Sliding my palm against his, I’m confused as hell as he leads me down the sidewalk, across the street, and up the walk to the big front porch.
“Uh, I mean, we don’t have to do thisnow…”
Brooks pulls some keys out of his pocket, unlocks the front door, and pushes it open, then steps back.
“You want to have a look? Go have a look, Juliet.”
My mouth goes slack as I frown, and my feet are rooted to this spot as I stare up at this amazing man I’m already so in love with, it makes my chest ache.
“What?” My voice is nothing but a whisper. He lifts his free hand and brushes his thumb over my lower lip.
“Go ahead, baby.”
I glance inside and then back up at him.
“Brooks, why do you have a key to this house?”
He doesn’t answer. He just pulls me by the hand over the threshold, closes the door behind us, and starts turning on the lights.
The air is a little musty, like no one has lived here in a long time, but it’s clean. The original hardwood floors need to be sanded and refinished. There’s a gorgeous staircase straight ahead that leads up to the second floor.
Brooks guides me past what looks like a little study, then a living room—these old houses weren’t open floor plans—and then into a kitchen that has my eyes bugging out.
Not because it’s gorgeous and new.
No, this kitchen has avocado-green appliances from the 1970s and faded orange wallpaper. I can see the outline of where pictures hung on the walls. The cabinets are dark brown. The floor is yellow laminate.
It needs to be gutted.
“Brooks—”
“It’s my house.Ourhouse, really,” he says, his voice soft but still echoing a bit in the empty room. “It came on the market a few years ago, and I couldn’t stand the thought of someone else buying it. You always loved it.”
Holy fucking shit.
My heartbeat speeds up, my breaths quicken.
Holy.
Fucking.
Shit.
“Brooks—”
“I’ve thought about selling it,” he admits with a shrug as he looks around. “Buying a hundred-year-old house is alot.And I’m not just talking financially. It needs a lot of work, so before you and I … well, I thought about selling it.”
The tears roll unchecked down my cheeks.
“You bought me a whole house.”
“Two of them.” He turns and looks me in the eyes now and leans back against the old Formica countertop, his hands on the counter at his hips.
“What do you mean?”
He glances toward the front of the house and lifts his chin, gesturing to his home across the street.
“You asked me how long I’ve lived over there.” He clears his throat, pushes his hand through his hair, and I can see that he’s nervous.
