As Long As You Love Me

CHAPTER TWO

In the end, we were complete maniacs and got both the meat lovers pizza and a pitcher of root beer. I’d never eaten alone with Rob before, but as long as I remembered he had zero awareness of me, everything would be fine. I had two pieces and one glass of soda while he finished everything else. His metabolism must be awesome.

“So what’s next?” I asked, as we split the bill. Or rather, Rob consented to letting me pay a quarter of it since he ate and drank more than I did.

It was more of a general question than a demand he justify his life plan, but he straightened with a hint of tension. “What do you mean?”

“Are you taking me home, or are we headed to the roadhouse to cause some trouble?” That was highly improbable, but when he relaxed and shook his head, I was glad I went to the silly end of the spectrum.

“I was gonna drop you off, then work on my dining room,” he answered.

“Well, obviously. I think I’ll go home and do the same. I could totally get it to be more formal if it just focused a little and stopped watching so much daytime TV.”

That startled a quiet chuckle out of him, and I realized that until earlier today, I’d never really heard Rob laugh. The deep rumble of sound sent a pleasurable shiver through me, and I immediately wanted to make it happen again. At this point, I didn’t even care if that involved dressing up in an actual clown suit, complete with red nose and humungous shoes. In the past, I’d seen him smile, but he was so careful, guarded and tentative in his expressions—for reasons not entirely clear to me.

“I bought a house in December. When you were home before, I was still living with my parents. It’s a fixer-upper, and once I get done, I plan to flip it.”

“That’s when you restore a place, make it awesome, then sell for a profit, right?” I’d watched a few home makeover shows.

“I hope so. Dunno if Sharon is the right place for it, though.”

“Yeah, I imagine the market’s a bit sluggish here.”

“If I can’t sell it, I’ll have a nice place to live. So it’s not a loss.” He sounded faintly defensive, as if he’d explained this before, and with less success.

“Sounds like a good move. Plus you have the satisfaction of remodeling your house exactly the way you want it.”

He nodded, excitement sparking his expression. “I’ve already taken out a wall downstairs, opening up the layout from kitchen to dining room.”

“How much work have you done?”

That question acted on Rob like a key turning in a lock. He opened up with a click, telling me everything he’d done so far and what projects were yet to come. I was impressed by the time he finished his recitation because he’d obviously put a lot of thought and planning into this. Moreover, he didn’t intend to stop until he finished the house properly.

“It’s a little complicated to live there sometimes,” he said with a sigh. “With power tools and dust everywhere, I can’t get Avery to set foot inside. She says she’ll judge the results once I’m finished.”

“I bet it’s not that bad.” I mostly said that for the silent satisfaction of disagreeing with his girlfriend.

“You want to see it?” His invitation came as a surprising bonus.

“Sure. I’ll be able to visualize what you were saying better.”

“Sweet.” Rob studied the bill with a faint frown, likely trying to figure out the tip. So I plucked it from his fingers, skimmed the total and dropped four singles.

“You paid way more for dinner,” I said, as if that were why.

“Thanks.” Fortunately he let it drop.

Rob waited for me to precede him, a polite gesture that only made me like him more. Which I definitely didn’t need—I was already hauling around the weight of an old crush. If he insisted on being sweet and considerate, I didn’t know how I’d deal. As before, he settled me in his truck before he got into the driver’s seat, then instead of heading to Dover Road, he drove across town to the west side.

His house was on the outskirts of Sharon, off the highway instead of in a neighborhood like mine. The driveway was a quarter of a mile long, and the house was nestled in a small clearing with snowy trees framing it on either side. Everything was too wintry for me to judge the landscaping, but I liked what I saw of the side-gabled bungalow, from the deep eaves to the tall, stately chimney, and especially the front porch with its slender columns. It wasn’t huge, but definitely big enough for a porch swing.

“Watch your step,” he said as he got me out of the truck.

I could seriously get used to Rob touching me. My pulse fluttered as his hands lingered long enough to make sure I wouldn’t pitch face-first into the pile of dirty snow he’d shoveled to the sides of his driveway. It was impossible to restrain a smile, though, and he answered it with an unguarded friendliness I’d rarely seen. When he was goofing around with his teammates, he unlocked like this, but seldom with anyone else.

