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If he said yes, I might have to punchmyselfin the balls for stupidity, then turn around and punch him because I didn’t like the way any of it made me feel.
“She’s not my type.”
That didn’t really make me feel better. Probably because it was the same thing I told my sister about Charlotte, and no matter how much I lied to myself, she was absolutely my fucking type. Which was why I had no intention of pushing the subject. I had no reason not to believe him. All the same, he took my silence as an invitation to say more.
“I like blondes,” he said simply.
I grunted.
“The kinda mean ones,” he continued. “Not scary or rude. Just enough of an edge where you’re not sure if you should cover your balls or not when they get worked up.”
I found myself smiling. “Sounds like my sister.”
“Does it?”
“She lives in Florida, William.”
William gave me a look. “Let me know if she comes for a visit.”
In answer, I glared. He laughed.
I’d lost some unknowable tension in my shoulders. I refused to look deeper into why because I wasn’t quite sure I was ready to admit anything.
Maybe because it would’ve been a little too easy to imagine Charlotte and William together. A couple of days earlier, I had to bearwitness while they got into a passionate discussion about wide-plank pine floors and woodburning stoves and tin ceilings.
They made sense.
It was too easy to imagine them building some reality TV–worthy empire, traveling across the country to find ugly old houses that they could pretty up and fill with ugly little furniture. They were attractive and outgoing and talented in all the same ways.
If she was his type.
Or if he was hers.
It was already hard enough to think about what would come next for her. Where she’d end up and for how long.
It was hard enough to be distracted by all that when I should have been thinking about the house. Instead, I was almost always thinking about Charlotte.
I rolled my neck, groaning when I got a satisfying pop.
“Thanks for your help,” William said.
“Sure thing.”
“You around first thing in the morning?”
“Should be. Why?”
“While you were gone, Charlotte asked about putting a few extra outlets in all the downstairs living spaces when electric is back next week to do all their finish work. I wanted to finalize placement with both of you.”
“More outlets?”
He nodded. “Something about making it easier at Christmas, since you always need more outlets when you’re putting lights and trees up.”
My chest pinched uncomfortably. “Right.”
William gave me a steady look. “I wasn’t aware you’d decided what to do with this place once you got it fixed up.”
I dusted my hands off on the tops of my thighs. “I haven’t.”
