After shutting the light off, I took Grace by the hand, showing her the room down the hall, which was the bathroom, but then I hesitated on the next room. My bedroom wasn’t unlike most single male bedrooms but there was one aspect I knew that stood out above all others.
I swallowed and went for it, something telling me that this was the right move. I pressed the door of my bedroom open and flicked on the light switch.
“This is huge,” she admired, looking around.
But I caught the moment she spotted it. She paused, and from her profile I could see her eyes widen when she took in the sight of my huge bed, with a completely empty mattress, smack dead in the center of the room.
“You really don’t like bed linens.” Her voice was low as she continued to stare at my bed.
I grunted in response, that uneasy, queasy feeling in my stomach rising at the thought of bed linens.
“No.”
She turned to me and her lips parted as she started to say something, but whatever it was, she kept to herself. Instead, she moved closer, placing her hand on my chest and rising to kiss my cheek.
“Thank you for showing me your home.”
The way she said it told me that she knew this wasn’t something I regularly did. I didn’t open myself or my home up to just anyone. She’d been the first. And the fact that she didn’t question me about the bed issue told me I made the right call in letting her be the first.
Moving toward the nightstand where I spotted my wallet, I remembered that I’d forgotten to set up the recording for the fight that night.
“One sec, I need to record something.” I picked up the remote and turned the television on.
Grace moved closer. “What’re you recording?”
“The NFA fight.”
“NFA?”
“National Fighting Association.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of it.” She silently stood by as I pressed the necessary buttons to ensure the fight would be available whenever I arrived back home to watch it.
“We can stay in and—”
“No.” I shook my head. “You didn’t get dressed up to spend the night at my place watching a fight. We’re going out.” Grabbing her hand, I led her back out of the room, down the hall, and out the door.
The drive to the restaurant from my condo was only about ten minutes, which we filled with conversation about work, our latest patients, and our plans for the weekend. Grace told me how her sister was doing. She was still wrestling with her possible diagnosis.
“Her doctor believes she has Bipolar II disorder. I tried to explain to her that that’s possibly good news since the symptoms aren’t as severe as Bipolar I, but all she heard was that she’s defective. At least, that’s what she heard at first, but she’s coming around. She went back home to our father’s for a few weeks to talk with him and our stepmom about it and see what types of treatment she should get on.”
“Does she have doctors at home?”
Grace nodded. “They’re good about communicating with her psychiatrist here in Williamsport since he was the one who originally diagnosed her.”
We pulled up to the restaurant and I chose to have the valet park the car. After giving him my keys, I placed my hand at Grace’s lower back and escorted her inside, for the first time feeling honored to have a woman on my arm.
****
Grace
“No!” I stated adamantly again, shaking my head. “It’s not my night to sing.”
“What the hell does that matter?” Jacob insisted, his brows furrowed.
He looked so damn hot when his face turned serious.
“I’m not singing.”
