“It’s been a few years since I’ve been in a girl’s childhood bedroom,” I deadpan as I step into the room behind Freya. She snorts a laugh, but her amusement doesn’t reduce the tension in her shoulders. “I didn’t often walk in through the door, though.”
“Oh no,” she teases, turning to face me. “Were you more a climb-through-the-window kind of boy?”
I smirk, fondly remembering times gone by.
“I can safely say a girl’s dad has never suggested I spend the night with his daughter in her bedroom.”
“I can’t say it’s ever happened around here before either,” Freya confesses, standing awkwardly at the end of her big bed.
Her room is exactly like I expected. Soft pastel colors, stuffies, and photos from her childhood. It’s cute, just like the woman who grew up in it.
Freya's eyes drop to the floor, and she begins chewing on her nail. “I can’t believe he…that he’s okay with…”
“Your dad loves me,” I counter, hating how nervous she is.
“A little too much, it would seem,” she mutters before darting toward her dresser. She pulls out what I assume is a set of pajamas before moving toward a closed door on the other side ofthe room. “I’m just going to…” She opens the door and steps in, but before she disappears, she looks up, her eyes finding mine. “Make yourself at home,” she says with a soft smile. “I’ll just be…yeah.”
She slips into the bathroom and closes the door behind her, leaving me standing in the middle of the room.
I look around again, but the second my eyes land on a series of photographs, my legs take on a life of their own and I walk toward them, taking them all in. There are photos of Freya, Amanda, and Brian over the years. There are others of her with friends, at school, her graduation, what look like birthday parties. Each one tells me a little more about the woman who is taking up more and more of my thoughts.
There are a couple with Casey, hanging out in the backyard in swimsuits, big sunglasses on their faces, and even bigger smiles.
Seeing her having such a happy childhood brings a smile to my own face. I always find it fascinating to look at what most people consider a normal life and upbringing. Mine was so vastly different from that, sometimes I can’t help but wonder if the “normal” life even exists.
But it does, and I love seeing the evidence that Freya grew up in a stable, loving home with two parents who adore her and friends who made her laugh.
I spend a few minutes checking out her bookcase. It’s about as eclectic as mine is, with genres ranging from rom-coms to thrillers. I pull out a couple of the well-loved ones, and after reading the blurbs, I take a quick photo of the covers so I can remember to add them to my list to read. For all I know, these have come from the thrift store and she hasn’t even read them once, let alone a few times over, but I’m willing to give them a go on the off chance.
After pocketing my cell, I walk to Freya’s bed, sit on the edge, and brush my hand over the soft fabric of her sheets.
Silence fills the room, and without meaning to, my eyes drift to the door she’s hiding behind.
Is she in there freaking out? Probably.
Deep down, I know I should have pushed for sleeping on the couch. Not that I really think Brian would have conceded. He probably would have given up his own side of the bed if it meant I had another shutout game the day after tomorrow.
But agreeing to this…it’s crazy.
It’s…fuck.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to get into bed.
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and hang my head.
There is something really fucking wrong with me. I’d rather spend the night curled up in my chef’s childhood bed than out hooking up with bunnies.
A laugh tumbles from my lips as I think about how much my life has changed recently. And I know without doubt that it’s changed for the better, and it’s because of her. She’s brought a whole new kind of light that I didn’t even know existed before. And I swear that light only gets brighter the more time we spend together.
Time ticks on, but Freya doesn’t emerge from the bathroom.
Concern tugs at my insides, and before I can second-guess myself, I push to my feet and walk to the door.
I hesitate as I lift my hand to knock.
She’s fine.
She’s just doing her skincare or her hair or?—