He went ahead to open the door, then he stepped back so I could come in. A flick of his wrist turned the overhead light on, and I saw what Avery might complain about. Everything was coated in a fine layer of dust, and there were tools everywhere, along with plastic sheeting. Raw beams showed through the wall he’d knocked down, and his kitchen had only a subfloor, while the hardwoods in the living and dining room needed refinishing. But I saw potential in the chaos; I spun in a slow circle. He’d already done a lot, considering it had only been a few months since he bought the place.

“It’s a mess,” he said, seeming slightly crestfallen, as if he’d expected there to be more tangible progress.

“No, I can envision how it’ll eventually look. What’s next in the dining room?”

He studied me for a few seconds, likely checking that I wasn’t feigning interest. Then he started a monologue on moldings, sparkling with enthusiasm for the project. He told me all about eighty versus a hundred grit sandpaper, that you could use a putty knife to work in tight corners, and how important it was to start with paper that fit the wood. I had zero experience with home repair, but he made it seem appealing. Of course, that could be his general hotness talking.

When he finally lost steam, he wore a chagrined look. “But you probably didn’t want to hear all of that. Sorry for boring you.”

“I did or I wouldn’t have asked.”

“You’re a strange girl.” He shook his head, smiling.

“I pride myself on it.” Moving a few paces toward the kitchen, I grinned at Rob. “So basically, when you said you didn’t feel like cooking, you meant heating soup on that hot plate.”

His kitchen was wrecked—no stove, ancient refrigerator, subflooring and all of the cabinets had been torn off. I’d be surprised if he had running water in there. Plastic draped the cupboards, giving the room a serial-killer vibe. But before my dad left, we’d had enough contractors in the house for me to understand this was par for the course.

“Pretty much. Though don’t underestimate the hot plate. You can do a lot in a wok.”

Smiling up at him, I teased, “Tell me more.”

“You’re making fun of me.” The warmth drained from his expression, and I didn’t understand until that moment how it felt to have Rob shine for me until the light went out.

“I am not. I’m seriously impressed you can cook anything on a hot plate.”

“It’s not that big a deal.” He was tentative, and I wondered if he’d always been this unsure of himself.

To the best of my recollection, Rob had never been a talker. He didn’t lead when he hung out with his sports buddies, and he didn’t say much when they joked around. That left me with little to go on, no sense of his ordinary self. Maybe he was always like this?

“Stop trying to decide what amazes me.” I poked him in the side. “I also gasp in awe over monkeys riding bicycles and parrots cussing in Portuguese.”

“Who doesn’t?” But his eyes had lightened, a faint smile playing at the corners of his truly kissable mouth, perfectly shaped in a manly bow.

If I didn’t say something, fast, the next words out of his mouth would be, I’ll run you home. “If you want, I can help with the sanding. That’s low-skill work, right?”

Rob stared at me. “It’s Saturday night. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

I wasn’t dressed for manual labor, but I didn’t want to leave. This had all the earmarks of a scenario I’d dreamt up multiple times in high school. Silently, I chided myself, He has a girlfriend. Be cool. You can be friends with Rob. It’s not a huge thing.

“Debatable. My mom’s out, so I’d just be watching cable.”

“If you say so.” He sounded skeptical, but he got the sandpaper and showed me how to use it like a pro.

I shrugged out of my jacket and glanced down at my sweater. “Do you have anything I could put over this?”

Though I hadn’t meant to draw attention to my boobs, he followed my gaze, and if I weren’t crazy, his gaze lingered for a beat too long, then a flush colored his cheeks, creeping toward his ears. Relatively few guys my age could be embarrassed by that; the vast majority were shameless. I loved that Rob wasn’t. There was a solid goodness about him that reminded me of Nadia, though not in a Single White Female sort of way.

“Sure, let me get you a work shirt.”

Once I had plaid flannel, his favorite thing, apparently, I went into the kitchen to swap shirts. Rob didn’t expect that, so when I came around the corner rolling up the sleeves, his eyes widened. “You could wear that as a dress,” he blurted.

“I suspect I’d be cold.”

“Do you want me to turn on some music?”

“Good idea.”

“What do you like?” That was the second time he’d asked me that tonight, more than any guy I’d ever dated, truth be told.

“Surprise me.”

