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He chuckled again and left, not having any idea what he’d just done to her.
She didn’t have a full idea either until later. When she finally remembered to check her phone.
* * *
ANDRÉ
By the time Friday rolled around, André was exhausted.
He’d hardly spent any time with Nikki but that was okay because they’d both been busy.
Not only had he had his first therapy session with Thomas, but he was hurrying to finish Nikki’s office.
Therapy was not what he’d expected. For some reason he’d had it in his head that therapy was showing up to have a stranger tell him how much he sucked.
That’s not what had happened.
Thomas asked some background questions, and they discussed André’s goals. Thomas also gave him some homework—reading suggestions and making a list of the things that caused his anxiety as they happened.
And for the first time in a long time, André felt hopeful for his future self.
It made working on Nikki’s office that much more enjoyable.
All he had left was painting the walls and ceiling and the finishing touches. But he had to wait for Tyrone to do the floor first. Which he’d be starting tomorrow.
It was late Thursday night and he was walking through the studio, making sure he hadn’t left lights on in weird places, or had left tools lying about.
He came around the corner and the back door opened. He stopped and waited to see who had come in so late at night. Obviously, they had the combo to the security alarm, so he wasn’t worried, just curious.
Nikki closed the door behind her, turned around, and jumped when she spotted him.
“Shit,” she gasped, clutching at her chest like she had the night he’d surprised her on her deck.
He flashed a smile. “Just me.”
“What are you doing here? Do you sleep anymore?” she asked, approaching him.
She was in baggy jeans and a Billy Joel shirt. Her hair was in a messy bun and her makeup was light, if she was wearing any at all.
She was stunning.
“I am making sure your office is ready for Tyrone to do the floor tomorrow. What areyoudoing here?” he countered.
She scratched the side of her neck and looked away.
“Nik,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Why do you look suspicious?”
She licked her lips, and her blue eyes—too big and bright to hide a lie—darted to his. “I have a thing?”
He eyed her, his lips twitching. “You do?”
“I do. I don’t know why that came out like a question. But that’s why I’m here.” She pulled her shoulders back and jutted out her chin.
“Because of your thing?”
“Yep.”
He watched her for a beat and then let it go. If she didn’t want to tell him, he wasn’t going to press.
