She sucks in a deep breath, letting out a regretful sigh. “Should we talk about this?”
“About what?”
“Like…where do we go from here?”
I don’t know the answer to that question. As much as I wish I knew and hope our hearts are in the same place, I don’t know what’s okay. I don’t know what’s allowed between us. So, with the uncertainty weighing heavy on my chest, I ask, “Where do you want us to go from here?”
“I don’t know.”
I respond with silence, a small twinge of disappointment twisting in my gut.
“But I know I want to keep seeing you,” she adds. “I want to keep spending my nights with you, and maybe my mornings with you.”
“I want that too,” I say honestly. But I know that’s not all. There’s a clause. A stipulation stapled to the back of it, and I need to flip the page and read the fine print before celebrating.
“I just don’t know if I’m ready for everyone else to know about us.”
“So, we keep things a secret.” It’s not what I want, but it’s what I’ll take. Grace isn’t ready for the world to know about us. She’s worried they won’t accept us for what we are. Two adults who have fallen for each other. Two people who were never meant to fall for each other. So, until she is ready for that, shecan keep me as her little secret. And when she is ready, I’ll be the first person to shout to the world what she means to me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Andrew
I never realizedhow many defects my studio apartment has. It’s homey and cozy, perfect for a single man who mainly uses it as a place to eat and sleep and occasionally lounge around while eating leftover pizza. But the second I decide to have company over—and not just any company, but a woman—I realize how much it’s lacking. I don’t have a large French door fridge with an ice dispenser or a balcony overlooking sixteen stories with a view that includes a small section of the ocean and the Port of San Diego. My view is unremarkable with the tops of other two-story apartment buildings and a freeway overpass. In fact, my apartment doesn’t even have a wall separating the bedroom from the kitchen. It’s all one small open space where the only area with privacy is the bathroom.
I’ve spent the last hour cleaning. Picking up trash, wiping down surfaces, going around all the hidden outlets to see where I can covertly plug in a few scent diffusers. I even made sure to switch out the towels to newer, fluffier ones and laid out some toiletries I bought when I shopped for some flavored Perrier.
Grace is coming over to my apartment. She’s heading straight over for dinner after work. We’ve been spending the past few nights at her place and when she casually mentionedshe’s never seen my apartment, I invited her over. I, of course, immediately regretted it. I’ve become so comfortable in her condo, I didn’t know how she was going to adjust to my much smaller dwelling. Not that she seems to be the type of person who cares. Her digs aren’t something that defines her. It’s almost as if her home is just her home. Something that happened by chance and luck, and she’s just enjoying the amenities. Still, I want to impress her. I want her to see that this place, as much as it’s not grand or swanky, is very much me.
I’m cleaning up some leftovers in my fridge that turned out to be a container of chow mein from two weeks ago when I hear a knock at my door. I abandon the stinky noodles, shoving them deep in my trash can while hoping it’ll be enough to mask the smell.
When I open the door, nothing could’ve prepared me for what’s on the other side. It’s not that Grace looks any different. She’s wearing a pair of wide, flowy slacks that touch the floor with a V-neck sweater-shirt. Resting just at the dip of her neckline sits a small diamond stud hanging from a gold chain. Her hair is swept up in a sleek bun with wispy strands framing her face and neck, and gold earrings that look like teardrops dangle from her earlobes. She has a leather tote bag slung over her shoulder, along with a look of frazzled weariness. But aside from how stunning yet unimposing she looks, it’s the sudden sight of her that has a physical effect on me. I’d been so busy cleaning I didn’t have a moment to realize how much I missed her. I hadn’t seen her in over twenty-four hours since I had to work late last night, and it seems that short period of time allowed my heart to grow fonder. I forgot how much I love being near her, running my hands over whatever exposed skin she lets me touch or even just spewing random things to each other. Questions that run on a tangent with no purpose or thought. Just things that pop into our minds we don’t find the need tofilter or hold back. Even the moments when we stay quiet and bask in the silence, not needing to fill it with superfluous words.
“Hi.”
“Hey,” I answer. I open the door wider, and as she walks through the threshold, I slip off her bag and place it on the chair tucked under my drop-leaf dining table. A set made for only two.
We skip past a formal greeting, and I swoop her into my arms. I nuzzle my nose into the dip in her neck, and I feel her fingers rake into my scalp. The tension in my shoulders melts off my bones and muscles. I hadn’t brought up anything work-related to her, but today wasn’t different than any other stressful workday. I’ve been looking forward to seeing her all day, and it seems it’s more than just a simple date night in. I feel okay around her. I don’t feel wound up or anxious or irritable. I feel calm and just…okay.
“I missed you,” I whisper into her hair.
“I missed you too.” She pulls away, brushing her lips to mine.
“You don’t want a tour?”
I feel her shoulders shrug while her lips continue to seek out mine. “Sure. If you want.” Her hands tuck under my shirt, fingers looping over my belt. “Or we can keep doing this.”
“That’s good too.” I guide her to my bed a few steps away where we fall in a heap on top of my covers. And I realize, like how I missed our conversations and even the silent moments that fill our time together, I missthisjust as much.
“I like your apartment.”
“Yeah?”
“Hm,” Grace hums against my skin. “It’s nice and cozy.”
We’re lying in my bed, our bodies a little flushed and heated from the last hour we’ve spent over and under each other. I know I don’t have much time before Grace has to leave and we should probably eat something soon, but the thought of ditching our warm nest doesn’t sound the least bit appealing. I want to stay here until the moment she needs to get back home to Buster.
A part of me wishes she could stay the night. I could even offer to go and bring Buster back here. We could enjoy a leisurely dinner and shower together. Do things under the water until it runs cold and have her slip into one of my shirts before we go to bed. We could wake up together, possibly have a cup of coffee or a light breakfast before we head off to our respective jobs. I could maybe even pack her a lunch. The perfect way to continue the work week.
