jake said as he pulled my chair out for me.
I was still a little irritated at him for being late, so I said, “Okay, I won’t tell you.”
Jake sat across from me. “Man, they seem to be everywhere.”
I looked at Jake, wondering how long it’d take before I was referring to him as an ex. Or if I even could refer to him as that, since we’d never used the boyfriend-girlfriend label. “You’re telling me.”
My Age: 28
Prince Phillip, in my always right opinion, was the best prince. Sure, I’d be a little weirded out if a guy started singing about waiting to find his special someone in the woods, but that’s Disney for you. And at least he had good dance moves and a nice voice. Unlike several of the other princes, he had more than that as well. He was determined to marry a peasant girl instead of a princess, regardless of what his dad said, and the guy fought a dragon to get back to the girl he loved.
You’ve got to admire a guy willing to fight for what he wants.
After my almost engagement to Robert, I vowed never to fall again. I bought one of the condos that Robert had said would be too small to start a family in and dropped a large sum of money on a comfortable mattress. I came home exhausted, hit the soft bed, and slept until morning. On the weekends, I didn’t roll out of bed until noon. There was no point in getting up anyway. Steph and Anthony were in that can’t-stand-to-be-apart phase, leaving me to hang out with me, myself, and I.
At least I had my job to keep me busy.
Searching for the perfect pieces to go in Virginia Hammond’s newly remodeled living room, I popped into a furniture store in Greenwood Village. Opera music floated through the room, giving off an air of sophistication.
I stared at a mock living room with aspen tree wallpaper for a good five minutes, trying to decide if it was the fake trees or the tree-trunk side tables I hated more.
As I turned to see what else the store had, I brushed against someone. “Sorry,” I said, looking up at the guy I’d run into. He had short, sandy-colored hair and a dimpled chin. His style was impeccable—dark suit that fit perfectly, black silk tie. His whole look screamed business and money, and he made it look good.
“What do you think about that couch?” he asked, pointing at a shiny black leather sectional.
“Looks slippery and will forever have a dead cowhide smell. If you want that whole bachelor pad look, then that’s the way to go. Why guys all love black leather, I’ll never quite know.”
“Not a fan of black leather, huh?” His deep, rich voice held a touch of humor.
“Not especially. I like a couch that I can cuddle up on without having to unstick myself every time the room gets above seventy degrees. There’s a couch over there…” I pointed to the next “room” over. “Black, still very masculine, and much more comfortable.”
He cocked his head and studied me. “You know, you look really familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”
“Are you sure we haven’t met before?” His eyebrows lowered as he stared at me. “Where do you work?”
He sounded genuine enough that I started to think it wasn’t a line, but I would’ve remembered meeting a guy who looked like he did. “I work as an interior designer for Metamorphosis Interior Designs.”
“So you pick out furniture for other people?” One corner of his mouth twisted up. “Even if what they want smells like dead cow?”
“If that’s what they want. Then I just silently judge them while I decorate.”
He laughed, and his smile lit up his pale green eyes. “Well, I’m sick of trying to decorate my place. Maybe I should hire you.”
“Maybe you should.” I’d thrown it out there, but I hadn’t expected him to actually consider it. Something about the guy unsettled me in a hard-to-place way. It wasn’t a scary feeling, but a kind of magnetic pull that made me feel like I should run and move closer at the same time. I pulled a card out of my purse and handed it to him, more to have something to do than anything else. The way he was looking at me had my heart beating faster and faster and I couldn’t have that. I’d sworn off men.
“I better get back to work.” I shot him a quick smile, then continued my search through the store.
Two days later, Porter Montgomery called and hired me to redecorate his place.
“I figured out where I saw you,” Porter said when I showed up at his house to see what the job was going to entail. “The Building Hope dinner. At the time, you were with someone else.” He leaned against the door frame, his eyes locked on mine. “Are you still with him?”
I’d attended that dinner with Robert. The old scars from that relationship rose up, making my chest constrict. “I’m not with anyone right now.”
“So, how about you and me—”
“Let’s have a look around and get started on your place,” I said, stepping past him and into the expansive entry.
Over the course of the next few months, I redid every room in his giant four-bedroom house. He constantly flirted with me; I remained professional. After all, I didn’t believe in love or relationships anymore.
But occasionally I slipped with Porter, getting drawn into conversations with him that felt like only minutes but lasted an hour. Once it was about classic cars. Then an interesting art piece he’d gotten in Italy. He’d visited countries I’d always dreamed of going to, and he had all these pictures and stories—the way he told them made me feel like I was there. He always asked questions about my hobbies and opinions, and he really listened when I talked.
There was this crazy chemistry between us, like the air was charged every time we were in the same room. But whenever he brought up doing anything together outside of decorating, I brushed him off and got back to
