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“Sure,” I tell her. “We’ve already fixed up the stairs. Let’s sit and chat.”
She follows me to the stairs leading up to the grand restored front porch, where I sit beside her. She pulls her knees up to her chin, her feet resting one step below where she sits. In contrast, I sit with one long leg stretched out and the other propping up my elbow as I angle toward her, listening.
She studies my face warily for a moment.
“Harley, I have a confession to make.”
I swallow hard and mentally brace for impact.
When I’d first walked up, Charlotte looked like someone had run over her puppy. Something’s upsetting her, and I’m sure it’s something I did. How I’ve been too stubborn to work with. How I’m unreasonable and that I push back on everything she brings to me.
“What’s up?”
“I…”
I stay silent and let her get the words out.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you something, but it’s hard.”
“I’m listening.”
I study her face. The delicate skin of her neck is pink, and the same flush has crept into her ears and cheeks. Something has really got her upset.
Suddenly, the dam breaks, and her words spill out like rushing water, so fast I’m swept up in a wave of emotions.
“The truth is, I’m the client.”
“You’re whose client?”
“Mine.”
“Charlotte, I’m not following.”
She rubs the spot between her eyes like she has a headache. “I’m the one who was making all kinds of demands about the house. There was no client.”
I stare at her, blinking.
“Huh?”
She tries again. “The demanding client with all the contingencies. It’s me. It’s been me this entire time.”
“I don’t understand. Why would you pretend?”
She shrugs. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
I touch her hand. “If you have trouble finding clients, just say so. If handling this property for us is too much, all you had to do was ask.”
Charlotte covers her eyes with both hands, her elbows propped on her knees. “Oh my god, you’re killing me, Harley Wood.”
“Sorry?” It’s a question because I’m not sure what I’m sorry about.
She exhales heavily and says, “I was stalling, pretending to be a demanding client because I regretted turning you down. I turned down that date with you, in part, for professional reasons. But then, I developed a crush on you while working with you and your brothers. So I was stalling to spend more time with you.”
I pull one leg in and stretch out the other, shifting my weight as I absorb this information. “You want to date me?”
Charlotte grimaces and half-smiles, her pretty eyes full of hope instead of the usual sharpness. Her armor is down. I like this.
“What changed?” I ask.
