The One I'm With (A Sweet Somethings Novel Book 3)

by J. Lynn Rowan

  “Feel better?” Josh asks as I enter the kitchen and approach the center island.

  A self-conscious twinge has me running my fingers through my hair. “Much. Here are your clothes, by the way. I didn’t want to risk ruining them in the wash, just made sure they were totally dry.”

  He doesn’t make any move to take his clothes from me, though I notice his cell is sitting on the counter beside mine. How homey of him to go into my office after it. With a shaky inhalation, I set the pile of folded clothes beside the phones. Then I watch him pour two cups of coffee and carry them to the island.

  “Sugar?” he asks.

  I nod. “Please.”

  Josh fetches the sugar bowl from beside the coffee machine and gives it to me, along with a spoon. We stand there for a few awkward moments, taking tentative sips of too-hot coffee.

  One of us should say something.

  “I didn’t just come by to pick up my stuff,” he finally says.

  Given that I don’t think I could get a sound out, much less a sentence, it’s probably better that he starts.

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He sets his cup down. “Not just because of the storm. Because of, well . . .”

  I wait. Is he about to apologize for last night?

  “I’m sorry for the way I acted,” he finishes, shifting his weight and not quite meeting my eyes.

  Yep. Uber-gentleman.

  “You don’t have anything to apologize for,” I tell him. “It was sweet of you to come out here to make sure I was all right, even if it meant having to be towed out of the mud in the process. And as far as the way you acted, that’s fine, too. If you remember, I was the one who insisted on being kissed.”

  Now he looks up. “You sure?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? Besides, you kissed me again when you got here.”

  “Not the way I would’ve liked to.” A half-grin pops into place.

  A rundown of all the choices I’ve made in the past three years—maybe even longer than that—flashes through my mind. So does the laundry list of questions I tried to work through this morning.

  But I want to take a chance on Josh. It could all lead to another complete disaster. But this feels different.

  He’s different.

  “Josh.” I put my cup down and lean against the counter. “Why don’t we just agree that whatever’s going on between you and me is a little out of the ordinary for both of us? Whatever happens, happens. If things stay casual and fun, that’s fine.”

  A couple seconds pass while he gazes at me, brows lowered in thought. “And if things go farther than that?”

  My breath hitches in my throat. Does he want things to go farther than casual?

  “It’s clear neither of us is seeing anyone else,” he adds.

  “So we’re exclusive,” I manage.

  His gaze intensifies. “Are you comfortable with calling it exclusive?”

  Exclusive or not, this . . . whatever-it-is with Josh is almost guaranteed to end. I guess the big question is how to navigate it so it doesn’t end in tears.

  “Marissa.”

  His hand covers mine on the counter. I realize with a start that I’ve looked away from him, and now I snap my focus back to his face.

  Fingers tightening, he eases closer. “Maybe we can just try this on for size. No pressure, no expectations. Just you and me, doing what comes naturally in the course of things.”

  “Okay,” I answer, nodding.

  Josh’s smile crinkles the corners of his eyes as he reaches for his coffee cup. “So, this is some house you’ve got here. I think this is the first time I’ve seen it in daylight.”

  I give a nervous laugh. “Yeah, it’s been a labor of love.”

  “Can I get the tour and the story behind it?” he asks.

  The story behind this house ties too deeply to the reasons I’ve kept Josh at an emotional arm’s length. But I can fake my way through a tour. With a grin, I gesture toward the kitchen at large. “As you can see, we currently stand in a completely remodeled gourmet kitchen, which includes granite countertops, all-wood cabinetry, and state of the art appliances.”

  “Does that mean you cook?” he interrupts.

  “Hardly,” I scoff. “I mean, I cook enough to not starve. But it’s not, like, my thing.”

  “Hence the lack of any food in your fridge besides the cheesecake we decimated last night.”

  “That’s more due to the fact that I need to get groceries than anything else.”

  Josh takes a long sip of coffee. “Why put in a gourmet kitchen if you’re not a gourmet cook?”

  I shrug. “That’s part of the story behind this house, I guess. When we bought it—”

  “We?”

  At my slip of the tongue, I drop my gaze. “My ex and I bought the house when we moved here after college.” A lump forms in my throat, but it’s not one of regret so much as irritation that Jared is still haunting the corners of my home. I swallow hard and force myself to continue. Bare facts, nothing more. “When we split, I kept the house and used it to build my interior design business.”

  “From what you’ve told me, that’s worked out well,” Josh comments.

  “As soon as I saw this house, I envisioned what I could do with it.” Now pride creeps back through me, pushing my irritation away. “It’s old, a little older than turn of the twentieth century, but it has good bones. Most of what was done during the first year was structural renovations. After that, I focused on restoring the architectural details, modernizing the fixtures and amenities, and, of course, the decor.”

  “And putting in a garden that lets you use homegrown blooms in your final-touch bouquets.”