He clicked his iPod into a dock safely stashed on a high shelf. The dining room had a hutch built into the wall, and I could picture how it would look once he refinished it, gleaming with age and care. It was the perfect place for a woman to display her fancy dishes. Not that I had any, but I admired beautiful craftsmanship. Rob fiddled with his music player, then Blue October popped from the speakers. I’d heard “Hate Me” before, but it wasn’t the kind of song I associated with Rob. If anyone had asked, I would’ve guessed uncomplicated country, maybe Garth Brooks or Shania Twain.

“I like this,” I said. “Sad, though. Do you have ‘Sound of Pulling Heaven Down’?”

He nodded. “It’s next in the playlist.”

I looked forward to learning what Rob listened to, left to his own devices. And he said Avery’s never been here, so you’re learning something about him she doesn’t know. After pulling off my boots, I got to work, sanding as Rob had showed me. It was hard on my back and knees, but there was an odd satisfaction in smoothing away the damage from years of neglect.

After working for a while in silence, I said, “There are deeper scratches here and they’re not coming off.”

Rob stopped what he was doing and knelt beside me to examine the baseboard. “Normally you sand with the grain, but you can go across at a forty-five-degree angle to work those down. We’ll go over the whole thing with a finer grit paper later anyway.”

We? Mentally I questioned the pronoun but I wasn’t silly enough to do it out loud. That would only make him tighten up again and if he let me, I’d definitely help out another time. Though I could build a website from the ground up in my sleep, I was unclear on what he meant—a ninety-degree angle was a full corner, so...

“Like this?”

“Almost.” He put his hands over mine and adjusted my strokes. His palms were big and rough, completely covering my fingers. Until just then, I didn’t realize how much I liked big guys; in Michigan, I’d mostly dated lean, pretty ones, though that was a kind interpretation of my social life. I specialized in partying and in hookups, not relationships. My mom’s misery biased me early on against the wisdom of letting a guy matter deep down.

“Okay, I’ve got it.” My arms actually hurt from the pressure, however. Bonus, helping Rob might tone my biceps. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” He retreated to his corner to work, and the iPod cycled through five more songs, an eclectic mix of David Gray, Josh Ritter, a band I’d never heard of—Good Old War—along with Snow Patrol, and most surprising of all, Enya. When she came on, singing about the evening star, my head jerked up and I stared at Rob. Never in a thousand years would I have credited this; I wondered if his football buddies knew.

He met my look with a sheepish shrug. “Her voice is haunting.”

I didn’t disagree, even if my tastes ranged more toward top forty. “I’m not a music snob, dude. In fact, I’ve lost all credit with most of my friends because, if it comes on the radio, nine times out of ten, I like it, even if critics say it’s terrible.”

“Miley Cyrus?” he challenged.

“Hey, ‘Wrecking Ball’ rocks. And I’ve been known to scrub my bathtub to ‘Party in the U.S.A.’” I wasn’t ashamed of liking popular tunes, so his grin didn’t bother me.

“Ke$ha?”

“Not my fave, but I don’t hate her. The duet with Pitbull is catchy, even if it doesn’t make any sense.”

As we sanded, he asked about random artists until I disclosed that there were only three pop songs I’d shut off: “Blurred Lines” by Robin Thicke, “Barbra Streisand” by Duck Sauce and “Loca People” by Sak Noel. Otherwise, I didn’t have elevated tastes or think some bands were cooler or more important than others.

“For some reason, I thought you’d be more like Nadia. She’s into stuff that hasn’t been discovered yet.”

“Are you calling her a hipster?”

Rob lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “If the chunky ankle boot fits...”

Given my best friend’s penchant for indie music and microbrewed beer, he wasn’t wrong. Still, I didn’t let him get off scot-free. “Like you should talk. I never heard of Good Old War until you played that song.”

“‘Looking for Shelter’? It’s a good one. And actually, Nadia was listening to them before she left for college. So—”

“You disclaim any credit for finding them. Suspicious.” I pretended to narrow my eyes, studying him in mock assessment. “I bet you could dig up indie bands if you tried.”

“Luckily I don’t have to. Nadia sends me emails with playlists she’s made, stuff she thinks I’ll like. She gets it right half the time.”

“I didn’t know that.”

He tilted his head. “Why would you?”

Once he asked, I felt like a dipshit. “You make a valid point.”

