“I haven’t been here a lot. It hasn’t been a priority.”
Who buys a house and doesn’t furnish it? “Luke, why did you buy a house you don’t even need?”
He stopped inside a large bedroom and turned so quickly she almost ran into him. “Because it was a link to you. However weak, however tenuous, it was a piece of you that I could still have when I didn’t know if I’d ever have anything of you again.”
Her heart might literally have skipped a beat.
He stepped closer, putting them toe-to-toe. “I wasn’t lying when I said I missed you. I’ve missed you every day for the past six years.” He cupped the back of her head and gazed into her eyes. “I’ve imagined you in every room of this house. I imagined your excitement as you bought couches and rugs and silly knickknacks to hang on the walls. The reason it’s still empty is because you weren’t in it.”
Rowan didn’t know if she reached up or if he pulled her closer but either way, his mouth settled on hers, heavy with emotions she was only beginning to let herself feel. Desire. Desperation. Regret. Longing. So many others she couldn’t put a name to.
They were two puzzle pieces fitting together. The way she wrapped her arms under his; the way he wrapped his around her shoulders, tilting her back—it was all so natural and so terrifying at the same time. Like a roller coaster she’d ridden dozens of times, but her stomach still rolled in anticipation of that first drop.
He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. “I promised myself I wouldn’t rush you—that I’d follow your lead. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” she whispered. “I would have kneed you in the nads if I’d wanted you to stop.”
He chuckled and kissed her temple. “Should I wear a cup?”
She smiled. “Not yet. Maybe have one on standby, though.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He rubbed her back then stepped away. “Is Chinese good? I wasn’t kidding when I said I only use three of the cupboards.”
“Chinese is good.”
“Okay. I’ll be downstairs. There’s towels and stuff in the bathroom.” He backed out of the room, pulling the door shut with him.
Rowan pressed a hand against her rumbling stomach. She’d been too nervous to eat on the plane and now she was hungry.
It was overwhelming. The house. Luke’s confession about the house. Being back in Nashville where it all started. The walls pressed down on her and she sat on the edge of the bed. The comforter felt stiff under her hand and she leaned down and sniffed. It still had that just-out-of-the-bag smell.
She sat up and looked at the furniture. The dresser, the mirror, the bed—it was a set. Like one of those you buy from a Rooms-to-Go store, complete with lamps and artwork. On a hunch, she went to the bathroom and felt the stack of towels. They were new as well. He hadn’t thought to wash them first.
He’d probably bought the bedroom set and linens not long after she’d told him she would come to Nashville because the only bed he had in the house was his. It was so considerate. So the Luke she used to know. Closing her eyes, she pressed her hand to her stomach again. Hopefully, that stomach flip was because of hunger and not because she was falling for him again.
Who was she kidding? She could be starving in the middle of a Thanksgiving feast and her stomach would still flip for Luke.
* * *
The flat whitepaint of the ceiling held no answers. Rowan should know—she’d been staring at it for the last three hours. Full of Chinese food and some local craft beer, she’d expected to fall asleep, even with her nap on the plane. No such luck. Replaying the evening in her mind, she’d tossed and turned until she finally spread out like a starfish and tried to watch the little floaties in her eyes.
Conversation had started off stilted and awkward—like a first date after a one-night stand, neither one of them sure what to say. She didn’t know what she’d expected after dinner, but it hadn’t been for Luke to walk her upstairs, kiss her breathless and leave her at the door to his guest room.
Who was she kidding? She’d imagined him picking her up at the bottom of the stairs and carrying her up to his bedroom like he was Rhett Butler and she was Scarlett O’Hara. She sure as hell hadn’t pictured him dropping her off like she was past curfew and her dad was waiting on the other side with his hunting rifle.
Was that…? She cocked her head toward the door as if that would all of a sudden increase her ears’ ability to hear. Throwing back the blanket and sheets, she tiptoed toward the door and pressed her ear to the crack. Yup. Guitar.
Giving up on sleep, she left her room and crossed the large landing, following the sound of the soft music to what must be the master bedroom. She hadn’t felt right exploring earlier even though Luke told her she was welcome to.
One of the double doors was cracked and she knocked before peeking her head in. Jeez, she thought her room was big. The master took up the entire width of the house. She finally spotted Luke in a wingback chair on the other side of the undisturbed bed.
“Hey,” he said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t—I couldn’t sleep. Can I come in?”
“Of course.” He rose and leaned the neck of his guitar against his chair. “I have some water up here. Do you want me to make you some tea or something?”
“No. I can get a glass of water if I’m thirsty. Can I…?” She pointed at the blanket on the end of the bed.
