Because everything was different.
And I was ready for a change.
Belle
I smiled at the family photo in my hand, one from a couple with their newborn child in their lap. The little threesome was situated right in the middle of the grand family room I’d designed and decorated for them in the spring when Mrs. Albers was pregnant. That family room was only a small piece of the re-design, as I’d done everything from the nursery to the master bath. But that room had been the one that stole my heart.
There was always one.
It was a bright room, with all white walls and white trim, save for the cherry wood beams that sprawled across the ceiling. We’d chosen a gorgeous French empire chandelier for the centerpiece of the room, and it hung over the luxurious cream push pin couch that the family sat together on, the new parents smiling down at their baby. The Albers already had an impressive art collection, it was just moving those pieces into the right place that made everything come together, like the Kara Walker silhouette pieces hung in symphony over the couch.
What I loved most about that room was the fireplace.
Ever since I first studied interior design, I’d been fascinated by the concept of Hygge. It’s a Danish word that essentially means cozy, warm, safe and comfortable — at least, that was always my interpretation of it. You could make a room Hygge by using low, warm lighting — like candles and fireplaces and chandeliers, as opposed to bright fluorescent or white lights. Add in some cozy blankets, plush furniture, hot tea, and some board games, and you’ve got the Hygge effect.
Looking at the picture of the Albers made my heart squeeze and float on butterflies like no man had ever accomplished in my life. I didn’t fall in love with men. I fell in love with homes, with rooms, with spaces that would play host to memories for years to come. The Albers would put up a Christmas tree in that room. Their baby might take her first steps there. Mr. Albers might doze off on the couch one cold Sunday afternoon, with his sock-covered feet being warmed by the fireplace.
With the right eye, the right furniture, the right art and curtains and rugs and plants and tables and vases and candles, I could take a room from just a room to an entire experience.
That was the magic of interior design.
I was still smiling at the photograph when my office phone rang, Gemma’s extension lighting up the little green bulb next to her name.
“I’ve got your eleven when you’re ready,” she said when I answered.
“You can send them in. Still on for lunch at Suko’s?”
“Yes,” she answered desperately. “I’m famished.”
“I’ll make this quick,” I promised.
Tucking the Albers’s photograph away, I stood, smoothing down my pencil skirt and checking my lipstick in the large mirror across from my desk. It played off the windows across from it, making my little corner suite feel even bigger than it was, and filling the room with soft, natural light.
I stood in front of my desk, hands folded in front of me and a smile plastered on and waiting. My eleven was a new client, and I didn’t know much about them other than they were new to the city and had bought one of the penthouse condos in the newest skyrise in Grant Park. My mouth was already foaming thinking about the views of Lake Michigan and the pier and the downtown skyline.
I hoped they’d give me full reign to do whatever I wanted.
I heard Gemma’s soft laughter on the other side of my office door before she pushed it open, holding it for our new client.
And when he stepped through the arch, he sucked up all the air in the room with one giant, dazzling smile punctuated by two deep dimples.
Aside from that smile, the man was an absolute beast.
He was the kind of tall that towered, his broad shoulders held high and straight, his chest barrel-shaped and straining against the fabric of his suit. That suit was the only thing light about him, covering him in a soft, harbor gray. Everything else was dark — his pitch-black hair cut into a short fade, his warm brown skin almost golden in the natural light filling the office. At first glance, while he smiled down at Gemma, even his eyes appeared dark.
But when they lifted, when they met my own, I saw the sparkling golden honey they truly were.
“Well, Ms. Monroe will take over now,” Gemma said. “You’re in good hands, Mr. Kumaka.”
“Thank you, Gemma. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
God, even his voice was somehow dark and delicious, the kind that made your fingers slip under your panties on a late-night phone call. His face was boyishly handsome and strikingly severe at once, like a walking art piece that would make you stop and tap your finger to your chin, pondering what the artist’s intent was.
Gemma quirked a brow, still staring at Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sinfully Handsome. “I swear, you look so familiar…” She chewed her lip. “I can’t quite place where I know you from.”
Mr. Kumaka shifted a bit. “Maybe we knew each other in a past life. I’ve always felt like I was a hawk.” He smiled, and I didn’t know why I realized in that very moment how different that smile was from Jordan’s. It was endearing, a little crooked and wide and flashy, but it suited him in a way I couldn’t put into words. “Maybe we flew together.”
Gemma returned the smile. “Maybe we did.”
She gave me a wink on her way out of the office, one that to anyone else would have looked like a fun exchange between boss and assistant. Have fun, good luck, see you for lunch! But since we’d been best friends for decades, we had a whole conversation
