Shoving my cell back into my purse, I march forward and open the door hiding what could be my future job from me.
“Oh,” I breathe as I step inside, letting the door close quietly behind me.
The scent in here is softer, more welcoming. And so is…well…everything.
I’m only in the entryway, and already I feel like I’ve stepped into an entirely different universe.
The wall beside me is almost entirely wooden doors, which I assume is storage. Opposite is a matching sideboard with a bowl on top with keys in it. And the art above it…hockey.
A smile pulls at my lips, and I find myself moving deeper into the space.
The hallway opens up to a huge open-plan living, kitchen, and dining area with a huge balcony that showcases the most incredible view of downtown LA.
But unlike what I was expecting, this place looks like a home.
The navy couch is massive and covered in gray and blue cushions. There’s even a knitted blanket thrown over the back. The kitchen, although pristine as if it’s never been used, is soft and welcoming. Already, I can picture myself standing at the vast island, looking out over the city as I create all kinds of dishes and sweet treats.
My heart continues racing, but suddenly, it’s not with anxiety; it’s with excitement, and that terrifies me.
I chastise myself as I saunter toward the kitchen. I may have stereotyped Cole and this building, but clearly, I was very, very wrong. I guess that’s what happens when you spend a few years living with someone who can buy everything and anything they want to show the world how successful they are.
This penthouse isn’t something to show off. It’s a home. Somewhere he comes to relax, not to entertain.
I shiver as my fingertips connect with the cool marble countertop. Perfect for making pastry.
Instantly, recipes rattle through my head.
Pausing at the double oven, I pull it open and gaze inside. It looks like it’s straight from the showroom—not a single crumb or splash mark.
The stove and griddle are exactly the same.
No one has ever cooked in here.
Excitement shoots through me at the thought of being the first.
I begin pulling open drawers and cupboards, forgetting that this is someone’s home and that I’m totally snooping.
He has everything—every tool and gadget I could possibly need to create an array of dishes each day.
I find the cutlery, the saucepans, and the baking trays. A pantry full of unused herbs and spices, cans of beans, and bottles of sauces for cuisines of all kinds.
There is even a shelf dedicated to baking.
Curious, I pull out a bag of flour and turn it around to look at the expiration date. My eyes widen.
This has been bought recently.
When I get to the refrigerator, I find something similar. Fresh meat that’ll last until the end of the week, vegetables and fruits that are as bright as if they’ve just been dug up and picked.
I was expecting it to be empty. Maybe a couple of cans of beer and a moldy block of cheese. But…there’s everything to feed not only the man who lives here but an entire family for quite some time.
The freezer isn’t as well stocked, and I can’t help but laugh when I discover what it mostly consists of.
Ice cream.
A man after my own heart.
Cole clearly has his priorities in order.
