I should move to the other end of the couch now that Avery isn’t here, but I don’t move one inch. He grabs the blanket off the back of the sofa, putting it over me.

“You don’t have to stay,” I tell him with a yawn. It's nice having someone here with me if I’m being honest.

“I’m good.” He stretches his legs out as the movie starts to play. “Relax,” he tells me, wrapping an arm around me, pulling me into his side. My head rests on him. I should protest, but it feels too good. Besides there’s nothing wrong with two friends hanging out and watching a movie together. None of this makes it a date. People do this all of the time. That’s what I convince myself seconds before sleep takes me.

Seven

Jay

I want to stay with Dove, but I don’t think she’s ready to see my ugly mug first thing in the morning. I carry her to the bedroom, tuck her in, and try not to snoop too much. There’s a small vase by her bedside with five daisies and a little greenery. I drag my thumb along my jawline as I contemplate where she got these. Did a man give them to her? Her sister didn’t bring them. They don’t look like they are from a professional bouquet, though. Aren’t those larger? The ones I buy my mom are big as her face. Could she have picked them?

There’s so much I don’t know about Dove. I draw my hand lightly across her forehead. I’m going to learn everything about her, from what she likes for breakfast to what side of the bed she sleeps on. Everything. With great reluctance, I show myself to the door. Before I leave, I jot down my phone number and tell her to text me if she needs a ride to work.

Because I’m not able to secure the lock, I move the folding table in front of my door and keep it ajar so that I can keep watch over her apartment. Around six, I hear her fumble with the latch. I hurry and close my door and wait for her summons. None comes, and I end up watching her speed walk toward the bus stop. I thrum my fingers against the sill. This time I’ll let her go, but next time, she’s with me. Having made that decision, I throw myself on the bed and try to get some shut-eye.

The construction team shows up a few hours later along with a curious Abel.

“I know why you’re here.” I scowl at the other man, rubbing the back of my head as I let them into the apartment.

He grins. “I was told to come and get the dirt, or I wouldn’t be allowed back in.”

Abel got married last year. I’d heard it was a whirlwind sort of thing, and to be honest, I was curious as to the woman who landed him. “Where’s your wife? I want to meet her.”

“Pepper? I can’t let her into this shithole. She might get injured.” Abel frowns. “What’s your woman’s place look like?”

“Better than this, but”—I kick the radiator—"it could be all cosmetic.”

“You should move her. Forget this place. With your money, I can put you into the penthouse over at this new place we’re redoing in Bell Heights. It’s beautiful.” He spreads his hands out, inviting me to see his vision. “Three thousand square feet overlooking the river with a wraparound terrace.”

“Have I ever struck you as a city guy?” I pick up the piece of radiator pipe that fell off and set it next to the one my agent knocked down a few days ago. Soon I’ll have the whole thing on my counter.

“No.” He taps his chin. “We don’t do any residentials, but I can have our agent look up some properties for you. Might take a couple of days.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s okay.” I wonder what Dove likes—something warm, I think, with lots of space for gardens. She has flowers in her apartment, which feels like an indulgence given where we are located, so she must really like them. “I need a few acres and lots of sun.” But her job is downtown and traffic can be a bitch. Maybe we get a cottage for the weekend and stay somewhere in the city during the week. “Does this penthouse have space for an outdoor garden?”

“It’s got enough room for five gardens.” Abel hits me on the back. “Why don’t we go look at it now?”

I glance at my radiator. “What about the crew?”

“They can do the work while we go look at this property.” Abel whistles. “Guys, here’s the list of things to get done.” He cocks his head in my direction. “You got permission to do this, right?”

I stroke my chin and pretend to think about it.

“You locals are all the same,” he says with exaggerated irritation.

“What would we need you for if we did all the work?” I parry.

Abel wanders off to make a call while I check my phone for a text from Dove, but like this morning, there’s nothing from her. This isn’t good. I don’t like waiting around for a response.

“We’re all set. You can improve anything you want so long as you pay for it, so will it be cash or charge?” Abel holds out his hand.

“I’ll pay you when I see the finished job.” I grab my keys. “Let’s go see this place. I’m driving.”

“Nah, I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay, but I’m picking up Dove for lunch.”

“Your car sounds great.”

It takes me thirty minutes to get downtown, and the whole time, Abel alternates between grilling me about Dove and bragging about his wife Pepper, who is the prettiest, smartest, savviest designer in the business. I tell him that Dove is the prettiest women in town, which launches us into an argument that ends with Abel refusing to talk to me for the last ten minutes.

When I park in front of Dove’s building, Abel yells out the window, “Pepper’s got great hair. The best!”

“Whatever, dude.” I flip him off and head toward the bank of elevators. It’s only ten, but surely Dove can take off early to get some lunch. Miller, Thomas Dunn & Graham is on the tenth floor, and it smells like a law firm. There’s something musty about it—old money and old books maybe? Who knows, but I don’t like it. Being here makes that spot between my shoulder blades that is hard to reach itch like hell. I’m an outdoors person, not a library person. I lean on the marble counter. “I’m here for Dove Evans,” I tell the receptionist.

The woman rubs her lips together and leans forward until her shirt gapes, and I can see cleavage. “Do you have an appointment?”

I turn away and stare into the empty, glassed-in conference room. Is this how they run shit here? I don’t like it. Not one fucking bit.

“Yeah,” I lie. “At ten to discuss some legal matters.”

“With Ms. Evans?” The receptionist sounds skeptical, as if Dove never has appointments. That is not a bad thing from my point of view. It means she doesn’t have to sit out front with low cut shirts, flashing her cleavage to any guy who walks in.

“Yeah. I’ll just wait over here.” I take a seat on some nice leather chairs and text Abel that I’ll be down in five.

“Sir? I understand you have a meeting with Ms. Evans?”

I look up from my phone to see a suit-wearing man looming over me. “Yeah.”

“I’m Thomas. May I ask what this is about? Perhaps I could help.”