“Well, the ball analogy was very Monica Geller.”
Sweet Jesus. The man had abs to die for, didn’t mind spending the evening talking, and he got Friends references? Maybe the storm had taken her through some wormhole into another dimension. This guy was too good to be true. Unless the whole “let’s talk” thing was just a ruse for getting her naked. Not that she thought that was a terrible idea; it would just be a sneaky way of going about it.
Yeah right, she thought. He already had you naked today, and now here you are “just talking.”
She leaned back against the front of the couch so they were sitting side by side. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I don’t know, whatever.” Barely a beat passed before he had an idea. “Why don’t you tell me what it is you do in Chicago.”
Paige stiffened. Why was it that everyone assumed a single woman’s life was lacking in some way? “I have a very full life, as a matter of fact. I have friends,” who she never spent time with, “and hobbies,” although for the life of her she couldn’t really think of one, but if pressed she could find a way to pass a few hours. “And I have Mr. Rochester.”
“Is that your boyfriend?”
“My boyfriend? Who I call Mr. Rochester?” She had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing.
He shrugged. “After all that Fifty Shades stuff, I don’t presume to know what people do in their private lives.”
“Mr. Rochester is my cat.” She winced. “Okay, maybe not the best example of having a full life.” And certainly boring compared to the images his reference conjured. “He’s a four-year-old tabby.”
“That’s great and all.” His smile softened. “But what I meant was what do you do for a living?”
“Oh.” She felt a bit foolish but also relieved because that was a question she was more than happy to answer. “I’m a certified professional organizer.” She said the words with pride, but they went over like the proverbial lead balloon.
He frowned. “That’s a real profession?”
She sat up a little taller. “It most certainly is.”
Lucas considered that for a moment, then asked, “Why do people hire you?”
“Because I’m good at what I do.” She wasn’t being cocky—okay, maybe a little—but she had the profits to back it up.
He smiled. “Obviously, given your ability to pay the rates here.”
“I’ll admit, it was a bit steep, but the woman I messaged led me to believe the place was in very high demand.” She glanced over her shoulder at the empty parlor.
“Yeah, about that…” He shifted in his seat. “That was my sister. Her heart was in the right place, but her head? Not so much. She’s also a bit of a con artist apparently.”
“I don’t know about that, but she did”—Paige searched for the right word—“embellish a bit.”
Lucas snorted. “She embellished a lot.” There was an awkward silence before he added, “I’m sorry she tricked you into thinking this place was open for business, let alone in high demand.” He hesitated, then said, “If you want, I can issue you a full refund.”
“No, that won’t be necessary.” The place wasn’t exactly as advertised, but in some ways, it was exactly what she needed. “I’ve enjoyed my time here.” She grinned. “You should consider adding animal rescue adventures to the website offerings.”
“Lightning and storm waste available for an extra charge, of course.”
“Of course.”
They smiled at each other, and then a beat passed. And then another. Until they were just two people sitting in front of a romantic fire, close enough to…
“Does your sister live on the island too?” Paige asked. Gah! Why the hell did she ask that? It was like she had some sort of disease that required her to fill every moment with conversation.
“Yeah, she runs a bookstore in the old fire station.” He’d no sooner offered the tidbit of information than he abruptly changed the subject.
“Back to your…professional organization,” he said. “No offense to your career and all, but why don’t people just clean out their own mess?”
Paige looked around the room. Piles of books, old magazines, empty Amazon boxes. Had the guy ever heard of recycling? There were a bunch of free weights in one corner, a stack of electronic equipment that at some point had probably been a very nice surround-sound system, and six or seven Rubbermaid bins. She could see that a few were filled with paperwork, but the rest were a hodgepodge of who knows what.
“Hey, I like my stuff just the way it is,” he said.
“That may very well be the case, but you are most definitely living in a ‘before.’”
“Before?”
“As in ‘before and after.’”
He stared at her nonplussed before the facade gave way to another genuine laugh. “Okay, okay, I may have a few items out of place.”
She leveled her stare.
He held his hands up, palms facing her. “Okay, more than a few. But people really hire someone to clean out their house?”
“Not just clean it out, but organize it so hopefully they can manage to keep it that way on their own.” Judging by the number of repeat customers, Paige knew that wasn’t always the case, but it was always the goal. “Basically, I get rid of clutter. Most people are far too attached to make the cuts they need to simplify their life. That’s where I come in.”
He turned so he was facing her. “How can you make decisions about what other people should throw away?”
“I start with the keeps,” she said. “That’s how the first wave of sorting begins. I bring them into a room and I say, ‘Your house is on fire and you can only keep as much as you can carry in one armload. What will you take?’”
“And that works?”
“It’s how we start. But most of what survives the final cut ends up being the items they took out of the room that very first day.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“Like this,” she said, sitting up straighter. “If your house was on fire and you knew all humans”—she glanced at the dogs—“and animals were safe, what would you take?”
Lucas stared into the flames. “Nothing. It can all burn to the ground.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Of course I do. It’s only stuff. None of it matters.” He turned back to look at her. There was a sadness in his eyes that took her breath away.