Almost Like Being in Love (24 page)

“Right, God?” He spat the words out into the dust-laden air. “You and me, we got this? I forgave her. Now I'm helping her. And she's helping me.”

Except now . . . now he remembered all the reasons he fell in love with Caron.

Some men liked blonds. Some men preferred brunettes. Or redheads. Some guys could rattle off entire lists of what attracted them to women. And him? He met Caron Hollister and tore up any sort of list because she made him stop looking.

She wasn't perfect—not with her Hot Tamale addiction, and her I've-got-an-idea way of taking over a conversation, and her tendency to overload her schedule. But to him, she was the most captivating woman he'd ever met.

And she still was.

He didn't care if she dyed her hair blond or silver or purple. She was smart, a go-getter, and creative. She responded to his ideas, listened to his plans for the future, encouraged him, and made him feel as if he could accomplish his dreams—and more.

Sweat trickled down his face into his eyes, causing him to blink.

“On your left.” Kade upped his pace, moving past two teen girls walking up the Incline. He was near the top of the almost vertical climb over rugged railroad ties. He'd stop, drain his
water bottle, enjoy the view of Colorado Springs stretching out below, and then start back down Barr Trail.

Could he un-forgive Caron? Go back to being furious at how she ended their relationship? Just until the tour was over? And then he'd thank her for helping with the tour, and they'd go their separate ways.

He'd been trained as a Ranger to believe that losing was not an option. One minute he'd been in love with Caron Hollister. Imagining the whole marriage-and-family-forever-and-ever-amen future with her. Re-create the kind of family he'd experienced when he'd been friends with Drake Neilson and would hang out at his house all the time. And then Caron had walked away from him. No explanation. Just . . . days and days of silence that left him reeling. Left alone again. But he'd survived that unexpected emotional ambush.

And now he'd invited her back into his life because he needed her help, not because he wanted to get involved with her again. He was the one in control of the situation. He already knew the outcome. He was staying in Colorado. Caron Hollister was going back to Florida. Back to her boyfriend.

So be it.

Tonight's workout would clear his head. Then he'd go home. Shower. Grab something to eat. And get back to work.

O
ne thing was for sure. Caron was not a professional home stager. Even so, for all the challenges facing her, there was a part of her that loved imagining just how she was going to decorate each room in Eddie Kingston's house.

The diagram on the conference room whiteboard was rudimentary at best. And the Post-it notes she'd positioned in each room to indicate where pieces of furniture would go were haphazard, some torn in half to designate smaller pieces of furniture—an end table or coffee table. But still, the exercise helped her visualize what she wanted to do in each room.

Placing a rectangular orange Post-it note labeled
couch
in the family room, Caron stepped back, careful not to trip over her red high heels that she'd kicked off more than an hour ago as she worked on the two-dimensional house. Couch—
check
. Chair—
check
. Coffee table—
check
. If only she knew someone with a pool table . . . no, too heavy. Maybe a foosball table? Too casual and also too tempting for the kids who were sure to accompany their parents through the tour. As it was, she planned
on asking Eddie for cans of touch-up paint so she and Kade could check the walls each night after people came through the house.

She closed her eyes, pursing her lips, visualizing the room again in her mind. It was large, easily twenty by thirty feet. Maybe another grouping of a love seat and two coordinating chairs with another table? More furniture to be added to the list.

“And just what have you done to my whiteboard?” Kade's voice intruded on her musing.

“Oh!” Caron whirled around, dropping her handful of multicolored Post-its. “I was mulling . . . planning out the rooms.”

“Is that what this is?” Kade's voice brimmed with laughter, even as he came forward, kneeling to help pick up the scattered notes.

Caron knelt, too, blocking the sight of her kicked-off shoes—and her bare feet—at least for a few seconds. “Yes. It helps me to see things . . . well, a little better.”

“Here you go.” Kade held out the Post-its he'd gathered for her.

This close up, she could see how his eyes were different shades of brown—a darker, richer color surrounding the irises, radiating out to a warmer honey brown.

“Thank you. I didn't mean to be so clumsy.”

“My fault. I startled you.” He offered her his hand. “Let me help you up.”

Unlike Alex's, Kade's hands were smooth, his nails clean and cut short. He used to hold her hand all the time when they walked along the beach. During church. Grocery shopping, steering the grocery cart with one hand. When he drove. While they ate out at a restaurant, often choosing to sit beside her on the same side of a booth.

“Thanks.”
Caron pulled her hand away, tucking it behind her. “So what do you think?”

“Um, why don't you tell me what I'm looking at, and then I'll tell you what I think.”

“It's not that bad, is it?” At his silence, she laughed. “Okay, I admit, it's a bit of a hodgepodge.”

“Good description.”

“This is the basic layout of Eddie's house. Keep in mind, nothing is to scale.” At Kade's snort of laughter, she paused. “I will ignore that ungentlemanly comment.”

“No comment. No comment.”

“That ungentlemanly sound, then.”

“Continue, please.”

“The Post-its represent furniture, again not to scale.” She hurried on before Kade could say anything else—or snort again. “This is a couch—a sectional would be nice, or an extra-long couch. A coffee table. End tables. Lamps.”

“The, um, lamps are represented by the little circles drawn on the squares of paper?”

“Of course.” Caron refused to look at Kade to gauge his assessment of her drawing skills. “I never said I was a graphic artist, Kade.”

