Page 32 of Nailed

She practically fluttered her eyelashes at me and my god. My decision-making capabilities were failing me already.

“Fine. One drink and a quick update,” I muttered, leaving my bag on the desk.

A small triumphant smile nested in the corner of her mouth but she turned so quickly I barely got a chance to see it.

I followed her lead that passed through a steel ship's ladder at the end of the bay, a two-handed narrow climb that terminated in a roof scuttle she had to push back to unlatch. It landed with a loud bang and we emerged through the opening and onto the flat, gravel-dusted rooftop.

My eyes scanned the perimeter and all I could think of was that this place needed work, too. Between the exposed, structural steel I-beams and original masonry details, there was much that needed refining up here.

“Gorgeous, isn't it?” Lauren breathed, sweeping her arm out.

I couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not. I scratched the side of my neck. “It has potential, I suppose. Are you thinking of having this space renovated as well?”

Lauren rolled her eyes at me. “Not the roof itself, Brock. Here.”

She took my hand and led me to the edge of the street-facing side of the building, right to the parapet wall that served as a railing against the drop.

“Look.”

She directed my gaze to the view out ahead and it actually took my breath away. The skyline was already starting to glow yellow with evening lights against a purple-bruised horizon. Between the buildings and greenery winding in and around the blocks, I could see what she meant.

I turned to tell her that and froze.

Lauren's profile was mesmerizing against the same purple sky. She had a small, content smile on her face as she gazed ahead, her eyes bright and filled with wonder.

I cleared my throat and she turned to look at me.

“I thought you promised drinks,” I said.

“Already waiting,” she replied, pointing to an old but sturdy-looking wooden pallet that housed two glasses.

I raised an eyebrow. “That was presumptuous of you.”

“I prefer the term, ‘optimistic’,” she said, moving toward the makeshift bar. “I made Tequila Mules. They're supposed to be a local favorite.”

Two drinks I noticed. Not four.

“For a reason,” I said, taking the mug she handed to me. “Thanks.”

“To crafting an amazing apartment that’ll bring new beginnings,” she said, raising her own glass. I only hesitated a second before clinking them together.

We took a sip and I savored the way the creeping, spicy heat tickled my throat.

“I take it you approve?" she asked.

“I do,” I answered.

It was actually pretty peaceful up here, a stark difference to the usual noise of construction that took place downstairs. But with the sunset and cool breeze licking our faces and the bite of the drinks, it was tempting to unwind just a bit.

“How's the project been going?” she asked, taking another sip.

“As good as can be expected. You're here to see it for yourself. Is there anything in particular bothering you?” I said.

Lauren closed her eyes briefly. Was that frustration on her face?

“No, I just meant that I obviously don't know exactly how you guys feel about the work. Where your headspace is, if it ever gets too much,” she clarified. “I get the outside view, sure, but just because I can see the work, doesn't mean I know what it's like to be in the thick of it. The pressure.”

Pressure, wasn't that a funny word?