Her answering smile holds a tinge of nerves as she locks gazes with me. “Hey, Beck. I know I’m a little early, but—”
“It’s fine. Come in.” I step aside to let her enter. My eyes skim over her cute navy and white dress with clear admiration. Navy high heels, edged in a gold trim, complete her pretty yet understated look. Wavy red locks tumble over her shoulders, and I catch a hint of the spicy floral undertones of her perfume as she brushes past me. “You look lovely,” I say, adding “Can I take your jacket?” before I close the door.
“Um, sure, and thanks.” Setting a box and a bottle of wine down on my hall table, she shucks out of her dark denim jacket and hands it to me along with her purse. “I love your building,” she says with a nervous smile, knotting her fingers together in front of her stomach. “The grounds are beautiful, and I like that it’s not a high-rise.”
“It was a great find,” I truthfully admit, hanging up her coat and purse on the wall-mounted coat rack in the hall.
“How long have you lived here?” she inquires, lifting the wine and box from the table.
“I bought it just before I graduated with my MBA. I wanted to have a place to come home to of my own.”
“Oh, wow. That’s amazing.” She holds the wine and the box out to me. “These are for you.”
“You didn’t have to bring anything, but thank you.” I open the box, and my eyes widen at the six cupcakes inside. They look like a work of art. Each one individually decorated with the utmost care. They almost look too good to eat, but I won’t be able to resist. My stomach rumbles appreciatively, and saliva pools in my mouth.
“I wasn’t sure what flavors you liked so I baked a few different kinds.”
My eyes pop wider. “You made these?”
A faint red hue paints her cheeks in a pretty flush as she shrugs. “I like to keep busy. If I have too much time on my hands, I get caught up in my thoughts. After I visited Garrick and went for a walk with Hadley, I came home and baked these all afternoon. This one,” she says, pointing to a plain cupcake with white buttercream frosting, “is lemon vanilla. And this one”—she points to a chocolate creation—“is chocolate with a milk chocolate mousse topping.” She singles out a red and white cupcake next. “This is red velvet with a cream cheese frosting.”
Nibbling on the corner of her lower lip, she looks up at me with so much vulnerability in her eyes it makes my heart ache for her. “I had promised Garrick I’d make him red velvet cupcakes, but I ran out of time. I’ve been practicing, so when he wakes, I’ll have perfected the recipe for him.”
Fuck. That’s heartbreakingly sweet.
Stevie always talks about Garrick as if him waking is a certainty. I admire her confidence and her tenacity to cling to hope against the odds. I know the research I uncovered boosted her flailing faith, but I hope it didn’t inject her with an unhealthy dose.
Nothing is certain, and the longer Garrick remains in a coma, the less likely a positive outlook is.
I have not voiced my concerns, nor will I. It’s not my place. I admire her strength and her courage. If she was my girlfriend, I’d be blown away by her dedication and commitment. It feels wrong to say Garrick is a lucky guy when the poor man is lying comatose in a hospital bed, but he is a lucky man to have had Stevie in his life.
Stevie’s big green eyes, framed by long thick black lashes, look up at me expectantly, and I realize I’ve just left her hanging while I’ve been lost in my thoughts. “It looks delicious. They all do.”
“The other three are maple pumpkin with a cinnamon cream cheese frosting, mint chocolate chip, and chocolate strawberry.”
“I’m honored you went to so much trouble. Thank you.” I lean down and kiss her soft, warm cheek.
The flush on her skin darkens, and she shifts a little on her feet, looking adorably awkward. “Let me pop these in the kitchen, and then I’ll give you the grand tour,” I say, urging her to follow me into the main living area.
“This is a fantastic room,” she rasps, spinning around as she drinks it all in. Her gaze dips to the glossy hardwood floors, roam appreciatively over the large rug resting between the open fireplace and my L-shaped cream couch, and skim over the canvases on the wall and the sleek understated furniture.
Tilting her head back, she admires the wooden beams overhead that match the wooden archway that flows from the living room through an interconnecting space with stone archways leading into the kitchen, another into the dining room, one to my office—the only space locked behind thick double doors—and heading into the hallway that houses the three bedrooms and family bathroom.
“This building was built in the nineteen twenties,” I holler, stepping into the kitchen. I put the white wine in the refrigerator and set the box of cupcakes down on the marble countertop before rejoining my guest. “I had all the original features repaired, like the beams and archways, the windows, and you’ll notice tons of little decorative features and moldings around the apartment.”
“It’s really stunning, Beck.” Her feet gravitate toward my small dining room where a circular table is covered in a white tablecloth and set for dinner for two.
I didn’t light any candles, but I have a bunch of colorful flowers in a vase in the center of the table, and the overhead small chandelier is set to a soft glow.
“Wow, this is a gorgeous room. I love how you’ve managed to blend new with old and comfort with luxury.”
“Thank you. I put a lot of effort into how my home would look even if I did hire an interior designer to bring all my ideas to life.”
“You both did an incredible job.” She stands in front of the windows. “The view is great.”
“It is. Come.” I jerk my head to one side. “Let me show you the other rooms, and I have a gorgeous balcony just off my bedroom that offers private views over the landscaped lawns at the rear.”
“What’s behind there?” she asks as we pass by the closed mahogany doors.
