Before he reached the kitchen, he checked his phone. He always turned it to Vibrate when he was with a client. So far, no messages, which was a good sign.
Joining Catherine at the counter, he bumped her shoulder as she turned, and she dropped a teaspoon.
“Sorry,” he said, and bent to pick it up, but so did she and they almost collided.
“Oh.”
He heard her breath stutter, a little gasp right in his ear. Instead of picking up the spoon, he steadied Catherine, his hand on her shoulder. The exact wrong move he’d just lectured himself about.
Her eyes widened and she made a sound. It was a blend of a squeal and a whimper, setting off a chain reaction that went all the way down his body.
He lowered his hand and they both straightened. He caught a glimpse of pink-splashed cheeks before she turned away. He stepped back, stealing a second to adjust himself and will his dick to knock it off.
“Cream? Sugar?” Her voice was completely controlled. Not what he’d expected.
“Uh...”
“I’ve also got honey, but that’s more for tea.”
Okay, so she wasn’t quite as unruffled as she’d sounded. Coffee, though. Something to do with his mouth instead of sticking his foot in it. “Black is fine, thanks.”
She got a new spoon, poured and added a packet of raw sugar to her cup. No more pink on her cheeks. Just silky smooth skin, pale and perfect.
“I’m used to living in major cities,” she said, and he tried to remember the last thing they’d discussed, but came up blank.
“My last apartment was in London and that was ridiculously expensive. Worth it, though. I loved living there. I almost kept it, but that didn’t seem very practical. I think New York is a better fit. There’s a rhythm to the city that revs me up. I like the bustle and the sounds. The smells could be improved, but all in all, I’m glad I moved.”
Europe, London, New York? He wondered what she did for a living. Something glamorous, he imagined. Definitely high up the social ladder.
They were back at the couch again, and her calm speech had relaxed him enough to gather his wits. “Listen, I have some time before my next appointment. Why don’t you tell me more about what you’re looking for in your overall plan?”
“Oh.” She put her cup down on the end table next to her chair. “Please. Take a seat,” she said, nodding at the couch. “I’ve collected some pictures.”
“Ah, good.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Nope, the more I learn about what you like, the easier it will be to make your wishes come true.”
She gave him a smile that made him grin back, and then she was gone. She returned quickly, holding a thick binder.
He’d moved over so she could sit beside him on the couch. Before she joined him, she twirled around before she found her coffee cup on the small table by the single chair.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “you don’t have to look at everything. I’ll just give you an idea of what I like, so that we don’t have to go into a lot of detail until we catalog what I’ve got. Does that sound all right?”
“Excellent.” Crazy, but that twirl of hers had thrown him off. He wasn’t worried about her design book, just making a fool of himself. “I’m all yours.”
She flipped open the cover of the binder. He immediately saw a slew of colored tabs labeled with black markers. At first, it wasn’t easy to pay attention to the pictures, or the conversation, when all he really wanted was to watch her expressive face. Inhale her exotic scent. But her enthusiasm won in the end.
Her taste was eclectic—there were styles from Shaker to Asian, although he could see her heart belonged to art deco. But as she described the rooms, he could see how the styles would fit together into something uniquely hers.
There was a whole section on Little Italy alone, and while she refilled their coffee cups for the second time he looked at the pictures of the different buildings he’d either visited, studied or worked on. So much had changed in the last sixteen years. He knew that the changes had begun a long time before that, but ever since he’d started at NYU, he’d really paid attention.
Just like the rest of the city, Little Italy real estate had been hit with skyrocketing prices. Most of the people his folks had grown up with had moved to Queens, New Jersey or somewhere warm.
With each turn of the page his old appreciation for the history of his neck of the woods was reawakened. It could be an amazing place, if one landed on the right street, in the right building.
“What drew you here?” he asked. “I mean to this neighborhood. This house?”
Catherine absently ran her hand over a picture of a white bedroom suite. “I was familiar with the building. And I know how rare it is to find any single family homes here.”
“You already have a buyer in mind?”
Her eyebrows drew down. “A buyer? No. This is my house. I want to live the rest of my life right here.”
She wasn’t flipping the place? She’d make a lot of money, especially once it was remodeled. Unfortunately, she hadn’t moved into the right building at all. Not with those two neighbors on either side of her. He loved the neighborhood for the most part, but it was a tight community. It would be different if she’d settled on the fringes. As it was, the old ladies who’d kept their single family homes for generations would never make her feel welcome.
“Tony? Is there something wrong?”
He relaxed his shoulders and his attitude. “No. I’m just used to people making the old tenement buildings into either commercial properties or multiple dwellings. The prices just keep going up, so there’s a lot of flipping, especially now that the old Little Italy is becoming an extension of Nolita on one end and Chinatown on the other. From what you’ve told me, you’d make a killing after the restoration and renovation. So I assumed.”
“No. This is the house for me. I only lived in London for a year, and I knew it wasn’t permanent. I’ve never really had a home of my own. Can’t imagine a more wonderful place to start. It’s why I’m being so picky about everything. I’m only sorry I haven’t met any of my neighbors, or even had the chance to truly explore what’s around me. But I’ve got time. Assuming the renovation doesn’t do me in.”
He smiled, but the mood that had carried them away while looking at her dream book turned sour in his gut. She might love this house, make it into a showplace of what could be done to combine the new sensibilities with the old craftsmanship. But damn, she was facing an uphill battle.
The old-timers were stuck in the past. Most of them railed against any change at all. They wanted the customs of their childhoods, the shops and open-air markets. Half the people living in these older buildings, which they’d had no compunction turning into twenty-first-century, easy-living units, still hung their laundry out their windows. But they weren’t friendly to people they considered interlopers.
Should he tell her now? Make sure she understood what she was getting into?
His gaze moved down to her book of dreams and he knew he couldn’t. Maybe her restoration would make the difference. It could happen. And he wouldn’t be the one to take that opportunity away.
Something buzzed. A tone he didn’t recognize. Catherine’s cell phone. She got up to find her purse, and Tony looked at his watch once more.
His heart sank like a stone. Two hours had gone by. Two hours, which had felt like fifteen minutes. He pulled out his cell phone and saw four texts he’d missed. One was from Gina, the others from Rita.
He could tell by her well-chosen, very succinct words Rita