“I’ll make you something,” Brutus continued.
I started to ask him what he planned when his phone went off. He had to release my hand to check his phone. He frowned but didn’t respond to the message.
“Work,” he grunted out.
“Welcome home,” I mumbled.
* * *
I turnedto Brutus after he cut the car’s engine off. “You know this isn’t my home address, right?”
He smirked, and my stomach muscles tightened.
“You’re hungry,” he replied as if that was an appropriate answer. “I have a kitchen full of food. Let’s get you fed.” He didn’t wait for me to respond before he got out of the car and strolled around to my side.
I rolled my eyes at the way he completely took over my plans. Similar to how he had in Mexico. The tenant I’d rented my house to wouldn’t be gone until the following week. I made plans to stay with my sister for the next week. Or at a hotel, if that became too much. I supposed Brutus had other ideas.
“You know I thought you meant stopping at McDonald’s or something when you mentioned food,” I told him as he helped me out of the car.
A deep V appeared between his eyebrows. “Baby, you don’t actually believe I would feed you fucking McDonald’s after hours of travel and weeks away from home, do you?”
Home.
There was that word again. I was sure he meant home as in the city where I lived, but standing there in front of his Tudor-style house, it felt almost as if he meant something more.
I focused instead on the house with its steeply pitched gable roof, stone siding, and masonry chimney. The home was large, at least four thousand square feet, which made sense. Brutus didn’t do small.
“I’ve got sparkling water, freshly made iced tea, bottled water, and probably some sports drinks,” he said as we entered through the wooden door.
“Iced tea sounds good,” I said, glancing around.
He led me to a spacious kitchen. The inside of his home was completely different from its exterior. While the outside was a style from the late nineteenth century, the interior was a more contemporary design with its sleek countertops and appliances.
“Mm. This is delicious,” I said after taking a sip of the iced tea.
“Brewed it this morning before work,” he said with a smile. “Let me give you a tour while the oven warms up.”
He turned on the oven before taking me by the hand. The house looked even bigger on the inside than it did from the outside. The main floor held the living room, dining area that was off from the kitchen, and a den, along with a full and half bathroom. Upstairs were three additional rooms, one the master bedroom, one for guests, and a third room that Brutus had turned into an at-home office.
“Downstairs is the entertainment room and the gym,” he said as we came back down the stairs.
A buzzer sounded. “Time to warm up the eggplant parmesan,” he said.
I sat on one of the black stools on the opposite end of the kitchen island, watching him. I slowly started to recognize that he probably had to have his kitchen and entire home outfitted to accommodate his size so easily. He moved fluidly around the kitchen like he was a natural.
I cocked my head to the side. “How come you never cooked for me in Mexico?”
He spun toward me, grinning. “I was on vacation.”
I laughed. “Touché.” I held up the glass of iced tea and took a sip.
“Plus, that kitchen was too small. This one gives me enough room to fit around it comfortably.”
“Did you have it designed that way?” I asked.
He nodded as he slid his hand out of the oven mitt he used to put the eggplant parmesan in the oven. “Should be ready in about twenty minutes.”
His phone buzzed once more. He flipped it over and frowned again before turning it back over.
