Rewind It Back (Windy City, #5)(71)

“And why would that not be the right choice for you?”

“Other than trying to keep an open concept home clean? Because adding walls means each room could have its own moment and tell its own story. In an open concept, you need everything to flow perfectly from one space to the next since you can see it all at once. If your tastes change often, the way mine do, instead of updating one room, now you’re switching up the whole house.”

I huff a laugh, thinking about all the times I watched Hallie change her room while growing up.

“Walls it is,” I say definitively.

“I should clarify that adding walls will add not only to the cost but also to the project timeline.”

“Great. Add the walls.”

Her gaze narrows suspiciously. “All of them? Because we can take a few out if you don’t like them.”

“All of them.”

“Okay,” she drags out. “Why are you making this so easy?”

This project should be easy. She probably doesn’t remember this, but she once told me everything she envisioned for our future home, and I loved each and every idea she had.

“Is there anything else we need to go over?” I ask, stroking my thumb over the fabric of her leggings, my fingertips hooked over her inner thigh.

“Yes.” Hallie switches her laptop for a sample booklet from her bag. “This part doesn’t need to be a final decision type thing, but I do need to present an overall design concept to my boss.”

I move the plates from the coffee table, giving her room to lay out and open the booklet. It’s filled with collages of different aesthetics she created. There are pictures of furniture, color palettes, and different printed patterns. Wallpaper, maybe.

Again, I don’t really know what I’m looking at, but whatever it is, I like it.

“Is there a particular aesthetic that draws your eye?” she asks, both of us sitting forward off the couch.

“All of them.”

She laughs under her breath. “Well, that’s good. We can pick and choose for this too. If there’re certain things you like from each concept, we can combine them to make it your own.”

My eyes slowly trail to her again. “Which would you pick?”

She lifts a brow, silently telling me this is also about my preference, before her attention drops to my mouth, which is awfully close to her own.

“If it were your home, I mean.”

I watch that wariness settle in again, but she doesn’t hesitate, pointing to her favorite. It’s a mix of deep greens, creams, and natural wood tones with furniture that looks comfortable but cool. The type you’d actually sit on and not the fancy designer stuff that seems like it should be displayed in a museum.

“That’s the one,” I decide.

“Rio—”

“Hal, I don’t really know what the hell I’m looking at here, but you do. And you know I’ve always loved your style, so this really isn’t all that hard of a decision. If you want that one, then I do too.”

“Rio,” she sighs.

I prepare myself for her to tell me something to the effect of “stop designing your house with me in mind” or “stop trying to dig up old memories.”

But what she says instead is, “This could’ve been an email.”

There’s an ease between us, and it feels light and fun, the way it used to. I missed this. This comfortability and compatibility. I missed her wearing my clothes. Missed us doing absolutely nothing together. I’ve never been known the way she knew me, and it’s becoming evident that hasn’t changed one bit.

“Can I ask you something?” Sitting back, she crosses her legs under her, facing me on the couch.

“Of course.”

“Why’d you want me to come here? To meet you on the road.”

“Truthfully?”

She nods, bottom lip slipping between her teeth.

I think of giving her the whole and complete answer but instead, settle with a partial but true one. “Because I wanted to see you. That’s all.”

“Okay.”

She finds my hand on the couch between us, bringing it back to rest on her leg. She softly toys with my knuckles. She traces the roadmap of veins on the back before finally, she finds a bit of bravery to slide her fingers between mine.

Hallie stares at our intertwined hands for a long while as if she wants the reminder of what it looked like, and that’s when I see them.

Her nails.

How I didn’t notice them before, when she was typing on the computer or scarfing down the room service, I have no clue.

I take her hand, positioning her fingernails in my direction. “Hallie Hart. Ten different colors?” My smile is stupid big. “Talk about a throwback.”

“Stop.” She laughs, pulling her hand away.

“When did you do that?”

“Yesterday.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Because I always used to, I guess, and I’ve been feeling more like myself again lately.” She looks up at me. “For the first time in a long time.”

I slip my hand into hers again, letting our fingers lace. “Yeah. I completely get what you mean.”





Chapter 21


Hallie