“Lance.” I hesitate. “He’s nice. And I was trying to tell you, he hired me to fix up the house.”
“What’s there to fix? You’ve been there all summer—the place is gorgeous.”
“The house itself is gorgeous. But it looks like what it is, a share house for a bunch of drunk adults trying to relive their college days.”
“And Lance wants you to make it look like something out of a magazine?”
I’m grinning. “Yes. And I’ll be able to take pictures of it for my portfolio. Savannah—this is huge for me. On my own, I would never get a job like this.”
“You were absolutely made for a job like this. It’s going to be gorgeous, and Lance and his boyfriend had better tell all of their friends about their new genius interior designer.”
A laugh breaks free from the tightness in my chest. “What boyfriend?”
“Come on, Lance has to be gay, right? Wanting a place he’s renting for two months done to the nines. Asking you to stay with him and not hitting on you.”
“Well, technically, it’s not for Lance. The owner—”
“Viv! Oh my God, I’ve been so thrown by this whole house thing, I didn’t notice the way you say his name.”
“Lance?”
“Yes. It’s like those five letters make you smile.”
I touch my lips, feeling them curve beneath my fingertips.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Does he make you smile?”
As I hear Savannah’s laptop chime with a series of notifications, I think. Yeah. He does.
I’m about to tell her everything but Savannah says, “Shoot. I have to go, but you are not off the hook. I want to hear all the details. In the meantime, just tell me his last name.”
“You are not cyberstalking him.”
“Vivienne, Google is your friend and so am I. This is what friends do,” she admonishes. “Don’t you want to know if you’re living with a criminal? Or a billionaire?”
“Are those the only two options?”
“You wouldn’t need options if you googled him. You would know.”
“Savannah, this summer is about me, not a guy. Me.”
She sighs. “Fine. Will I see you this weekend or will you be busy dusting Lance’s shelves?”
“Very funny. Drop your stuff at the new place in Quogue and then come over. You can help me Windex the mirrors.”
Chapter 18
Vivienne
58 DAYS UNTIL LABOR DAY
“Holy shitballs, Batgirl.” Savannah throws herself onto the living room couch and gazes up at the enormous fan made of reclaimed wood I had installed yesterday. “I can’t believe what you’ve done with the place.”
I feel a little thrill of pride run through me, even though I’m not even close to finished. Truthfully, it isn’t hard to make this house shine. I’ve kept things fairly neutral and tailored, and now I’m just adding texture by upgrading the lighting and fixtures. Over the next few weeks, I’ll layer in the finishing touches—artwork and accessories. “Thanks, Savvy.”
“So, what did you say Lance’s last name was?”
“Very funny. I didn’t, and you know it.”
She sticks her tongue out at me. “You know, I tried getting it out of Seth and he acted like he was guarding a state secret. Just tell me, is he a celebrity? A professional athlete? A politician?” She sucks in a breath. “Is he married?”
“No. None of the above. He owns a cybersecur—”
Savannah cuts me off. “Say no more. He’s a suit, isn’t he?”
I think of the clothes I’ve seen Lance wear. Dark jeans, crisp button-downs, khaki shorts, polo shirts. I bet he’d wear the hell out of a suit. “Yep.”
“Damn. I was really starting to get invested in this one.”
A laugh leaves my lungs as I set two glasses of iced tea down on the shagreen cocktail table—using coasters, of course. “Yeah, that’s my problem too.” I sink into the chair opposite Savannah and cover my face in my hands. “Ugh. What is it with me falling for guys I really shouldn’t?”
“You tell me,” Savannah asks wisely, and I shoot her an annoyed look.
“Don’t use your interview voice with me. I’m not one of your research subjects.”
“I’ll have you know that this interview voice is responsible for some pretty incredible breakthroughs. Like last week, I was talking to a woman who witnessed her own father murder her mother when she was a little—”
Now it’s my turn to cut her off. “Stop right there. True crime is not my jam. Remember that podcast you made me listen to a few years ago? I still have nightmares about it.”
“Okay, okay. I won’t tell you about my work, but I do want to hear more about what’s going on with you and Lance.” She looks around. “Where is he, by the way?”
“Nebraska.”
“Will he be mad I’m here?”
The possibility hadn’t occurred to me when I invited Savannah over. “I don’t think so.”
She takes a slow sip of her iced tea. “Good. Now, tell me more about him. About you and him.”
“There’s not much to tell.” Not yet, anyway. We only spent one night together. Well, one night and two days. But I tell Savannah about it all, even the parts I either skated over or didn’t get to when we spoke the other night. Nearly setting me on fire. Cleaning bathrooms. Walking in on him naked. Our dinner. My tequila-fueled oversharing.
What happened in the pool.
What didn’t happen in the hammock.
“It broke? Just like that?”
I nod glumly. “Just like that.”
“So, then what happened?”
“We aired out the house. The furniture trucks arrived. And then I had to go to work.”
“After that,” she says impatiently. “You saw him after you got back, right?”
“Only for a few minutes. He picked me up—”
“He picked you up? Like, from work?”
“Yeah. He’s funny about me getting back here at night.”
“Funny how? Protective or possessive? There’s a big difference.”
“It’s not creepy. I don’t know. He has a thing against taking cabs for some reason.”
Savannah makes a soft grunt. “Honestly, I can’t blame him. Remember that case I told you about—the killer cabbie? I don’t even like getting into taxis by myself anymore, and that guy is locked up for life.”
“Maybe Lance heard about it, too.”
“Oh, it was horrible. He killed at least six—”
I slap my palms against my ears. “Hey!” I wait until I see Savannah’s mouth stop moving before letting my hands drop. “Anyway, he picked me up but then he got a work call and he had to go.”
“To Nebraska.”
“Yep.”
“So, explain to me why you think this guy should be off-limits. He sounds fan-freaking-tastic to me.”
“I’m just worried I’m repeating the same mistakes with Lance as I did with Richard. He got me this job. And now we’re living together. If things go south, I’ll be out on my ass with nothing again. In the hammock, I’d pushed all that aside and decided to go for it. But since then . . . I’m not so sure.”