Page 4 of I Choose You (Wilder #2)

Claire

Taylor Swift’s evocative lyrics blasted from the radio as I drove the four and a half hours from western Connecticut to the south coast of Massachusetts.

The rainy, gloomy day made the drive longer than it should have been.

Grayness blanketed the skies, trying to steal my focus away from the positives.

But that was what my girl Taylor was for.

I wasn’t even about to let my mind wander down the road of what was to come.

Nothing good, that was for sure. At least being on-site for the restoration project allowed me more time to figure out my living arrangement.

Reid Wilder was going to be a problem though.

He was clearly against the idea of a historical preservation designer for the Delano Library renovation.

Downright rude about it. If he had that attitude for the duration of the project, it was going to be a long eight months.

But I was all smiles as I drove down the highway, singing to my heart’s content.

My boss, Andrew, had booked my lodging at some place in town.

I didn’t have all the details, but according to my GPS, I would be there in eight minutes.

Canceling the trip, I pulled off the road and into the parking lot of a diner.

It was still daylight, however dreary it was outside, and I had time to go by the library before heading to the hotel.

The GPS calculated the directions to the new destination, only five minutes away in a slightly different direction. That was fine. I had plenty of time.

The Delano Library looked like a small castle. Turrets and spires, brick and stone, windows the size of two-story houses. The dark clouds hung low in the sky, creating an eerie feeling in the atmosphere.

It was absolutely stunning.

I slowed my car as I drove past, then circled the block, of which the library took up the entirety.

Out front, a couple of pickup trucks were parked.

The main doors of the library were open, and there were two men hauling items out of the building.

They both looked to be in their forties or fifties, and they must have been working on it all day based on the pile they had built up.

Their voices carried over to me, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

I was debating about getting out of my car and introducing myself—one of these men had to be Reid—but just as I was hyping myself up to deal with his presumable attitude, another two men stepped out. I paused to watch them.

Wow. Now, this guy was someone I wouldn’t mind dealing with.

His hair was too long and unkempt, and his shirt was wet and stuck to him, either from sweat or the rain. But his face… his build… even his walk was weirdly hot.

There were shoulder-slapping and handshakes going around. They must be done for the day. Not wanting to delay them, I decided that tomorrow was a new day. I would come back here first thing in the morning and find out which of them was Reid so we could get started.

I plugged the hotel’s address into my GPS again and pulled away.

It was only about five minutes away, but it felt like a completely different world. Where the library was stately and impressive, the “hotel” was definitely not. Why would Andrew book me a room here, of all places? How did he even find this dump?

The parking lot at the Cove’s End was a series of potholes, gravel, and broken asphalt. The building looked like it hadn’t seen a single penny for upkeep in fifty years. I walked into the reception area to check in and was greeted by the smell of mold and a very bored-looking young woman.

“Claire DeLuca. I’m checking in,” I told her. “The reservation might be under the company name, Andrew Hassell Designs.”

“I have you here… oh, wow. Um, is this right? How long is your stay?”

“I didn’t actually make the reservation; my boss did, so I’m not sure what he requested. But I’ll be on a project in town for the next eight months.”

“Yeah. That’s what it has here. We usually rent by the hour. I’ve never seen an eight-month stay before.” She looked up at me, her eyes holding a glint of amusement. “Good luck,” she added.

That didn’t bode well for me.

I thanked her and took my room key. A physical key, attached to a bright orange plastic key chain.

This was no hotel, like Andrew had told me it was.

This was a motel. And a run-down, budget motel at that.

Did he not think the rate was suspiciously low when he booked it?

Well, he probably didn’t research it himself; I was sure Nia, his assistant, was the one who booked it.

He would probably laugh about it with me later as we found a more suitable place.

Before leaving the reception area, I turned back to ask the woman about food options. After driving for hours and then doing the detour through town, I was starting to get hungry.

“Well, we have a bar and eatery on-site. Food’s not great, but the drinks are fine.

And if you want to go into town, there’s the Downtown Diner.

Good for cozy, home-cooked meals, but if you’re eating alone, I would recommend one of the two bars and restaurants in town.