  “I hired that done. I wanted a specific look, and it was too much work to do on my own. I putter, but I don’t do landscape design.” I drain my coffee cup, then study him. “You didn’t actually want a tour, did you?”

  He shakes his head. “No. Just curious. You’re really off the beaten path out here. I’m surprised you don’t have an office somewhere in town.”

  “That’s why I usually meet clients at their homes or a public space downtown,” I explain, gathering the empty cups and taking them to the sink. “Occasionally someone will haul out here, especially if they want to see a living example of what I can do before they hire me. But having a home office lets me write off a fair amount on my taxes. Even redecorating my living room can cut me a tax break if I do it right.”

  I turn around to see Josh leaning against the island, arms folded.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I was just wondering what put you on the map, so to speak. All anyone has to do is walk through your house to see that you’re talented.”

  Now it’s my turn to grin. “Want to see my magazine spreads?”

  He drops his arms. “You have magazine spreads?”

  “Six altogether.”

  Beckoning him to follow, I head into my office and pull a couple thick binders off one of the bookcases. I set it on my desk and carefully pull my complimentary issues of the six biggest home and garden magazines from the protective sleeves. Josh leans over my shoulder as I flip to the pages where my home and business are featured.

  “Wow,” he murmurs. “How’d you land these?”

  “My sister’s a talent agent,” I explain. “She used her connections to get me hooked up with the editors. Even got a photographer friend of hers to come down from New York and take the shots.”

  Josh taps his finger against a picture of me standing in front of my kitchen island, a huge arrangement of bright red camellias filling my arms. “When did you cut your hair?”

  I glance at the image, taken in February when the wild, curly auburn mane reached almost to my waist. “A couple months after that wa
s taken. I hadn’t cut it in years and needed a change. Actually donated it to one of those organizations that makes free wigs for girls and women who’ve lost their hair due to various medical conditions.”

  “Smart and generous.” His fingers trail up my spine and brush the bare skin at my nape. “Damned if I haven’t lucked out in meeting you.”

  His touch tickles more than my skin, and I quickly gather the magazines and put them away. My brain scrambles to get back on track.

  “I won’t lie. It would be more convenient to be in town. But space is limited. My friends were lucky to lease space in Grove Arcade for their boutique, but I can’t afford to do that on my own.” Sighing, I close the binder. “To be honest, I’ve been itching to move. I think I’ve done all I can here. There are a couple houses in the Montford neighborhood that are screaming for serious attention. That would kill two birds with one stone. Put my business closer to downtown and be able to start over with remodeling a home.”

  “Like that house you showed me a couple weeks ago.” Josh takes the binder and brings it back to the bookcase for me. “So why not do it?”

  “Money? The real estate market? Too lazy to pack?” I laugh. “There are always lots of reasons not to open the door to a new set of risks.”

  He turns and pins me with a stare that warms me from head to toe. “But sometimes there are better reasons to take those risks.”

  My mouth drops open, but no response comes out. In the silence of my speechlessness, Josh crosses the room to me. He runs his palms down my arms and takes my hands, then hesitates only a second before dropping a light kiss on my lips. “Are you booked today?”

  “Not until this afternoon,” I reply.

  “Want to get some brunch?” he asks. “My treat.”

  “It’s always your treat.”

  His smirk makes me giggle. “Then there’s no reason for you to decline.”

  Chapter 9

  More Sisterly Advice

  The next four weeks fly by, and Josh manages to fill every minute we’re together with something fun. With both of us as busy as ever during the week, our Sunday dates, now a given rather than a possibility, plunge me into a sense of comfortable ease. It’s easy to enjoy time with Josh, whether we’re visiting one of Asheville’s many art galleries, touring waterfalls in the mountains surrounding the city, or just relaxing with a picnic at Pack Square Park.

  Since our first kiss, I’ve let down my guard in ways I never thought I would again. I call him instead of waiting for him to call all the time. I sheepishly ask my friends if they mind me skipping Girls’ Night Out to hit a Saturday evening opera performance, while continuing to be surprised by Josh’s interest in said opera. And even when our schedules keep us from talking, a goodnight text keeps me smiling as I snuggle down in bed.

  By the time my Charlotte client meeting and lunch date with Beth rolls around, I can’t deny it any longer.

  I’m falling in love with Josh Mattingly.

  Beth beats me to my favorite deli in Uptown Charlotte by twenty minutes, and has a sandwich, sweet tea, and slice of cheesecake waiting when I walk in the door. She sets down her phone, greeting me with a hug before I plop into the chair on the opposite side of the table.

  “How’d your meeting go?” she asks, stabbing her fork into a salad too huge for me to contemplate eating on my own.

  I take a bite of my panini before answering. “Good. Client’s redecorating. Newly married, baby on the way. That whole scene.”

