He nods. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”
We walk around a corner to reveal the kitchen. Again, neutral and minimalist, just how I like it, too. “Kitchen, there are labels for where things go and—”
“Labels?” I ask, lilting my voice.
He pulls open a cabinet, and sure as hell, each row has a label for what should go there. Rice, pasta, grains, spices, stock… It’s all very clinically organized. “Wow, that’s uh, I’m gonna need to up my game, you really love organizing.” I’m more of a throw-it-in-the-cupboard-and-hope-for-the-best girl, but I think I’m about to have an awakening.
“I just like to know where things go,” he says, walking past me, dragging my suitcase still, and I spring into action, hoping that I can pre-soothe some of the damage I’m almost sure I’ll do to that kitchen.
“I can drag that thing around,” I offer, feeling useless.
“It’s fine,” he says, pushing another door open to the bedroom. There’s a white-covered bed, oak drawers, and a small hanging space in the corner.
I step just inside, taking it all in. It smells like him in here, and it’s just as organized. “Well… your bedroom’s nice.”
He shrugs. “It’s yours for now. The spare room has no furniture.”
I nod, then realize what he just said, and my head spins to face him. “Wait, what? No. No, I can’t takeyourroom.” My skin instantly goes clammy at his offer. It’s stupid that kindness makes me so tense.He’s just being decent, I tell myself, and hope to god I’m right. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been wrong, though.
“You can, and you will,” he says simply, letting go of the suitcase beside the bed.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” I insist.
“No, you won’t, Olivia,” he says with absolute certainty. A flicker of heat shoots down my spine at his tone and the finality when he folds his arms over his chest, saying my whole name, not Liv, but Olivia. Seeing him take a stand with me already makes me feel weirdly safe, like he’s prepared for all my bullshit somehow. But that can’t be the case, not really; he’s just being nice.
My eyes narrow as his brow arches, challenging me. “Do you think it’s wise to tell a woman what to do?”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “I’m making it easy. You’re taking the bedroom until we get you a bed because the other room is empty.” He takes a step closer, and in the small room, it feels like there’s static buzzing around me.
I fold my arms, mirroring him, but also because I’m stubborn, and only a little because my nipples are hard and I don’t want him to notice. “And what about you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“On the couch?”
He leans in slightly, and I swear the air shifts again. “You’re not sleeping out there, Olivia. End of discussion.”
There he goes again, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. That, coupled with his dark eyes, makes it hard to look away. Harder still not to react.
I swallow. “You always this bossy?”
He smirks. “Only when I mean it.”
My heart kicks hard against my ribs, practically shouting his name in excitement. I force a breath and break the tension with a weak deflection. “Fine. But I’ll cook for you—” Not that I know how, my mom’s efforts were limited to reheating takeout, and my dad was always at work. But I can learn.
He pushes past me, leaving me a little wobbly. “No dice, I love cooking.”
“Jesus,” I mutter quietly to myself, looking up at the ceiling. Is there anything he can’t do? I need to know, the image of my best friend’s fiancé’s best friend needs to be shattered before I accidentally jump his bones. “But then what can I do here? I have to be useful somehow. I have to understand that your kindness comes with rules here, or I’ll lose my head.”
Jay turns to me with those dark eyes he wields so innocently. “Okay, then let’s set some rules for living together.”
“Like a contract?”
“Think of it as guidelines.” I can work with that; at least it might ease some of my guilt if I can keep to his rules. Sorry, guidelines.
“Okay, so come on, chores, tasks, put me to work.”
He exhales through his nose, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Fine. No food left in the sink. Dishes straight into the dishwasher.”
