“Of course I still want to. How was your day off?”
“Glorious. Except Sylvie talked me into a manicure and pedicure. So I squandered a perfectly good hour and a half getting my toes painted.”
“Huh. Can’t say I’ve ever tried it. Would it kill your buzz if we went sofa shopping?”
“That could be fun,” she says. “That big empty space in the living room is finally getting to you?”
“Definitely.” I sigh.
“What’s wrong?” she asks. “You sound tired.”
It’s weird how she can pick up on my mood in a two-minute phone call. “Nothing’s wrong. This is the way I always sound when I get off the phone with my mother.”
She laughs. “Yeah, been there. By the way—your mother emailed me about party venues. And I have no idea how to put her off.”
“I heard. I’m dealing with it, I swear. So where are we going to buy this sofa? I need guidance. You have any ideas?” Charli isn’t exactly a sure bet. Like me, she’s got other things going on in her life that are more pressing than home décor.
“Oh! I know just the place,” she says.
I grin, because I love how she always surprises me. And then I make plans to meet her in Manhattan.
After we end the call, I’m about to head out, but Newgate stops me. “Did your old lady know where to shop?”
“She did,” I say with a smirk. “Guess you were right.”
I wonder what Charli would do if she heard him call her my old lady? Probably throw down her gloves and try to rip his face off.
It’s anyone’s call who’d win that fight.
TWENTY-EIGHT
CAYENNE
Charli
Running a few minutes late, I hurry through the streets of SoHo until I see the Crate and Barrel store rising up in front of me. It’s all lit up inside. I push through the front door as excited as a kid on Christmas.
I love this store. I used to walk past it every time my prep-school team played a certain school in suburban Boston.
The only time I’d ever gone inside, I’d found a coffee mug on sale for just five bucks. It had been glazed in a sunshiny yellow, and I’d bought it with the last money in my wallet.
The following summer had been the last time I ever stayed at my aunt Regina’s place. She’d been mad at me for finishing the peanut butter, and had thrown my yellow mug against the wall and smashed it.
Just another fun day in the extended Higgins family.
Inside the store, I skid to a stop in front of a collection of dishes. Inquire about Our Wedding Registry, a sign reads.
Clearly, I’m in the wrong department.
I spin around and head for the escalator. It delivers me upstairs where the furniture lives. As I slowly arrive on the second level, I spot Neil standing in the midst of a big expanse of furniture, a thoughtful expression on his handsome face.
Just that first glimpse of him hits me like a ton of bricks. Even if I hadn’t seen his face, I’d recognize his posture. Or his gait. Or the way his too-long hair curls to the left at the nape of his neck.
Then he turns and catches sight of me, his eyes lighting up.
God, that smile. A fizz of warmth bubbles up inside me. It’s disconcerting, yet lately I feel it all the time. I pick up my pace, because I can’t help myself. My emotional kitty-cat leaps forward and practically climbs his leg.
Goddamn it. I’ve got it bad for my fake husband. This is such a disaster.
“Wifey,” Neil says with a grin. He meets me halfway and puts both hands on my shoulders. The weight of his touch makes my inner kitty purr. “Nobody warned me there were, like, a hundred different kinds of sofas.”
“You need me to set up a playoffs bracket?” I ask with a smirk. “Does this get easier for you if I translate it into hockey terms?”
“Someone’s a smartass.” His hazel eyes flash. Then he leans down and kisses me, right here in the living room section at Crate and Barrel.
The room seems to tilt. It’s been four or five days since I’ve seen Neil, and I’ve missed this. That’s how addictive his kisses are.
He steps back too soon, smiling at me. “It’s date night.”
“So you said.” I glance away, because his smile is so brilliant it almost burns.
“Let’s buy a motherfucking sofa!” He turns to survey the choices. “Now tell me which one of these looks the most comfortable. And how do we narrow it down?”
After a moment’s perusal, I am ready to agree that there are an intimidating number of couches. “Let’s break this down—fabric or leather? Leather costs more, and it’s not very eco friendly.”
“Let’s try fabric this time,” he says. “But the color can’t be too light. I don’t want to worry about my friends spilling beer on it.”
I don’t know why this makes me smile. “You are a very practical billionaire. Let’s talk about style now. That one is mid-century modern.” I point at one with slim wooden legs that would look right at home on Mad Men.
“Pass,” he says. “I like ’em big and fluffy. I’m a boob man, remember?”
I roll my eyes as he chuckles.
“Come over here.” He takes my hand. “That sign says The Lazy Sunday Collection. Now we’re talking.” He leads me to another group of slightly different configurations of a generously sized sofa in two different colors—nickel and cayenne. “Still so many choices, though.”
“Your living room is huge,” I remind him, pointing to the longest one. “You could handle the ninety-six-inch couch easily.”
“Oh baby, yes. More is more where inches are concerned. Am I right?”
This stupid joke manages to crack me up, because I’m inexplicably happy right now. Watching Neil pick out a sofa is the most fun I’ve had since… Well, since the last time I let him get me naked.
“Whoa!” he says, walking over to one model. “Check this out! There’s an extra deep section for your feet.”
Sure enough, he’s found a huge L-shaped couch with an extended chaise at one corner. “That’s fun.”
“Right? Baby, our butts belong right here.” He sits down on the sofa and pats the cushion beside him. “Come, kitten. Test the sofa with me.”
I sit down beside Neil as if we were a real married couple looking at furniture together.
He wraps an arm around me. “Is this a big improvement, or what?”
“Huge,” I admit. “Although anything in this store would be.”
“Good pick, wifey. I like Crate and Barrel. And I love this couch. Wait—we gotta test the footrest part.” He toes off the shiny slip-on shoes he’s wearing and kicks his feet onto the chaise.
“Neil, are you wearing Gucci loafers? That’s very on-brand for you.”
“They’re comfortable. And so is this couch. See?” He scoops me closer, so we’re both in range of the chaise. I obligingly lean over and untie my shoes so I can join him.
“Are you wearing Doc Martens? That’s very on-brand.”
“Shut up.” I kick my feet up beside his. And now I feel even more like a wife out testing furniture with her hubby.