Harpoon’s is great, more of a laid-back vibe.

Courtside is a sports bar, louder and busier, but good food.

Both places have a great bar you can eat at if you don’t want to get a table for one. ”

I thanked her again and found my way to my room.

It was small, with one full-size bed. That was fine, except the one window by the door was nearly black with grime, and the door itself didn’t close quite right, but at least it had one of those chain locks from the inside.

There was no kitchenette, or even a microwave and minifridge, for me to cook some meals.

I had a small food stipend per day, but I’d have to be really frugal if I didn’t want to dip into my own funds on the regular.

The bathroom had a stained toilet and an equally stained bathtub.

The vanity was so small I would barely be able to fit my toothbrush and mouthwash.

Deep breath in… Okay, that was a bad idea. No deep breathing. Mouth breathing only. Why did it smell like raw potatoes? Ugh.

I put down my suitcase and left. The less time I spent in that room, the better. Based on what the receptionist told me, I looked up Harpoon’s Tavern. It had great reviews but virtually no online presence. Still, it sounded better than eating alone at a bar filled with noise and people.

I pulled up to the old wooden building within a couple of minutes. Everything seemed to be just a few minutes away in one direction or another.

Before I got out of the car, I placed a second call to Andrew to discuss the lodging situation after the first call on my way over here went to voicemail.

No answer this time either. I left him a message to call me back as soon as possible without going into detail as to why.

This was a big opportunity for me as my first project manager assignment, and I didn’t want Andrew to think that I was a complainer by nature. I wasn’t.

Inside Harpoon’s was dark, and there was music playing, but it wasn’t super loud. It was already after 6:00 p.m., and it was still pretty dead inside, but it was a Monday night, so that was probably to be expected.

The bartender was wiping down the counter as I took a seat. She asked me what I was having, and when she placed my lemon drop martini in front of me, she handed me a food menu along with it .

Turned out the food really was delicious here. I only ordered a Greek salad, but it was so good that I didn’t even realize someone had come in and was sitting two seats down from me at the bar.

“Christ, Ronnie. What are you feeding her?” he joked, or at least I think it was a joke. He didn’t have a smile on his face though, so it was hard to tell.

I had to cover my mouth to swallow as I tried to smother my laugh.

“Sorry. I must look like a heathen,” I told him. “This is just really good.”

“Clearly.” He shot me an unimpressed look.

Okay, maybe he wasn’t joking. When he brushed his hands through his hair, it clicked.

This was one of the guys who had been at the library earlier.

The hot one. Now that I was up close, I confirmed that he was indeed as attractive as I thought he was from afar but also a lot younger than I expected. Too young to be ogling him like I was.

I turned back to my plate and took a smaller bite, a hum of appreciation on my lips. I almost choked when I caught myself making that noise again. I glanced over and caught him side-eyeing me, looking all broody and irritated.

“You’re not sitting in your usual seat, boy. You can’t go screwing me up like that,” the bartender chided him playfully, dropping off a pint of draft beer that he hadn’t ordered.

“I didn’t want to be creepy. The whole bar is open—I can’t come in and sit right next to the girl,” he muttered.

“Yeah, yeah. A likely story,” she said.

He got up and moved one seat over, side by side with me.

“Better?” His annoyance was written all over his face.

Her dark eyes danced with amusement. “Yup. Now, what’ll it be tonight?”

He placed his order and leaned his forearms on the bar, sitting silently.

“Hey,” I started.

He looked at me like I had just uttered the most ridiculous word in the English language. Typically, I would make conversation in a situation like this, but his surliness wasn’t exactly inviting company.

“Sorry I’m all up in your personal space,” he grumbled, looking straight ahead instead of at me.

Was he talking to the liquor bottles behind the bar?

“She’s just fucking with me, but if I change my seat back now, I run the risk she won’t deliver my food, pretending she can’t find me.

” His hand combed through his hair again.

“You’re fine. I don’t mind.” I tried to offer him a smile, but he never turned his head to see it.

