“We can build the booths first if you prefer. In fact, it might be a good idea. Okay. New plan. We’ll build the booths and soundproof them.”
Is he deliberately being obtuse?
“Stop!” I screech. “Stop with all your plans and scheming. I never agreed to this whole recording studio thing. I’m perfectly happy narrating my audiobooks in your walk-in closet.”
“But what about when your ankle is healed, and you move back home?”
Ouch! He had to remind me of my temporary place in his life, didn’t he? As if I don’t remember him saying kissing me was a mistake and walking away.
Whereas he seems to have forgotten the encounter, I can’t stop thinking about our kiss. The memory occupies every waking moment. And, when I’m not awake, I dream of his lips on mine. And the dream doesn’t stop with a simple kiss, no matter how hot the actual kiss was. No, in my dreams, Rowan’s lips explore my entire body. I nearly shiver at the idea of being naked and laid out for him.
It will never happen, though. Rowan made his intentions or lack thereof perfectly clear. My dreams of a happily ever after with him are just that – dreams. Little girl fantasies. And I’m sick and tired of being the little girl.
“When I move back home,” I tell him, “I will use the closet in my apartment the way I’ve been doing since I returned to Winter Falls last year.”
“I thought you said my walk-in closet is bigger than your entire bedroom.”
Rub it in, Mr. Money Banks, why don’t you?
“Not all of us have millions from our years of playing professional football,” I snarl. “And yet we manage to have fun and fulfilling lives.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to sound like a rich asshole.”
“Well, congratulations, you did.”
He grunts. This one means let me talk, woman.
I roll my eyes and motion for him to speak.
“This recording studio could be a good business for you. An additional income on top of what you’re earning from your narration work.”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“Explain it to me.”
“I’ll do you one better. I’ll mansplain it.”
To his credit, he doesn’t growl at me for talking down to him.
“Go ahead.”
“I. Do. Not. Want. A. Recording. Studio.”
“Why the hell not?” He explodes.
Because I don’t want the entire town to witness my failure, I think but don’t say. This man has already heard enough about my self-doubt, I’m not giving him another piece more of me. Mistake, I remind myself. He thinks I’m a mistake.
“Could I record my audiobooks at the studio? Yes, yes, I could. But I’d also have to do a whole lot more. I’d need to attract customers. From where? No freaking clue. I’d have to be on-site to grant these non-existent customers access to the location. On top of everything, there’s all the other shit involved in having a business. Spreadsheets and P&L statements. The list goes on and on.”
“Can I speak now?”
“If you must.”
His lips tip up in an almost smile before he clears his throat and tackles my problems one by one.
“First, the easy stuff. The so-called business ‘shit’. It’s all stuff you do now anyway.”
“Yeah, but—”