I know what she’s thinking.
The rest of the house is soft and inviting, but this room—this space—is bare. Sparse furniture. Empty walls. No warmth. No softness. Just a bed, a dresser, and a view.
Her eyes flick from the blank walls to me, silently asking why?
I don’t move. Just watch her standing there in the middle of my room—our room now—bare feet sinking into the rug, red hair catching the light like a flame.
I’ve never brought a woman in here before. Not one.
And somehow, I thought I’d hate it—the intrusion, the disruption of my space. But I don’t.
I love it.
I love her being here.
I’m just about to tell her that the room never needed decorating because no one ever stayed long enough to make it feel like something more—when Mabel’s voice calls from down the hall.
“Dinner’s ready!”
Sabrina startles slightly, and the corner of my mouth lifts.
I gesture toward the door. “You heard her.”
She gives me a small, knowing smile—the one that always manages to land right in my chest—and slips her hand into mine as we head toward the dining room.
And for the first time in years, walking around my own home didn't feel empty.
It feels right.
Dinner smells incredible. Garlic, basil, and something buttery drifting through the house as we walk into the dining room.
Mabel has set the table like we’re hosting company—white plates, candles flickering low, a basket of bread still steaming.
Sabrina’s eyes light up, and the sound that leaves her is half laugh, half sigh. “This smells amazing.”
Mabel beams. “Sit, dear. I made linguine with lemon cream sauce, roasted vegetables, and a little dessert I’ll bring out later.”
I move to pull out Sabrina’s chair before she can do it herself, and the look she gives me—soft but surprised—hits somewhere deep.
Mabel returns to the kitchen, and I sit across from Sabrina, watching her tuck a strand of red hair behind her ear as she looks around the room again.
“You’re quiet,” I say, picking up my glass.
She glances at me, smiling faintly. “I just didn’t expect this.”
“This?”
“You,” she admits. “Between the food truck tacos and this house… I think I’ve been making a lot of assumptions about you.”
I tilt my head. “Good or bad?”
She considers, her lips curving. “Confusing.”
That earns a small laugh from me. “I’ll take confusing over predictable.”
Mabel reappears with a serving bowl and spoons a generous portion of pasta onto Sabrina’s plate before mine. “Eat before it gets cold,” she scolds lightly, smiling at us both.
Sabrina snorts into her napkin, and Mabel smirks at me before heading back toward the kitchen.
