“Let me take your coat.” He extends his hand, and I peel off my jacket.
He inhales sharply when he sees what I’m wearing—a pleated navy mini skirt and a matching navy lace bodysuit. London’s weather doesn’t dictate my clothing choices. He accepts the coat, hangs it up, and leads me inside.
Like last time, I drift toward the wide stretch of windows and take in the cityscape. It’s breathtaking. Clouds roll like smoke and city lights twinkle through the dark. The outlines of distant buildings blur into the inky sky.
“Would you like some wine?” he offers, heading for the kitchen.
I turn to him. “Please.”
He nods, fetching two long-stemmed glasses and a bottle of red, serving an indulgent pour.
“Cheers,” he says, lifting his glass to mine, and we clink them together.
“Cheers,” I say, taking a small sip.
We study each other, as if we’re both waiting for the other to make the first move. He smirks.
“So, how long have you had the apartment?” I ask, looking around.
“Four years. I bought it after the divorce.”
Something cold settles in my chest at the mention of his past marriage, catching me completely off guard.
The way he presents himself—so calm, cool, and collected—screams fierce independence. It’s difficult to imagine him surrendering that autonomy to someone, caring enough about them to promise forever.
I’m not quite sure how the thought of Max loving someone that deeply makes me feel. Surprised, sure. But also…thrown. It challenges everything I thought I knew about him and makes me want to dig deeper.
“Has it been left empty all this time?” I ask. It looks likehisfurniture. Sleek, modern, leather, and stone. Soft-focus lighting. This place suits him—well, what I know to be him.
He takes a sip. “I rented it out on a month-to-month basis.”
“So, you kicked them out to come back for two months?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
He shakes his head. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not a total prick. They moved out a couple months ago. I knew I was coming back, so I didn’t bother finding another tenant.”
“Oh,” I say.
“I’ll relist it when I go back home.”
Home. Right. To New York. That brings me right back to reality.
He assesses me quietly.
“What?” I ask, the question coming out harsher than intended.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
“That you’re in a better mood than you were this morning,” I say.
He chuckles, lowering his wine. “I am. I like having you here.”
“Is that so?” I ask, taking a sip to hide my widening smile.
His lips press together to hide his own. “It is.”
“And what exactly do you plan on doing with me?” I ask, batting my lashes like I’m innocent, as if I’m not already soaked with anticipation.
“Tease,” he murmurs, smiling like a devil.
