“Our shirts are stuck together,” she said. “The paint on my shirt must have dried last night while we were sleeping.”
“One of us will have to take our shirt off then,” he said with a crooked grin.
She cut her eyes at him.
“Okay,” he chuckled. “I’ll take mine off. You aren’t holding any rollers, are you?”
“Oh, hush,” she said, trying not to smile.
He pulled his arms out of his shirt and, as she held on to hers, trying desperately to keep herself covered, he slipped his off his head. Abbey wadded it up along the front of her and crossed her arms, trying her best not to look at him sitting there in only a pair of jeans.
“Thank you again for helping me last night. I hope I didn’t pull you from your work.”
“Nope,” he said with a smile. His dark hair was messy, and he had stubble on his face.
She swallowed, trying to keep her thoughts from showing.
“I got the company.” He grinned at her. “It cost me a million more than I’d wanted it to, and a dinner with Max, but I got it. I promise to make it up to him.”
“I believe you,” she said, and she meant it.
Chapter Seventeen
Abbey was tired today, so she switched a few things on her timeline and focused on the living room. It wasn’t as big as the ballroom, but it was still quite a large space. The ceilings were high, the walls a deep brown color with oversized moldings in stark white, making the room quite bright, and she already liked the color choices, which meant no painting was required. After last night, she was glad about that. The room had a lovely brown leather sofa and two matching chairs with a big-screen television on the wall.
She added mahogany side tables with oversized lamps, magazine racks for each side of the sofa, filled with the latest copies of travel and food magazines. The sofa was full of down-filled throw pillows in reds and deep blues, providing the pop of color that it needed. She hung a painting she’d found at an art gallery online on the large, blank wall opposite the sofa. It had all the colors tied together in streaks of bright paint on a stark white background. In the corner was an empty Christmas tree. Abbey was waiting to decorate that one. She had some plans to do it in a more traditional fashion, and she’d need Max to help her with it.
She looked around at how warm and cozy this room appeared after she’d had her hands on it. The recessed lighting in the ceiling, which was on a dimmer switch, was on, so she could make the room feel like it had more lamplight instead of harsh overhead lights. She’d adjusted the lighting and put the throw on the sofa when Nick came in.
“Hi,” he said as he looked around. “Wow, you don’t stop, do you? I could hardly get a cup of coffee in this morning.”
“I’m trying to keep my schedule,” she said with a smile. “But I have a quick moment for a break. Have you come in to relax?”
He smiled. “Relax?”
“Yes. I just figured you’d come to the living room to relax for a minute. Kick your feet up. Do you usually relax in here?”
“No,” he said, running his fingers along the new side table. “I hardly ever come in here. If I’m up, I’m working.”
“What if you were stuck in this house with no computer or phone—nothing to connect you to your job—what would you do to entertain yourself?” she asked as she sat down on the sofa.
He sat down beside her. “I don’t know.”
“Yes you do.” She nudged him playfully with her shoulder and he looked down at his arm, that curiosity evident again. “What do you love?”
“I’d compose music. For piano,” he said quietly.
Abbey remembered the sound of the notes he’d played and how they’d affected her. “Really?”
“Yes.” He allowed a small smile to emerge.
“Do you have anything you’ve composed?”
“I have whole folders full from when I was younger. Before my father died.”
“Where are these folders?” This conversation had taken such an unexpected turn. Abbey knew all too well what this was like for him. She had files of decorating pictures, ideas jotted down, torn-out pages of magazines. She still had them all. Just like he still had his music.
“In my office.”
“Would you play me something that you’ve written?”
“I’ve never played for anyone before.”
“Do you like my decorating?”
Nick blinked, obviously trying to tie the question to the conversation. “Yes.”
“Do you really like it?”
“Yes.” He smiled at her.
“The way you feel about playing me your music is the way I felt when I started decorating your house. I was worried too. Play me something.” She stood up.