“It’s fine. Happens to the best of us.”
“Appreciate that.”
I hesitate, needing to say more but not really knowing how to voice it. “Is there…anything I can do to help?” I ask awkwardly.
“Nah,” he says, combing his hair back from his brow. “Just family stuff. You know how it is.”
“Yeah,” I agree. But really, I don’t have a fucking clue. “Well, I’m here if you do need anything. All of us are.”
“Thank you. I meant what I said last night. I love you guys.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You remember that, huh?”
“It’s a little hazy, but yeah.”
“See you tomorrow,” I say before pulling my key out and unlocking my car.
As I get closer to home, I become more nervous. I don’t know why. I’ve come home to Freya in my apartment plenty of times now. It’s just…it’s different this time, because she spent the night. It shouldn’t make any difference. But it does.
By the time I’ve ridden the elevator to the top floor, I’m feeling more anxious than I have in a long time.
Silence greets me as I let myself in. Concern nags at me, and it only gets worse when I realize I can’t smell anything.
She isn’t cooking.
I don’t think there has been a single time when I’ve come home where something hasn’t been frying, baking, or boiling.
Abandoning my duffle in my hallway, I walk deeper into my home, searching for her.
There are signs that she’s here. Her purse has been abandoned on the kitchen island, her cell beside it, explaining why she didn’t reply to my final message last night.
Her heels have been kicked off and abandoned in the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. And her green sparkly dress is…right outside my open bedroom door.
I pick up speed, my heart racing with possibilities. And when I turn the corner into my room, it stops beating entirely.
Because lying in the middle of my bed, fast asleep in only her sexy lingerie, is my beautiful chef.
23
FREYA
The brass band that seems to have taken up residence in my head is the first thing I notice as I begin to wake.
The second thing is the sound of running water.
For a moment, I don’t think anything of it. But then the panic hits.
My eyes fly open and I surge forward, propping myself up on my elbow before rolling toward the edge of the mattress.
I’ll never forgive myself if I drunkenly ran Cole’s bath when I got in last night and flooded his beautiful penthouse.
God, how embarrassing would that be?
I bet just the carpet in this room alone is worth a fortune, let alone the wooden flooring that covers the living area.
I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again.
I certainly wouldn’t be able to step foot back inside his home.
