After all our notes back and forth, I genuinely thought Titus might finally come downstairs. But he couldn’t even be fucked to come down after I went to bed, and when I woke up this morning, the caramel cake was just as untouched as it was last night. Now I have to make good on my threat or I’ll seem like I’m all bark and no bite.
So I’m giving it to Walker. Hopefully he’s more personable than his brother.
The air is cold, but it feels good against my skin, reinforcing my decision to walk. I was all prepared for a decent hike, so I’m a little surprised at how quickly Walker’s house comes into view.
At least I’m assuming it’s Walker’s. I stayed on the same path Deidre used to bring me here, and she did say Walker was my closest neighbor, so hopefully I’ve got this right. Regardless,whoever answers that door is getting this fucking cake, because Titus’s ass isn’t getting a freaking crumb of it.
For a minute there, I thought maybe he wasn’t a total jerk. Just busy. Possibly super introverted. It felt like we were building a sort of friendship with our back-and-forth notes, and I thought maybe he would feel comfortable enough to venture out of his crypt.
Nope. And I like peace and quiet as much as anybody, but I’m starting to go a little stir-crazy sitting alone in the house all day. That means Walker is about to be my new friend.
Whether he likes it or not.
I’m breathing heavily by the time I reach his front porch, so I take a couple seconds to catch my breath, pushing my hair off my slightly sweaty face before reaching out to ring the bell. My finger doesn’t even hit the button before the door opens and I’m faced with one of the best looking men I’ve ever seen.
I stare at him, speechless, because he’s not at all what I was expecting. I’ve had plenty of time to imagine what Titus might look like—and smelling him on that blanket the other night was certainly inspiring—but I kind of assumed Walker would just be some normal-looking dude.
Instead, I’m facing down an Adonis. He’s tall and broad shouldered, with enough of a beard to make him look a little rugged. His hair is slightly wavy and combed away from the kind of forehead a Greek god would kill for.
Am I into foreheads? I might be.
Piercingly blue eyes focus on me a split second before snapping to the cake in my hand. He angles a brow before meeting my gaze. His voice is a deep rumble as he says, “You must be Titus’s new chef.”
“Yes. Uh-huh. Yup.” Great way to start this introduction. Maybe Titus isn’t the only one who’s a little socially awkward. “I’m Mariah.”
Walker steps back, jerking his chin toward the interior of his house. “Come on in, Mariah. It’s cold out there.”
“Okay.” At least my feet seem to work—better than my mouth anyway—and I follow him into a beautiful, bright, and masculine space. The differences between Walker’s house and Titus’s home are vast. Not structurally, but in just about every other way.
It’s clean, for starters, but it’s also clearly used. There’s furniture in all the rooms. A few knickknacks are situated across tables to make it feel lived-in and comfortable. There aren’t even curtains on the windows, so every bit of outside light streams in, warming surfaces and breathing in life.
After seeing Titus’s house, I’d come to the conclusion that growing up with a mother who probably kept the world’s most immaculate house led to her sons leaning in the opposite direction. Maybe out of defiance. Possibly because they never had to think about keeping a house, so they don’t know how.
But Walker’s home is making me rethink that assumption.
It’s also leading me to do nothing but stand in his entryway, staring at the place like a weirdo. I don’t even realize I’m doing it until he shoots me a smirk, pointing at the cake I forgot I carried over.
“Is that for me?”
“Oh.” I hold it up higher, presenting it. “Yes. I wanted to come introduce myself, but didn’t want to do it empty-handed.”
Walker’s smirk slowly works its way into the kind of smile that has probably made more than its fair share of hearts skip a beat. “You could have come empty-handed, but I gotta say”—he relieves me of the caramel cake, looking at it the way no man has ever looked at me—“I’m real glad you didn’t.”
Why is his house so hot? Am I sweating? I think I’m sweating.
“Come sit down, Mariah.” Walker turns, carrying the cake as he leads me through his house.
It’s laid out in a similar way to Titus's, but his kitchen is positioned a little differently as it meets the great room dominating the back of the first floor. Where Titus’s kitchen and great room almost form an L-shape, Walker’s is more of a square. Outside ofthat difference, the design of it is strikingly familiar, with rich wood floors and beautiful marble countertops that are almost identical to the ones I wipe down three times a day. He even has the same barstools as Titus running up the side of his island.
“Your home is beautiful.” I continue taking it in as he sets down the cake and starts pulling out plates and utensils.
“I wish I could take credit for it, but my aunt handled most of the design choices.” Walker slices into the dessert, cutting off a reasonable serving before dropping it onto a plate. “She picked the finishings for most of our houses since she’s the expert.”
I tip my head, trying to make sense of his words. “Your aunt?”
“Deidre isn’t my mom.” Walker goes back to the cake, cutting off a chunk that’s nearly a quarter of the thing. “She and my mother were sisters.”
I don’t miss the qualifier he added.Were. Deidre and his motherweresisters. I’ve got lots of questions dying to find answers, but it doesn’t seem like the time, so I just smile.