At that point, silence seemed like the best option, so I worked my way to the corner. The molding looked a lot better just from what I’d already done; Rob had finished two walls to my one. When I sat back on my knees, he straightened and came over to give me a hand up. With an easy tug, he hauled me upright. The motion brought me a little too close; I thumped against his chest and for a confused moment, I breathed in the clean scent of him, an incredible mix of wood shavings and wintry air.

“Sorry about that. We should take a break or you’ll get cramps. Want a beer?”

“Not really. Water’s fine.”

Rob opened a bottle and got me a glass of ice water, then he beckoned from the stairs. Curious, I followed him up; the hall was dark and cold, but then he opened a door, and I discovered the one room he’d completed. It was a good size, divided into living and sleeping, which made sense. I suspected this was where Rob spent his time if he wasn’t working. On the opposite wall, beside the window, he had a full-sized bed with a nightstand beside it, and he was using a bookshelf at the foot to divide the space. A couple of chairs sat centered on the other side, facing a small entertainment center to the left of the door.

None of the furniture in here was prefab; everything was real wood, polished to a high gloss. The floor gleamed around the edges of the area rug, and I dug my toes into the green plush. He’d painted the walls caramel, though he’d call it light brown, and there were blinds on the windows, unlike the rest of the house. An electric fireplace hung on one wall, providing light and warmth. I walked across the room to run my hand over the table, admiring the smooth finish.

“You like it?” he asked.

“Definitely, it’s great.” There were no drawers, only a lower shelf, but Rob didn’t have much clutter. The bookshelf held only a few magazines, along with a handful of change, receipts, bits and bobs he must’ve pulled out of his pockets.

His smile twisted me up. “That was the first thing I ever made. The bed’s mine, too. I put it together from salvage.”

Startled, I took a closer look; it was a slatted headboard, stained dark, attached to an impressive platform bed. But on closer inspection, I could see how he’d taken two railroad ties and covered them with plywood. Ingenious, really.

“Wow, you could seriously design furniture.”

“That’s the dream.” But he didn’t sound like he believed anyone would pay him for it. I totally would, though. It was solid and beautiful, just like Rob.

“How much to build me a bed like yours?”

I’d surprised him in the middle of a swig of beer. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, how much? My mom and I were just talking about redecorating my room.” We hadn’t mentioned a new bed, but it was my money.

“Twin or full?”

“Twin.” A pang of chagrin went through me because that was a kid’s bed, but I couldn’t afford a bigger one and a new mattress. At this rate he’d always see me as a little girl.

“A hundred bucks.”

I frowned at him. “That sounds low.”

Which he met with a melting smile. “You’re getting the friends-and-family discount...and hey, you’re giving me the satisfaction of serving my first customer.”

Somehow I didn’t flirt, didn’t say any of the cute things trembling on the tip my tongue. He has a girlfriend. That means he’s off-limits.

Rob building my bed was likely the closest I’d ever come to having him in it.

CHAPTER THREE

Monday, I saddled up the wild interwebs and sent my résumé to a dozen places.

I didn’t have high hopes for a day job, given my car situation, but it would drive me nuts to sit around waiting for summer session to start. I’d already decided against typical college enrollment. I hated sitting through lectures for many reasons, so University of Nebraska online fit the bill. I planned to apply for their information assurance program, transferring my general studies credits, so I needed the concentration courses...and maybe a few electives, depending on how things shook out. Their site promised that I could transfer up to sixty-four hours from Mount Albion, which was more than half of the 120-hour degree. Going part-time, it would take me three years or so to finish up, but it would be worth it, especially if I landed a job that let me stay in Sharon.

That took all of an hour. This chilly morning, my mom was at work, and I had no car. Buying one was a pipe dream, at least until I could afford gas and insurance. When Nadia was around, I never worried about it; in high school, I called her whenever I needed a ride, and it was the same in Michigan. My heart twisted when I thought about how sad she had been to learn I hated college, but the longer we went to Mount Albion, the clearer it became to me that it was her dream, not mine, and I was going through the motions. The more my grades dropped and dropped, the more I drank and partied, trying to hide my unhappiness.

Until I couldn’t anymore.

