I’d memorized Remy’s number and could reel it off in my sleep, and I’d demolished all the reasons for not calling him. One quick phone call wouldn’t hurt, but I’d have to figure out what to say. I couldn’t let my mouth run away and talk gibberish.
But as I held the phone and debated what to do, a guy paused outside the store and peered through the glass. He was cute andcould take my mind off Remy for a moment. He was well dressed and groomed, but he paused with his hand on the door. That was unusual for our customers.
When people came to the store, they didn’t hesitate. They knew what they were after and hoped we could help them. Unless the guy was asking for directions. We had our fair share of those too.
He was hovering, and I almost went outside and asked if he needed help. But he made a decision and pushed open the door. The bell must have rung and announced him, but my brain had stopped processing anything except this gorgeous man whose face lit up when he saw me.
“Welcome to Furniture on Main. I’m Hari.”
“You’re just as I imagined.”
Was someone playing a trick? I glanced left and right, expecting to see a guy filming me.
“Remy.” He stuck out his hand.
“No. My name is Hari.” I still knew my own name, so the synapses were firing.
He smirked, and I struggled to breathe. My mouth drooped, and I think I drooled.
“And what a delightful name it is, Hari.” He grabbed my hand which was dangling at my side, waiting for an instruction from my brain that had taken a detour.
I gulped and studied my hand in his strong grip. “Your nails are well kept.” Damn, where did that come from? His nails? Why would I compliment him on those? “Hands. Nice hands, along with the rest of you.”
This was a disaster, and I was burbling. Some entity had taken control of me. This wasn’t me. I was the owner and I didn’t burble. He didn’t speak but waited, and the wheels churning inside my head slowed so I could form a sentence.
“Remy? The same Remy I called hundreds of times?” It had to be, but I didn’t want to fumble this and flirt with a potential customer.
“One and the same.”
“You’re here.”
“In the flesh.”
My hand was still in his, and I considered closing the showroom and taking him for coffee. But he’d come for a reason and that wasn’t for us to have a date.
“How can I help you?” Part of me hoped he'd say he wanted me to kiss him and sweep him off his feet. Or he could do that last part.
He glanced around. “This is where you make and sell furniture?”
“This is the display area, the showroom.” I jerked my head toward the door that led to the workshop. “That’s where we make the furniture.”
Remy ran his hand over a credenza. “Nice. I’m looking for something special for my place.”
He’d told me on the phone he couldn’t afford our furniture. Maybe I should check to see if he robbed a bank before taking him on as a client.
“What did you have in mind?” It sounded as though he was looking for one piece rather than furnishing his entire house orapartment. But was he aware of the work that went into a custom piece, which was reflected in the price?
“A desk.” He parted his hands, indicating however many inches. “I have a space in mind, and as I spend a lot of time on the computer, I would love a piece of furniture that has been made just for me.”
“You’ve come to the right place.” When Remy said “love” I almost blurted out that was how I felt about it. It was love at first sight for me, though I hadn’t determined his motive yet.
I pulled out our wood catalogue. Once he had an idea what he wanted, I’d take him into the workshop so he could see and feel the wood, assuming we had some in stock.
“Maple.” He didn’t dither or flip back and forth between pages. He pointed and tapped the image.
“An excellent choice.”
In the workshop, I avoided Adrian and Callum’s gaze and took Remy over the sawdust-covered floor and pulled out a piece of maple. He placed his palm on it.
