“Several reasons, actually.”
“Care to list them all?” She gets up and pours herself a double shot of bourbon like she needs it to prepare for whatever I say next.
“Well for one, you’re already staying in the same hotel. Why not stay in the penthouse?” I stand from behind my desk and slowly walk in her direction.
“Um, maybe because I don’t live there?” She looks back over her shoulder.
“You could.”
Her hand trembles as she brings the glass to her pink lips and takes a sip. “What’s the second reason?”
“It’s free for you to stay with me.”
“It’s also free to stay with Ivory or Gabby.”
“Yet you’re staying with neither.”
She shrugs. “I like my space.”
“There are four bedrooms,” I counter.
“And my alone time.”
Placing a hand over my heart, I pledge, “I do solemnly swear to leave you alone.”
“There’s not a single piece of that swear I believe.” She scoffs, taking another sip.
“We can set quiet hours.”
“You’re ridiculous. Any other reasons?”
“Just one.” I step closer, halfway across the office now. “Because married people live together.” My word choice is intentional, and from the way her eyes drop to the gold chain and the wedding band looped around it, I know she’s remembering the words I gave her in the hallway in St. John.
Because married people wear wedding rings.
“What?” Her barely audible question spurs me on.
Stalking closer, I don’t take my eyes off hers until I’ve caged her against the bar cart.
“I want you to move in with me. While you’re in Nashville and helping with the team, live with me. I’ll give you space. I’ll let you have alone time, but I want to live together.” Removing the glass from her hand, I take the last sip of bourbon and place it down behind her.
“As what?”
“How about we start as friends?”
“Are we friends?”
Damn, that hurt. She must see the pain on my face because she puts a hand on my chest and apologizes. “I’m sorry. Of course, we’re friends. I’m just having a hard time understanding why you all of a sudden want me to move in.”
“It’s not all of a sudden,” I protest, knowing I need to confess what I’ve been too afraid to say outright the past couple weeks.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The heat of her palm seeps into my skin beneath the shirt, but she doesn’t move it.
“You know what it means, Stella. You’ve always known where I stand with you.”
“Grant . . .” Her eyes fall closed, her long lashes fluttering against her cheeks. I can’t stop now, not when we’re so close to our second chance.
“I get it if you’re not ready, but at least give me this. Being close to you, working with you, it’s been great, but I want more.”