I had just over five hundred bucks in my checking account because I’d just deposited my last paycheck, but I owed half to my former roommate, Angus, in return for buying my plane ticket home. In a burst of financial genius, I’d promised another hundred to Rob to build me a bed. That left me relatively little to survive on until I found a job. The humiliation would kill me if my mom tried to give me an allowance. Though I was happy to be back in Sharon, sometimes it was hard to shrug off the stares and speculation.

With a faint sigh, I wrote out a check to Angus Starr. I’d often teased him that he totally had a porn star name. I miss you, dude. I wondered how my three former roomies were doing; they were all I missed about Michigan. I smooched the stamp when I stuck it on the envelope, then I wrote a card to go along with repayment. While Angus had a fat enough bank account not to miss a couple hundred bucks, I didn’t enjoy mooching off my friends. Sadly, walking out to the mailbox and raising the flag took care of my to-do list for the day.

I huddled deeper in my down jacket, turning back toward the house. Except a red truck slowed, then pulled into our gravel drive. I recognized Rob right away; I just had no idea what he was doing here at two on a Monday. The sky sputtered snow that drifted down in light, delicate flakes. If the ground wasn’t already frozen, this wouldn’t stick.

“I brought some stain samples,” he said in lieu of greeting.

Ah, so this was about the bed. “You should probably bring them inside. It’s really cold.”

“Thanks.” He followed me into the house while I tried to figure out how bad I looked on a scale of one to ten. Definitely better than when we ran in to each other at the Safeway, nowhere near as good as Saturday night.

Then I dismissed the question as absurd. “Do you want some coffee?”

“Sure, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“Not at all.”

After dumping the old stuff my mom made this morning, I brewed a fresh pot, then poured him a cup. He laid some small boards on the table, touching and naming each in turn. “Oak, pine, mahogany, maple, red chestnut, cherry, walnut.”

“The red chestnut is beautiful.”

“Okay.” Rob put away the samples and took a sip of his coffee, relaxing into his chair with a pleased expression.

“We might have some cake, too, if you want.”

“Like I’d say no to cake.”

I took that as an invitation to rummage in the fridge and I came out with a couple of slices of German chocolate, which was my absolute favorite. My mom made it a few days ago in honor of me moving back in. I should probably be ashamed that there were only two pieces left. Mentally I shrugged and served him on the good plates.

“How come you aren’t at work? I know why I’m not.” I pointed at myself and whispered, “Unemployed,” like it was a curse word.

“I don’t do a lot in the winter,” he said, seeming surprised. “Spring and summer are better for construction, and I have to make my money last the whole year. I’m...not awesome at it.”

Hmm. Rob wasn’t the first person I’d known to struggle with that, but most of my friends were like, Whee, there goes my textbook money, while ordering another round of shots.

“You just need to divide your total income by twelve and work out how much you can spend monthly. It helps if you track expenditures and figure out where your disposable income goes. I could put together a spreadsheet.”

“That sounds complicated.”

Not to a computer girl. In my secret nerdy heart, I loved spreadsheets, pie charts, line graphs and all kinds of numbers. Once I made up a sex flow chart of everyone I’d slept with, and their partners that I knew of but that started to get weird, so I deleted the file. I’d be taking that secret to my grave.

“I don’t mind helping,” I said, mostly because I didn’t want to admit it would be easy, at least not with Rob looking like I’d confessed to speaking ancient Greek.

“What would you need?”

“Bank statements, basically. And you’d have to help me classify your expenses.”

“If you do that, I can’t let you pay for the bed.”

Oh, look, an excuse to spend hours with Rob. High School Me shouted in elation, but she also bitched about what a stupid reason it was to hang out with him. There was nothing sexy about formulating a monthly budget.

“Then a trade definitely benefits me.”

He nodded, finishing his cake. “Avery won’t be back from Omaha until next month, so this is a good time to figure things out.”

“I thought you said she was visiting her cousin for the weekend.”

A sigh escaped him. “Yeah, well, I got it wrong. She left early to spend time with her cousin. Then today, she started a management training seminar. She’ll be back in March. I think.” But he didn’t sound sure. “I have to really piss her off to get that tone.”

“Which one?”

“‘Jesus, do you even listen to a word I say’?” He captured her icy snap so well, a shudder went through me.

I can’t believe she talks to him like that.

Before I could decide how to respond, he went on, “It’s a good thing I’m hot, right?” Under most circumstances, that would qualify as a cocky remark—one that was supposed to make me laugh—but the underlying sadness I’d glimpsed in him before rebounded, lending him a stark, shadowed air.

