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Not that I’d been wearing them that day, but it was entirely beside the point.
“I’ll make sure to say hi when I go in for my coffee tomorrow morning.”
Amanda beamed. “Her name is Farrah. She makes the best cinnamon lattes in town.”
The pride in her friend had something softening in my chest.
Just a little.
“I’ll make sure to try one of those,” I told her. “Thank you for checking on a different room.”
Her cheeks flushed pink. “You’re welcome.”
I set my folder down on the counter while I adjusted my purse and set the sunglasses back on the top of my head. Her eyes lingered on the Wilder Homes contract.
“Oh, you’re working with the Wilders?” she asked, eyes bright and cheeks lifted in a smile.
“You know them?”
“Everyone knows everyone in Sisters,” Amanda said. “They’re a great family. Farrah’s had a crush on, well, every single Wilder boy the last ten years. Every time Cameron comes in for his coffee, he tips her five bucks on a three-dollar drink. She can hardly talk when he comes in.” Amanda’s cheekbones were a sweet red color as she talked about her friend’s crush. “He’s so hot.”
“So it seems,” I said levelly. “And you don’t have a crush on him?”
She grinned. “He’s a bit … male to be my type.”
“Ahh.”
“I’ll still look, though,” Amanda added with a laugh. Then she waved her hands. “It’s silly, I know. Farrah is so much younger than him. We’re only twenty.”
Only twenty.
Five years off from me, but standing on the other side of the nondescript laminate desk, it felt like three times that much.
I swallowed. “I better get going,” I told her. “I have a meeting with a real estate agent.”
“Who are you working with for that?”
With a short sigh, I opened my leather portfolio and found the name I’d scrawled down. “Marcy Jenkins.”
“She’s so nice,” Amanda gushed. “Now that is someone I’d crush on. You’ll see when you meet her.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I suppose I will.”
My phone dinged with a text as I approached my car, and good God, something in my stomach fluttered when I saw who it was from.
Unknown number: It’s Cameron Wilder.
No.
No.
Not happening.
That fluttering bullshit was a weed, and I yanked it out with ruthless precision. I saved his number, with no fluttering, and returned back to the text thread.
Cameron: Overall, house is in great shape. Estimate will be in your inbox first thing tomorrow morning, and Greer will reach out to schedule a design meeting.
Me: Thank you for the update.
