Page 24 of Falling for a Grumpy Hero

We were killing time, waiting for the clients to show up, and surprisingly, the conversation was pretty easy. That kind of thing just didn’t happen to me anymore. Normally, I was on guard all the time, but Lila had a way of poking me until I responded against my will, which was new for me.

“What’s wrong with design anyway?” she asked, her tone light and teasing and a twinkling humor in her eyes that told me she wasn’t taking any offense. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those old-school types who thinks it’s just about choosing the color of a couch or smearing some paint on a wall.”

I grunted. “It’s not old school if it’s the truth.”

She laughed. “There’s so much more to it than that. I promise, before you eventually do end up firing me, I’ll prove it to you. Doing the right things with your design of the interior of a home can make it feel like a completely different place. Plus, it can make a small room feel big or a big room feel cozy and personal.”

“I agree that there are some things to be achieved with the positioning of a couch and the correct color of paint on the walls, for example, but there’s a lot more to be achieved as an engineer or an architect if that wall doesn’t need to be there in the first place.”

“You’re a snob,” she concluded immediately, but she was still smiling. “No architect or engineer sleeps on their floors, foundations, or walls at night, though, Mr. Structural Engineer. You sleep on a bed, placed in the correct part of your room to allow you to get the best quality sleep.”

“No. I mean, fine, I do sleep on a bed, but it wasn’t placed where it is for any reason other than it fits there. Sorry to disappoint.”

She opened her mouth, clearly ready with a comeback, but then Eliza showed up—without her husband. The older woman waltzed into her foyer almost without even glancing at me. Wearing some kind of dress that swung and swished when she walked, she raced up to Lila and tossed her graying black hair over her shoulder before she swept my assistant into a hug.

“Lila, darling! I’m so happy you were able to come back so soon.” She released Lila and took a step back but then reached for my assistant’s arm. “I thought you and I might spend some time talking about the interior before the boys start butting heads about the layout.”

“We should talk about the sinking foundation and the structural issues before we get to the interior,” I said, following the women as Eliza led Lila down the hall. “If those things aren’t addressed, there won’t be an interior to design.”

Eliza stuck her hand into the air, swishing her wrist in a way that told me she wasn’t going to talk about it, gold bracelets and bangles clinking with the movement. “We’ll discuss the boring things when Rodrigo gets here. For now, we should talk about the interior.”

An interior which was weeks away, if not months or perhaps even years, but I didn’t say that. I knew when to retreat if I’d lost the battle, but I would win this war. God knows, it’s about time. I still haven’t been there when that’s happened.

Bile rose at the back of my throat and I swallowed it down, fighting yet another surge of the darkness creeping in at the edges of my consciousness. Meanwhile, Lila was oblivious to my internal struggle, appearing like she was in heaven talking about her visions for the sunroom I hadn’t even approved yet.

“A wall of living plants might not be possible,” I cut in when I realized she was making promises I didn’t know if we could keep. “We’d have to see if there is a wall to be positioned so that the plants don’t fry or die.”

Both women ignored me. They did the same with every other comment I made, and eventually, I simply let them be and started making my own mental notes of what had to happen here. I listened to their conversation with half an ear, interested only to the extent that their plans, and specifically, Lila’s concessions, would affect my work.

Rodrigo was an art collector, and in the end, he got held up at some meeting, which meant I had a couple hours to take a good look around while the women dreamed out loud. When Lila and I were eventually on our way home, she had a relaxed smile on her face, and all that hostility from this morning was gone.

“Can we stop at a food truck or something?” she asked as we approached the city limits. “I’m starving and I could really use a taco.”

“A taco?” It wasn’t an outlandish request, and I did know of a good place not too far out of our way, but stopping would mean spending more time with her.

She turned in her seat, and in my periphery, I saw her head cock slightly. “Yeah, a taco. You do know what that is, right?”

There was a playful hint in her tone that, unexpectedly, didn’t annoy the living shit out of me. “Yes, I do know what that is. I also know just the place.”

I made the decision to appease her by stopping for food, but I was also kind of happy to have another hour with her—until she started asking a bunch of personal questions while we were eating. “Is Rook a service dog? After what you told me about him before, being a soldier and everything, it occurred to me that he’s probably more than just a pet.”

I blinked hard, staring back at her from across the crappy plastic table we were seated at and trying not to notice the golden hue of her hair in the afternoon sunshine. “He’s a highly trained specialist. Why would he be a pet?”

“Well, I mean, he is still a pet,” she said as if that was the only reasonable conclusion to be drawn here. “If he is a service dog though, why isn’t he always with you?”

“I bring him to the office sometimes, but not out in the field. Rook prefers AC and hates the car,” I said, not really sure why I was explaining all this to her, but again, talking to Lila was easy. Too easy, it turned out. “My suspicion is that he saw some stuff overseas and he possibly has PTSD too, just like me.”

As soon as I realized what I’d just said, I cleared my throat, beyond uncomfortable with having made that admission. Lila leaned in, head still tilted a little, and clearly waiting for more information. I picked up my soda and took a long sip, not intending on humoring her with this the way I had been so far this afternoon.

She didn’t seem to realize how uncomfortable I was, though. Instead, it looked like she figured I just wasn’t sure where to begin. “What does it feel like? Do you get nightmares and that kind of thing? Oh, does thunder make you jumpy? If Rook hates the car, why was he with you the other night?”

Totally innocent about it, I could tell she was only asking because she was curious, not judgmental, but I didn’t really know how to explain it. How do explain that I haven’t been able to get into a plane since? How do I tell her that I drive everywhere, even across the country to conferences when I have to?

I definitely wasn’t about to tell her about Luke. I’d never spoken about him—or the family he’d left behind. But without talking about him, I couldn’t really talk about any of it.

“Thunder doesn’t make me jumpy.” That was about the only one of those questions I didn’t mind answering. Oh, and… “Rook comes for a drive with me once or twice a month. He doesn’t mind the short trips so much. It’s the longer distances that get to him.”

Finally seeming to notice that this wasn’t easy for me, her expression softened and she nodded. There was a lingering curiosity in her eyes, but thankfully, she had the good sense not to push her luck.