“No, no. Quite ingenious. Continue, please.”

She worked her way from imaginary room to imaginary room, detailing her ideas, explaining where she hoped to use borrowed furniture and where she hoped to utilize items on loan from a furniture store.

“I have to admit, when I walked in here, I wasn't sure what was going on.” Kade straightened a piece of paper that represented the couch in the family room. “But you've put a lot of thought into this.”

“It's coming together.” Caron motioned to the whiteboard. “When I look at this, I don't
see all the scraps of paper, I see the house becoming a home. I don't know how to describe it. Imagining how to decorate a room—the possibilities of color, of style . . .”

“You get a real kick out of this, don't you?”

“More like a power surge.” She wouldn't tell Kade she'd skipped lunch because she'd been so busy consulting her laptop, searching different options for the rooms. “There's a real satisfaction selling a house—helping a family find what they want. Making the sales quota.”

“Making your dad proud.”

His words stalled her for a moment. “Yes, that, too. He was my boss, after all. But there were days that selling homes became nothing more than endless hours of work. I don't stage that many homes, but when I do, well, it taps into my creative side in a way that being a Realtor doesn't.”

“Kind of an adult, professional version of playing house—” Kade's grin pulled a smile from her, too.

“With a whole lot of professional success on the line.”

“True.”

“So what's your idea for the master bedroom?”

“Still mulling.” Caron folded a Post-it note into quarters. “I keep thinking of Mitch . . . what if this were his home? What if he was married and living here? So I don't want anything too feminine.”

“I know we're trying to cut costs. What if we used mine?”

“What?”

“What if we use my bedroom furniture?”

“I . . . I don't know . . .”

“I have a fairly new bedroom set. It's a four-poster bed, dark wood. Dresser, side tables—the works. Believe it or not, I bought the set from another Realtor in town who ordered it
from Italy, but ended up not liking the dark finish. I can always sleep on my couch during the week of the tour.” Kade leaned back against the conference room table. “We can take a look tonight. Or not. Just a suggestion. You may need to go somewhere or have plans—”

“No . . . I mean, no, I told Margo that I was working late tonight.”

“Well then . . .”

“Fine.”

“Do you want to ride over to my house together?”

“No, just give me your address and I'll take the rental car. That way when we're done I can head back to Margo's. No need for you to bring me back here.”

“Okay. Perfect.”

•  •  •

Why had he invited Caron to his house—to look at his bedroom furniture?

They had spent less than an hour talking about the Tour of Homes house—her eyes lighting up, her words tumbling over one another as she described her ideas, her hands moving faster and faster, switching scraps of paper back and forth on the whiteboard as her body moved back and forth in front of him . . .

Kade skidded to a stop beside his car, gravel rocks spurting out around his feet. How could he un-invite Caron—tell her the last thing he wanted was her invading his personal space again? Seeing her at work was one thing—having her in his apartment, looking at his bedroom, even if it was work-related . . .
no
. She'd been pure temptation when they'd dated. He'd had to do a lot of praying to ensure he didn't go past their personal boundaries when they sat on the couch together and
watched either one of her favorite rom-coms—
What's Up, Doc?
or
Hitch
—or his preferred choice of reruns of
American Ninja Warrior
. And if he went for long, exhausting runs after their dates . . . well, she didn't need to know that.

He needed reinforcements—and that's what friends were for.

Kade slid behind the steering wheel, starting the car as he waited for his friend to answer his phone. “Mitch?”

“Yeah, man. What's up?”

“I need you and Lacey to come over to my house. Tonight. Now.”

“What? It's Friday night, man. We're getting ready to go out—”

Kade put the car in reverse, wheeling out of the parking lot, catching a glimpse of Caron exiting the building in his rearview mirror. “Caron Hollister is coming over to look at my bed—I mean, my bedroom furniture—”

“What?”

“I don't have a huge budget to stage the house, you know that. Caron's plan is to have furniture stores donate pieces or else borrow items from people she knows. So I suggested we use my bedroom set. And now Caron's coming to look at it. I need you and Lacey at my condo when we get there.”

“You want me to tell you how brilliant you were before or after Caron comes over?”

“I want you to back me up—preferably without an ‘I told you so.' ”

“Can't promise you that. You on your way now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. See you in twenty. And you owe me.”

“You don't even need to say it.” Kade hit the brakes as the light up ahead turned red. “Listen, you'll get there before I do. You've got a key. If the place is a wreck—”

“We'll hide your dirty clothes and dishes.”

He caught some green lights, and Kade dashed through his front door twenty minutes later, shucking off his coat and tie. He had a good ten minutes on Caron—more if God answered his prayers and all the traffic lights were red for her.

“Hey, boss.” Mitch appeared from the kitchen, holding a bottle of water.

“Hey. Where's Lacey?”

“She's making sure everything is all clear in your bedroom. This apartment doesn't accommodate a wheelchair all that well.”

Kade bit back a groan. “Sorry about that—”

“It is what it is. It just meant Lacey had to be sent on a search-and-destroy for your dirty laundry. But the place looks great, if you ask me.”

“I forgot I had the cleaning service come in today.”

“No dirty clothes—” Lacey's voice floated down the hallway moments before she appeared. “Oh, Kade's here.”

“Yeah.” Kade pulled open the fridge door. “You want some water?”

“I'm good. Have you figured out how you're going to explain our being here?”

“No.”

“Then just keep it simple. We dropped by.”