Lucky’s apartment—a beautiful two-bedroom that hugs the long side of the building and boasts the most incredible morning light—happens to be in the same building that I was supposed to move into.
Ha-freaking-ha, Fate.I tip my hat to you.
In any case, his apartment is lovely.Three times the size of the corner studio I wanted and filled to the brim with all things Lucky.
Floor-to-ceiling curtains soften the exposed brick, guitars collected in one corner, a vertical vinyl player attached to the wall.Everything he loves is on display, in the kitchen especially.If I didn’t know better, I’d assume he was a chef.Cast iron pots hang over a white tiled backsplash and a magnetic strip holds an impressive selection of knives.
You’re not beating those serial killer allegations here, Lucky.
Plates are stacked in the cupboard above the stove, bowls as well, glasses above the sink.Just like my parents’ house.
It’s like stepping inside his heart, warm and lively, and now I get to call it home.
“Are you sure you want my stuff mingling with yours?”
Lucky watches as I flip mugs over before storing them—because you only need to discover a bug inside your coffee once before you’re scarred for life.
“Mum does that too,” he says, a smile softening his features.
“You must miss it,” I say, closing the cupboard and mirroring his stance.We face each other, two brackets surrounding the memory of our kiss.“Being far from home is difficult, especially somewhere like this.I never knew it was possible to feel lonely in a city of four million people.Or in bed with my own boyfriend,” I add with a sting.
Smoke and leather fill my nose as Lucky sidles closer, the heat of him sending a shiver down my spine.
“Ex-boyfriend,” he corrects.“As he deserves, if he let you feel lonely for even a second.”
My gaze drops to his lips, and I remember how soft they were against my own, but I promised myself I wouldn’t do that again.
“I do miss it,” he says, and I swear he’s getting closer.“It wasn’t all great, in fact; most of it was pretty shit actually.Having a roof over my head and food to spare—it’s a relief, but it’s hard not to miss my family.”
It hints at a roughness belied by his open friendliness, easy grin, and cocksure attitude.Explains the steely resolve in his gaze, the hell-or-high-water persistence that seeps from his pores.It’s no wonder he made a success of himself.
“Would you ever go back?”
“No.The past is where it belongs,” he says, “for the most part.”
“But?”
Breath ghosts my cheek as he chuckles softly, making me aware of how close we are.
“No buts.I’m exactly where I want to be.”
It’s clear he means it, but there’s something underneath, a double meaning I don’t have the context to unravel yet.
“Me too,” I admit, believing it for the first time since I moved here.
His smile grows, and I can’t help but look at his lips again, wanting more than anything to cross the gap.When Lucky steps away to mess with something on his phone, I have to stamp down the urge to follow with my hands and lips.
If I can’t get a grip on this crush, I’ll be homeless again in no time.
Music fills the room, a gentle guitar strum I don’t recognize, and between one blink and another, Lucky is back, pulling me into his arms and leading me into a waltz.
“Of course you can dance.”
“I’d be happy to show you all my moves, love; you only need to ask.”
“Just don’t be mad if I step on your toes.I haven’t danced since my middle-school formal.”
“A few bruises don’t bother me,” he teases.“Feel free to mark me up however you’d like.”
