All the things I want to do.

And I want her to go home with me tonight, too.

But she doesn’t. When we reach the street, we go our separate ways.

30

Another conundrum confronts us several days later when Hector sleeps late again and misses work.

Natalie tries a few other guys, but they’re all busy. Since I haven’t expanded yet, or hired anyone regularly after the failed Vegas gig, it’s all me once more, and the clock’s ticking. I head uptown to Violet’s home, eager to finish her remodel on time.

With a laser focus, I do nothing but work all morning. Drill hinges. Adjust doors. Hang cabinets. For her Upper East Side penthouse apartment ultra-modern kitchen redo, Violet ordered an exotic wood that looks stunning in her home and must be treated with extra care. That’s precisely how I do treat it, making sure every single part lines up perfectly without a nick, scratch, or dent.

Then again, that’s my job, and that’s what I aim to do every time for every client.

But midway through the morning, an on-time finish appears exceedingly unlikely. There’s just too much to do. I barely have time for a lunch break, but my stomach rumbles, and a bead of sweat slides down my chest from all the lifting and hammering. I need fuel in my line of work, so as I head out of Violet’s building into the midday crowds and bright sun, I follow my stomach in the direction of the closest bodega. As I walk along the tree-lined, brownstone-laden block, I ring Natalie.

“Hey,” I say, and I can feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

“Hey you.” The sweet sound of her voice makes the grin spread all the way across my face, makes my heart flip-flop.

We’re coworkers, but right now we don’t sound like it. We sound like lovers. Like a boyfriend and a girlfriend. Like this is how we talk to each other when we call for no reason. And hell if I even know why I called her. Maybe just to hear her say hey you.

Feels like enough of a reason, and that’s what I want—to be able to talk to her like this, to call her any time and chat about our days without all the other stuff hanging over us.

I drop my shades over my eyes and hoof it to the store on the corner to grab a sandwich. “How’s it going at headquarters?”

“Everything’s good here in the Bat Cave,” she says, then tells me what’s cooking, and it’s yet another day of her managing my company like a champ. This woman is invaluable to me. “And I checked in with the courts. Everything is on track with the divorce, too,” she tells me, but I don’t feel like talking about the end of our union, and it turns out I don’t have to, since she segues into the next item. “I got a call today from Harper’s friend Abby. The guy she works for is investing in a new restaurant, and he wants to talk to you about doing some of the cabinetry.”

“Interesting,” I say since I don’t usually handle commercial work. But she tells me more about the job and it sounds doable. “Can you stop by after Violet’s to do an estimate? I can meet you there. It’s in the Village.”

My chest does that wild flop again, knowing I’ll see her later. Which is ridiculous, since I see her nearly every day. But I like seeing her so much. “Yeah, sounds great,” I say as I turn into the bodega, grab a bag of chips and a diet soda, and get in line at the deli counter.

“So.” She takes a beat. “You called. Is everything okay?”

Right. The reason for my call. What the hell was it? I stare at the glass case of the counter, hoping to find the answer in the ham. But honestly, I’ve never cared for ham, so that doesn’t help. Then I remember why I’m on a quickie lunch break. “I don’t think I can finish Violet’s job today. Any chance you can track someone down for the afternoon? I just need another set of hands for a few hours.”

“Why don’t I come join you?”

“You sure?” I try not to sound too enthusiastic.

“We did it before at Lila’s. We can do it again. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“You’re a ninja, and a goddess, and the mistress extraordinaire of the Manhattan carpentry business. Can I get you a sandwich? The turkey here looks good.”

“Thanks, but I already ate. A poisoned ciabatta. I should be dead shortly.”

A little later she joins me, and we set to work. Glancing over at her, carefully hammering in a nail, I’m struck once again with the realization of all she does for my business—she saves the day.

As we work, she’s quiet and focused, and so am I. Around five o’clock, she takes a short bathroom break and returns quickly. I set down the tools to pour a glass of water. Natalie’s working on the ladder in the kitchen, wiping the wood on a cupboard above the stove, making sure it shines. But her shoulders shake like something is terribly wrong.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she mutters with a gulp as she moves down a rung.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fine.”

I place a hand on her lower back. “Hey, tell me. What’s wrong?”

She sucks in a deep breath and meets my gaze. Words spill from her mouth like raindrops falling. “Mrs. McKeon said she doesn’t need me to teach anymore.”

My jaw drops. “What?”

“She texted me earlier. I just saw her note when I was in the bathroom.” Her voice catches. “She said the mats weren’t in good shape after that night. I think she knows what we did there. I’m so embarrassed.”