You’re always in charge. Like tonight. Would you like to have dinner in my suite? Go out? It’s NYE, but the concierge could help us get in somewhere? I’m sure anywhere you want.
Let’s do takeout at my place. Sushi? Chinese? Something casual.
I also hadn’t mentioned Rourke. After Daniel’s recounting of the dreams of my past, I couldn’t bring myself to do so.
If that’s what you want…
To which I replied…
I have someone staying with me, so my place works best. 8?
It was close enough to the truth, and I needed to save myself—and avoid being swept off my feet at the Four Seasons. I didn’t wait for Daniel to okay the time or my insisting we stay in; I sent a text with my address and went back to charting.
In my mind, I calculated the time to get home and shower and make myself somewhat presentable…and also, deal with Rourke.
Unfortunately, my doorbell rang as I was still padding around my bedroom with wet hair, deciding whether a white long-sleeved blouse and skinny jeans was okay.
My bell went off again and my decision was made for me. With waves drying in my hair, bare feet and the aforementioned outfit, I swung the door open, revealing myself and a semi-growling Rourke.
“Happy New Year,” Daniel said, leaning against the trim, a bottle of champagne in one hand, a smile on his face, and a glimmer in his eye.
I didn’t believe in that sort of thing, but now I knew I’d been wrong…
“Is this your houseguest?” Daniel added without waiting for a reply.
“Happy New Year. Come in, and yes, this is Rourke, who only puts up with my long hours and his string of dog walkers because I pay the bills and keep him in expensive kibble,” I said, hiding how much the dog actually meant to me with humor. Instead, I noted that underneath Daniel’s leather jacket we were practically twins: he was in jeans and a French blue shirt.
I moved to close the door as he bent down and held a fist for Rourke to smell, and I needed a distraction from this small gesture. I didn’t know why. I’d seen his affection for his own dog in college—why wouldn’t he be that way with all dogs?
“Very nice to meet you, little fella,” he was saying, patting Rourke on the top of his head, and I wondered where my growly Norwich Terrier had disappeared to. Rourke’s whole butt shook from his little tail wagging. “I hope it’s a great year,” he said, standing and pulling me in for a hug.
I wanted to mention he could’ve asked permission, but it felt so good. And without knowing it, I’d been craving this sensation.
I inhaled the leather and pine needles mixture swirling off him as he said, “Thanks for fixing me up, Birdie.”
I slipped out of his grasp and he stood there, champagne still in hand.
“I’m sorry, I should have said I was going in for a hug. It just came over me.”
I nodded.
“For you,” he said, handing me the chilled bottle.
“Thanks.”
“This is a nice pad,” he commented on my brownstone as we started moving.
“Toast is nice,” I told him.
He laughed. Rourke was on his heels, following us where we went, making sure this man didn’t attack me—at least that was what I told myself.
“Still a ballbuster,” he commented.
“I don’t mean to be. It’s in my nature…”
“Those Italian, Spanish, and Jewish roots, you once told me.”
I strolled toward the kitchen and he followed. “Yeah, I suppose. But now I think it’s just me. Cynical, sarcastic, too much—I’ve been told it all. Honestly, I work, rarely play, and I guess I can’t help my attitude.”
