The hallway beyond was dim, lit only by small sconces spaced along the walls at intervals, their light warm and golden against the dark wood paneling. Her feet made no sound onthe hardwood floors—real hardwood, she could tell, not the laminate stuff she’d grown up with—as she padded toward the door at the end of the hall.
His door.
She knew it was his without being told. Something about the weight of it, maybe. The way it seemed to anchor that end of the hallway like a period at the end of a sentence.
Through a window she passed, she caught a glimpse of the grounds outside—the December night had turned everything silver and shadow, and she could see her breath misting faintly in the cooler air of the corridor. Somewhere in the distance, those Christmas lights still twinkled, patient and hopeful in the darkness.
She stopped in front of his door.
Her hand rose.
Hesitated.
The peace was still there, but so was her heartbeat—thundering now, so loud she was half-convinced he could hear it through the wood.
This gave her the courage to raise her hand and knock.
The door opened almost immediately, and Paul stared at her, his expression impossible to read. He had changed out of his suit and now wore a simple white t-shirt, the cotton stretched across the broad planes of his chest, and dark pants that hung low on his hips. His feet were bare. His hair was slightly mussed, like he’d been running his hands through it.
He looked almost...human.
Almost vulnerable.
Almost like someone who’d been waiting, too.
Almost.
But truthfully, he still looked so, so intimidating, and she would have been so, so tempted to just turn away and forget what she had come all the way here to say...if not for his eyes.
Oh, those gray, bittersweet-morning eyes...
They showed the same questions she had. The same fears. The same pain.
And it was this that had her mustering the courage to ask—
“May I come in?”
“Only if you’re fine with not being able to leave.”
The words made her want to laugh, cry, and gulp at the same time. She was so out of her mind with panic that she couldn’t even tell he was joking or not. But since he had already stepped back to let her in, she reminded herself that things were different now—
Because I have You, God.
But since walking by faith, not by sight, was new to her, Andie’s heart still raced as she entered his room and heard the door close behind her with a soft click.
His bedroom was larger than her entire apartment. Dark wood floors stretched toward walls painted in deep navy blue, the color of midnight skies just before they turn to black. Heavy curtains framed windows that must have offered spectacularviews in daylight, but now showed only the reflection of the room itself—and her, small and pale in her borrowed t-shirt, standing in the middle of a space that could swallow her whole.
A fireplace dominated one wall, gas flames dancing behind glass, casting flickering shadows across the ceiling. The furniture was massive and masculine—a leather armchair by the fire, a dresser that looked like it belonged in a museum, bookshelves built into the walls and actually filled with books that showed signs of being read.
And the bed.
A massive bed that she absolutely refused to look at.
So she turned to face him instead.
Paul had moved closer while she’d been taking in the room, and now he stood only a few feet away, arms crossed over that chest she was trying very hard not to stare at.
“I’ve made my decision,” she blurted out.
