16
Ani
Raffi’s home wasridiculous. It may have technically been a condo or town house or something, but it had a secluded, almost retreat-like feel—despite being attached to neighbors on the east. Two stories, with sweeping views of Napa Valley’s hills and vineyards. Floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the space with golden afternoon light, stretching over sleek oak floors and a sprawling sectional that looked like it had never been lounged on. Everything was brand-spanking-new, top-of-the-line, in a style she might call “warm minimalist luxury.” It even smelled like a hotel; the air was scented faintly with cedar and something clean, like fresh linen. But as she glanced around, there was so little about his home that felt personal. No framed photos. No knickknacks. He did have a full bookshelf, though, which, given their discussion at his party, didn’t surprise her. At least that detail felt real, lived in.
Raffi—still shirtless, chiseled as a statue of Adonis—ran about, straightening pillows, ushering cups and plates toward the sink, and apologizing for the mess. It really, really was not messy. Ani kept a spotless home herself and could not helpbut think that they were compatible in this way. If they lived together. Which wascrazy, right?
But the past two hours had been crazy. Ani had stepped into this day knowing she had some budding feelings for Raffi but determined to keep them at bay. And instead, he had showered her with lavish gifts, then saved her goddamn life and took care of her afterward, and her feelings had turned into an actual bay. An expansive, glittering gulf that seemed to only be growing.
They had been standing so close, and she took the plunge and said it out loud. That he was unbelievably hot. She had held back, honestly, from the full range of words she could have used to describe his looks. But he was shirtless—shirtless! And holy six-pack, his body. He already looked good in clothes, but she wasn’t expecting him to becut, too. Like, chiseled male-model body. My God. And a man who looked like that, who had pulled her out of a death fountain and held her close, almost kissed her.
He had put his hand on her shoulder and Ani knew it was about to happen, she absolutely wanted it to happen, but she was terrified. She hadn’t actually kissed anyone since Kami. Two years of dating on the apps and not feeling a spark of chemistry with a single soul. She was afraid she’d forgotten how to do it. Raffi would be getting rusty Ani. And if they kissed, she worried she wouldn’t be able to stop, and they’d sleep together, and what if he changed his mind and decided he wasn’t that into her? They still had months of working together. She couldn’t do that to herself, having Raffi and Kami both trampling all over her heart, and working with both of them on a daily basis. She had to protect herself.
So when that car drove by blasting Spandau Ballet and she remembered where she was supposed to be that evening, Ani could have suppressed it and let the kiss happen. But she ruined it instead.
And now she somehow found herself wrapped in a blanket, warm but damp and uncomfortable, in Raffi’s unreal home. About to take a shower. Or a bath.
“Let me show you to the bathroom,” Raffi said.
“You have a lovely place,” she said.
“Thanks. I feel pretty damn lucky to call it home.”
Raffi showed her down a hall, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. “Here’s the guest bath, and there’s a bedroom right here if you want to use it for changing or, I don’t know, napping? Whatever you want to do.”
She nodded, biting back a smile, relishing his awkwardness.
“I was, uh, thinking—” he said.
“Dangerous pastime.”
He laughed, and she felt a warming glow at his genuine enjoyment of her little joke. “Really, though, this is kind of awkward but—you have a dress to wear but not the, uh, undergarments.” His hand lifted slightly like he was about to gesture, then he thought better of it, shoving it back down to his side instead.
Ani instantly blushed and knew he could see it. “Right,” she said. Then tried to distract from her embarrassment. “You mean to tell me you don’t have forgotten women’s underwear lying all around your home?”
Raffi placed a hand over his heart, feigning deep offense. “Ani, please, I always give back the skivvies. I’m not a heathen.”He dropped his hand, losing the teasing tone as he shifted back into practical matters. “Seriously, though, why don’t I just wash your clothes while you’re in there. I can do a speed cycle in ten minutes—”
Oh God, he was going to launder her clothes? He was going to touch them. The thought turned her on but also gave her that feeling like, oh God, this was so amot, so very amot.
“Wow, fancy washer-dryer?”
“The speed cycle was why I got it.”
The thought of Raffi doing any laundry was, puzzlingly, doing it for her.
Raffi continued, “I was thinking if I start it now they should be dry in less than an hour, so you could even still wear your same outfit. I’ve got a robe for you in the meantime.”
He was so meticulous in his planning for her comfort. She loved it. “The dress can’t go in the dryer. Lay flat to dry.”
“So, I guess you’ll, uh, wear the new dress?”
“I think I will.”
Then, there was a moment when they both stood, bathroom door looming larger as it beckoned Ani, neither saying a word.
“I’ll just…” she said, moving toward it.
“Right, then toss me the clothes. I’ll pop them in, then shower off myself.”
