Sophia grins. “More like a guard grizzly bear.”
I roll my eyes as Alex strides over to me, nodding at the girls before his eyes settle on me. “Come on,” he says, tilting his head toward the door.
I arch my brow. “Where?”
His lips twitch. “It’s a surprise.”
Liv fake gasps. “Mysterious. I like it.”
Sophia wiggles her brows at me. “I think he’s kidnapping you. Blink twice if you need help.”
Alex sighs, exasperated but slightly amused. “I swear, you surround yourself with menaces.”
“Obviously.” I deadpan, grabbing my bag.
As I turn to leave, Liv shouts, “Use protection!”
Alex doesn’t miss a beat. “You too!”
I snort as the bakery door closes behind us, his hand instinctively finding the small of my back as we walk to the truck. The drive is short, maybe five minutes, before we pull up to a small blue house behind the bar I’ve never been to before.
“Wait,” I say, turning to look at him. “Is this your place?”
He smirks. “You’ve been asking to see it.”
“I have.” I confirm, throwing my door open before he can come around to help me. “I didn’t believe it actually existed. Thought maybe you lived in a cave somewhere, just brooding around all day.”
Alex rolls his eyes and follows me up the porch steps, unlocking the door and pushing it open. “After you.”
I step inside, bracing myself for a chaotic disaster zone, but to my slight disappointment it’s not. Not even a little bit.
The space is clean and organized. Warm wood tones, dark leather, shelves filled with books and random knick-knacks. It actually feels lived in.
I turn to him, arms crossed. “Okay. What the hell?”
He chuckles. “What?”
“You’re… clean?”
His brows lift. “Wow. Thanks.”
“I just assumed you'd be one of those guys who has like… beer cans on every surface and socks stuffed in the couch cushions.”
Alex scoffs. “That’s actually disgusting.”
“I know,” I say, grinning. “Proud of you.”
He shakes his head and starts leading me through the house. “Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.”
We move through the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the spare room that he apparently uses as a makeshift office. For what? I’m not sure, considering I can’t come up with any reason why a bartender would need an office in his home. But the man is sophisticated. My house looks like a dump compared to this.
When we get to his bedroom, I stop in my tracks.
Above his bed, hanging in the center of the wall, is a painting.
Mypainting.
My stomach flips. I remember this piece. I painted it years ago. It’s a moody, abstract cityscape with streaks of gold running through the dark skyline. It was one of my favorites, and it sold at a gallery show in Manhattan. I never found out who bought it.