  We exchange the usual pleasantries about Beth’s husband and son, and laugh over our mom’s latest attempt at a mass email outlining the details of the yearly Christmas gathering back in San Francisco. Then, just as I try to come up with a way to bring my dating life into the conversation in a way that won’t feel contrived, Beth opens the can of worms for me.

  “So, what’s going on with you lately?”

  I pause mid-chew. “In what regard?” I mumble around my food.

  Beth bends a don’t give me that glare in my direction. “Business is good. Health is good. Weather is good. There’s only one other topic I could possibly be asking about.”

  My bite slides painfully down when I swallow. “There’s . . . a guy.”

  “Uh, oh. There hasn’t been a guy in ages.” She pushes her salad bowl away and clasps her hands on the table. “Spill, little sis.”

  A few sips of tea clear my throat. “Promise you won’t make a big deal out of this?”

  “You know me better than that, Marissa.”

  Now that the Band-Aid’s been ripped off, so to speak, I might as well give her all the details. Starting from the night we met, I tell Beth everything. Who Josh is, why he’s in Asheville, all the dates we’ve gone on, how it took an actual dare to get him to kiss me. The only thing I don’t quite give away is the surprising truth I’ve only just realized myself. But I know my heart is plain on my face by the way Beth sits back and crosses her arms as I finish.

  “You’ve got it bad,” she sums up.

  I crumple a napkin in one hand. “That’s kind of what scares me, Beth. I’m not, you know, promiscuous or anything. I’ve just dated a lot the past three years. There’s a difference between that and what Josh and I are doing. He says we’re exclusive. But he’s leaving Asheville in the fall. Exclusive or not, he’ll be out of my life by Thanksgiving at the latest.”

  “So why are you freaking out?”

  The question takes me aback. “Who says I’m freaking out?”

  “Your eyes give it away.” Beth sighs and reaches across the table for my hands, which I give her. “When you talk about him, your whole face lights up. He’s making you happy in a way I haven’t seen since Jared Turner ran out on you. But it’s scaring the shit out of you at the same time, because all you see at the end of this road is the certainty of watching another guy walk away.”

  “I don’t want to be scared of this,” I admit after a moment. “And I don’t think it’s about Josh. Any random guy could’ve started me back down the path to an exclusive relationship. It just happened to be this guy.”

  Beth narrows her eyes. “There’s something else, though.”

  I shrug, but answer as truthfully as I can. “The playboy vibe is all over him. At least, it was at the very beginning. Once I agreed to actually go on a date, his demeanor totally changed. He went from dropping practiced lines to showing interest in my life, my career, friends and family . . . Guys don’t do that if all they want is to get laid.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing? He’s looking for more than physical gratification.”

  “It sure seems that way. But the way he’s held back . . . it’s like he’s forcing himself out of a bad habit or something.”

  She sits back again. “What do you mean?”

  “Remember how I told you I had to dare him to kiss me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well . . .” I squirm in my seat and cast a quick glance around to make sure no one’s nearby. “That was four weeks ago, when we had that power outage.”

  Beth holds up both hands. “Whoa. A few minutes ago, you made it sound like that happened way earlier on. He just kissed you recently? After how many dates?”

  “Six-ish?” My face burns. “Maybe seven, if you count the coffee when I agreed to actually go out with him. I’ve lost track.”

  “How come you didn’t make a move before that yourself?” she asks point blank.

  “I told you. This has felt different from the get-go. He wasn’t acting like guys usually do when they pursue me, and it threw me off my own game.” Lowering my gaze, I fiddle with my napkin again. “And I kind of liked not having to play the game, to be honest.”

  My sister makes a low hum of consideration. “It doesn’t sound like he’s playing a game with you, either. If anything, it seems like he’s try
ing not to play games.”

  I glance at her. “That’s sort of been my take on things, too.”

  “I get the feeling neither of you has been willing to disclose any information about your romantic pasts,” Beth says.

  “You’d be right,” I reply with a grimace.

  She picks up her fork and pokes her salad a couple times. “You aren’t worried about him having ulterior motives or something, are you?”

  “What ulterior motives could he possibly have? He works ninety hours a week. We only get to hang out on Sundays.”

  The fork freezes mid-poke. “Every Sunday? All day?”

  “Usually. That’s the day I’m always free. Makes it easier to plan things.”

  “Marissa, that means he’s putting in fifteen-hour days the rest of the week, just to make sure his calendar is cleared for you on Sundays.”

  I hadn’t done the math on it, but I realize she’s right. The nights I only get texts are probably when he can’t get out of the office until it’s too late to call. Guilt floods me as I think of the times I’ve called him, probably interrupting him at work.

  “Don’t feel guilty,” Beth says, reading the emotions flickering on my face. “I’m sure it’s not atypical for him, given what you’ve told me. I’m just saying, he’s making a point to be available when you are. Guys don’t usually do that if they only want something easy or temporary.”