Blinking, I tip my head back because he towers over me. I swallow nervously when our eyes connect before blurting, “Trolls.”
“What?”
I pull my eyes from his and reach out, almost touching the sticker on his tie. “Trolls.”
“My daughter.” He pulls the tie away from his body and smiles while rubbing his thumb over the glittery sticker. “She thinks she’s funny.”
Daughter. My stomach drops in disappointment. Of course he’s married with a daughter. A man who looks like he does would be married with a daughter. A daughter who probably looks just like her mother, with whom he’s madly and obsessively in love.
“So . . . I think you have plans for me.” My eyes widen. “I mean plans for me to look at.”
“Yeah.” His lips twitch like he’s fighting back a smile. He clears his throat before he takes a step away from me. He walks toward the desk.
He even has a great walk.
I close my eyes for a moment when his back is to me, willing myself to pull it together and not make a fool out of myself. I make a mental note to figure out what I ate so I don’t eat it again.
“John said you didn’t know what you were looking for or what kind of design you were after, so I did a few mock-ups. If you see something that you think you or your husband might like, we can go from there.” He turns to face me, bringing a laptop with him.
“I’m not married.” I could swear his shoulders relax, but I know I must be seeing things.
“We can sit on the couch. That way you can see a little easier.”
“Sure,” I agree, following him to the simple gray couch and black coffee table that are situated catty-corner to his desk. Taking a seat close—but not too close—to him, I set my bag on the floor near my feet. “How old is your daughter?”
“She’s six, almost seven,” he says without looking up at me. “She’s all girl and a complete handful, but I wouldn’t change her for the world.”
Sweet and hot. God, why oh why do all the men like him have to be taken?
“Is that her?” I ask, looking at a small red-framed photo on the desk that’s across the room. It shows a little girl with dark hair like his. She’s holding a butterfly in the palm of her hand, her eyes lit up and a smile of absolute wonder on her adorable little face.
“Yeah.” His expression becomes so gentle that my heart melts. “That was from last summer, when I took her to the butterfly garden.”
“She’s adorable. You and your wife made a beautiful girl.”
“I’m not married.” His eyes meet mine, and the air between us shifts as our gazes lock once again.
“Oh.”
His eyes drop to my mouth and seem to darken right before he suddenly turns the computer toward me.
“This is the first design.”
My eyes widen in complete awe. On the screen is an image of the outside of the brick home I just purchased, but without the scaffolding that is there now. Under each window is a square black box full of colorful flowers, and the door to the house is painted a golden yellow that stands out against the dark-red brick. When he moves his finger across the screen, various images of the interior come up. The front entrance has bright light, with light wood floors and gray walls with white trim. The living room features a large fireplace surrounded by cozy-looking couches, and the kitchen has white cabinets, stainless-steel appliances, and a large island. On and on he clicks, through picture after picture, virtually walking me through all three thousand square feet. He ends in the master bedroom suite, which features large floor-to-ceiling windows and a master bath with an old-time claw-foot tub and pedestal sinks. I might not have known what I wanted my house to look like, but after seeing the home that he created, I know that it’s exactly what I want. There isn’t one thing I would change about his design.
“It’s perfect.” My voice fills with awe, and I lift my eyes to meet his.
“I know that there are some elements that are a little more rustic than most New Yorkers like, but you can change them out for a more modern look easily. I also have a few other plans drawn up that we can look at.”
“I love everything. All of it. I didn’t think it would be possible to see the house as anything more than it is right now, but what you did is magic. I love it, and I can’t imagine changing anything. Really. I can’t wait to see it when it’s done.”
“There’s nothing you’d want to change?” he asks, studying me.
“Nothing.” I shake my head, looking at the photo of the master bath once more. “I love it.”