Someone came up from behind us and pulled him into a conversation about how great their shed was. I figured he must have been on the crew that built it based on how much the guy was complimenting the workmanship.

“Seriously, Reid, you do a damn good job. Keep up the good work,” the guy said just as he left.

Reid? This was Reid?

He was younger than I expected, but based on the attitude he was throwing off, I should have predicted it.

“I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard that man call you Reid. Reid Wilder?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, his head cocking to the side in confusion. “How’d you know?”

“The Delano Library.” I was going to introduce myself and clarify my involvement in the process just as soon as I swallowed my next bite, but he jumped in before I had the chance.

“Ugh. Don’t get me started on that project,” he sighed. “I’m one day in, and I’m already questioning why I agreed to do this. Today was supposed to be my one good day to get some shit done before everything gets upended tomorrow. Rained all damn day.”

“What happens tomorrow?” I asked. I had a feeling I knew where this was going, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Some uppity broad from Connecticut is coming in to oversee all of the design. I don’t mean the window drapes and shit.

That would be fine. But no, she’s going to have her hand in the flooring, plastering techniques, architecture, stair design, railings.

Everything. Every decision I make is going to be questioned and changed by this woman who had never stepped foot in the Delano Library while it was operational.

Who has no idea what it actually looked like, what it felt like to be in there. Have you ever been in there?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Fuck, it was so cool. Even as a kid, or maybe because I was a kid. It felt like you were in another world.” His voice became wistful, and his eyes held a faraway glint.

It only lasted a second before he returned to his angry rant.

“That project needs someone who understands that, not some fucking nerd who’s going to get hung up on every little detail and miss the big picture. ”

I nodded in understanding but otherwise stayed quiet.

I knew he wasn’t looking forward to me being involved in this project, but I wasn’t expecting just how angry he was by it.

I figured we could work together, come up with great ideas, be another set of eyes to make sure everything was up to par.

This was going to be a long eight months, of that I had no doubt.

After his tirade was over, he turned back to face forward and waited for his food silently. He didn’t move his seat back down a spot, even after he got his food. We sat side by side for another twenty minutes, each eating our food and sipping our drinks.

I paid the bill and started to get up to leave.

“Hey,” Reid stopped me. “Sorry for unloading on you earlier. I’m not always a grumpy asshole, although my family might tell you different.” He scratched at his jaw where his five-o’clock shadow was growing in. He looked up at me, and our eyes locked. My heart rate sped up, my breath quickening.

Well, that wouldn’t do. Not only was he definitely a lot younger than me, but he also hated me on principle. Sure, he was attractive. But did my body have to react like that?

“No worries. It was actually really… insightful,” I responded with a smile. “It was nice to meet you, Reid.”

Back in my room at the motel, I dug through my suitcase for a sleep set and my toiletries.

Unpacking seemed pretty useless. I was sure Andrew would set me up in a better hotel when I talked to him in the morning.

Plus, I couldn’t imagine putting my clothes in that dresser.

Nothing about this place made me want to get comfortable or settled in.

I changed into pajamas and brushed my teeth. The water wasn’t brown, so that was positive. Shaking my arms and legs out, I channeled my positive energy. Reid’s bad attitude wasn’t going to worm its way into my head.

I control my emotions.

I could either let negativity take up space in my mind and soul, or I could radiate positivity .

Sitting cross-legged on the mattress with my eyes closed, I took a nice, deep breath in and held it. Six, five, four, three, two, one, and exhale. And repeat.

The bed quilt beneath me was rough and itchy. My shoulders were tense and tight, which may have been from the drive or, more likely, from listening to Reid drag me through the proverbial mud.

Breathing. In and out.

Was he going to be a problem for the duration of the construction? Would we be able to come to some sort of working relationship? I was sure we could. I was easy to get along with, and I could handle a lot of bad attitude before I let it get me down.

Breathing. Focus on the inhale… and the exhale.

Uck. This quilt had seen better days. I hoped the bedsheets weren’t in the same shape. And what was up with the smell of potatoes?

I opened my eyes. This meditation was a bust.