Page 17 of The Focal Point

It made us such a great team and a large part of what kept our business going. And growing.

Tom took a long drink of his beer and turned to the half-finished rope lights hanging down haphazardly from under a cabinet. “Back to work.”

Predictably, we had gotten distracted from our original purpose when Tom posed a supposedly theoretical question about the capability of his smart home system we had created ourselves and installed.

Were installing, because we were forever tinkering and adding and playing with it in our free time. And sometimes, even when we weren’t free, texting or emailing ideas and code back and forth when we were working. And sometimes even in the middle of meetings.

But that was the way it had always been between us.

Scout let out a yip, ready for whatever was coming our way, even though he didn’t do anything but get in the way.

At least he was adorable doing it.

We worked silently for a few minutes to the sound of computer keys tapping and Tom pounding in the tacks to hold the rope lights.

“Hey, by the way, where were you the other day? I had to do that award lunch all by myself.”

My fingers faltered on the keys, and I had to delete a line of work as I scrambled for an answer.

“I had a meeting,” I answered finally when nothing brilliant had popped up.

Tom paused and twisted himself out of the awkward angle he had bent into to reach under the cabinets. “You had a meeting?”

The emphasis he put on the last word told me my best friend had heard something in my excuse I’d hoped he wouldn’t.

His dark-eyed gaze scrutinized me for a long moment, and I messed up another line of code.

“What kind of meeting?”

I fixed the line before I answered, then cleared my throat.

“With an interior decorator.”

Tom’s eyebrows rose. “An interior decorator?” He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest, his surprise becoming a smirk that curled at one corner of his mouth. “This interior decorator wouldn’t happen to have dark hair and blue eyes, would she?”

“I like what she did in your office,” I answered, giving up trying to code while Tom grilled me.

He straightened, pushing away from the counter toward me. “You have never, not once, shown any interest in design of any kind.”

I rolled my shoulders, uncomfortable and knowing what was coming. “So? A guy can change his mind. You’re the one who hired her in the first place.”

“You know I hired Bailey to get my mom off my back. She wore me down complaining about this place every time she visited.”

“Maybe it’s for your mom, too.” My joke fell flat. Betsy Kinnear was like a second mom to me, especially after mine passed away, but she never stayed with me when she came to visit from Florida, where they had moved several years ago.

“I call bullshit.” Tom had come to stand in front of my computer like an animated guard blocking the way in one of our computer games—I knew he was just as immovable, too. “You like her, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I muttered, looking down at my keyboard. I didn’t start typing, though.

“You’re getting your house decorated just to spend time with her, aren’t you?” Tom pushed.

“Fine, yes!” I stood up swiftly, slamming the top of my laptop down. “Are you happy? Yes. I’m redecorating my house to spend more time with Bailey.”

Tom watched me in silence, his eyes round. And then he began to laugh so hard he had to wipe away tears as he shook his head. “Seriously, dude? You do realize you could have just asked her out, right?”

“I’m pretty sure she would have turned me down.”

“You don’t know that—”