I weighed my response before saying, “That’s not all you are, Rob.”

He got up and took his plate to the sink. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”

Shock reverberated through me. I’d said the same thing in Michigan when I rejected a guy who wanted to date me. Luckily Rob’s back was to me, so he didn’t notice my reaction. I schooled my expression, so by the time he turned around, I was clearing the table.

“I’ve known you longer than Avery.” While they’d been dating since October, I had been wandering around his house since second grade.

“That’s true.”

In a tone I’d use for an oral report, I said, “When I was in fourth grade, you carried my science fair project to the gym for me, even though you had to walk six blocks to the junior high afterward, and you got detention. That same year, you got into a fight with Ellis Whitcomb over Melissa Fredericks. She would later become your first high school girlfriend, though not the last. That honor went to Katie Everett, who you dated right up until she left for college.”

And then she left without a second look. Maybe I should change this up.

“When I was a junior, you punched Kent Walker for me, and my senior year, you took me to see my dad for the first time in seven years.”

My mom still didn’t know about that, and at the time, I was so mad at her, sure it was her fault—that she’d driven him away somehow. I blamed them in stages, back and forth, like the clicking balls in a Newton’s cradle. Back then, Rob drove a different truck, an old green one passed down from his granddad, nicknamed Tessa Green-tea for reasons known only to Rob. I’d cornered him in the garage while he was working on the engine. Nadia had been upstairs doing homework, and she thought I’d gone to the kitchen for a snack. Instead, I’d slipped outside and shuffled around until Rob straightened and faced me.

At twenty-one, he’d been leaner, with less muscle built over years of summer construction jobs. “Need something?”

“I was wondering if you’d do me a favor.”

“Depends on what it is.”

My breath came out in a shaky rush. “I need to see my dad. I have to talk to him.”

I’d had a horrendous fight with my mom. Her apathy and apparent lack of self-respect—the way she could barely manage to go through the motions—had made me scream at her, Just look at yourself. I so get why he left you. I’d planned to race to my dad’s side and tell him I understood everything now and please, can’t I be part of your awesome new life? A fresh start away from the rumors about my mother’s sanity had sounded perfect, what I wanted most.

Rob had wiped his hands on a rag, then said, “What did your mom say?”

“She doesn’t know. Will you take me? I can give you gas money.” At the time, Nadia had her license and a car. I could’ve asked her to drive me but I was afraid she’d punk out and blab to my mom about the plan. Why I had no such fear with him, to this day, I didn’t understand.

“Why don’t you call him?”

“I just need to see him. Please, Rob?” What I didn’t tell him was that I didn’t plan on coming home. I’d live with my dad from then on; my mom could ship my clothes, presuming she could manage it. Whatever, I’d buy more. I just wanted out. Her depression had only made my issues worse, and it had been all I could do to sit through a school day. It would be different with my dad; everything would be fine.

In the end, Rob had sighed and agreed.

With his help, I found my dad, unemployed, living in a shitty apartment with some woman I’d never heard of, apparently raising a couple of her kids. One might’ve been his—I was too upset to get the facts straight. But the worst part was, he didn’t even look happy to see me. To him, I was a nuisance. He invited us in, but we didn’t stay longer than half an hour, after coming all that way. Out in the parking lot, I burst into tears and Rob just hugged me. He didn’t say anything at all, probably because he knew no words could make it better. So there was no way I’d let him disparage himself now when he’d been proving his worth my entire life.

“I remember that,” he said finally.

“Me, too.”

The silence between us was odd and fraught, laced with old memories. I wondered if he had any idea that I used to crouch beneath the banisters and watch him with Katie Everett. In my head, he was still the gold standard for kissing, just endless tenderness without rushing straight for boobs or butt. Though four of the eight guys I’d slept with were good in bed, none had that quintessential Rob patience, and if he’d been that way in high school, his control as a man must be awe-inspiring.

Lucky Avery.

I siphoned the bitterness out of the thought as he studied my face. I’d never noticed him doing that before, but I felt each shift and slip of his gaze, as if his eyes were zoom lenses. My heart thumped so hard in my chest that I was afraid he’d hear it. Really, I should be over this.

“Do you mind if I take some measurements in your bedroom?”

Do anything you want in there.