“Three whole stories!” Brea said to Beowulf. “You’re going to have free rein.”
“He had an accident a few days ago,” I said as we explored the open-concept living and kitchen area that looked out onto a spacious terrace. There was also a generous study and storage space. “I don’t know if he’s going to have full free rein, especially with these pristine hardwood floors.”
“You might have to wear a diaper,” Brea cooed to Beowulf.
“I cannot have a dog who wears a diaper,” I countered, crossing my arms.
I flipped through the brochure as Brea jumped up onto the counter. “This is literally the biggest kitchen ever.”
“It seems a tad excessive,” I said.
“What if you have to host Thanksgiving?” Brea demanded. “Or an engagement party or a fundraiser?”
“I don’t know if I want all those people over.”
“If you want me over, we are hosting a party,” Brea insisted.
I smiled. Was my plan working?
Brea and I followed Beowulf upstairs.
“So you’re really going to move?”
“Absolutely,” I replied. “This is closer to my office—and the Weddings in the City office.” I watched for her expression, but her face didn’t change.
Upstairs were several large bedrooms, including a master suite. Brea whistled appreciatively while I kept a stern eye on Beowulf, who seemed a little too interested in the carpeting.
“His and hers master closets,” Brea called out from somewhere in the warren of rooms off of the master suite. She was standing in one of the closets with white shelving and marble inset countertops.
“This is literally my ideal space,” she said dreamily. “You could fit so much stuff in here.”
“I don’t think I have enough to fill up even part of this closet,” I said, my voice echoing off the walls.
“I have more than enough for both of us,” Brea said confidently. “Er…uh…well, I mean, no pressure; it’s not like I’m actually going to show up with a moving van or anything!” She giggled nervously.
I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her. She moaned against my mouth, and I kissed her harder.
“This is not your house,” she said, pushing me away.
“Right, probably shouldn’t leave our DNA lying around,” I said.
It might have been my imagination, but it seemed as if Brea stiffened. But then she turned away and headed into the bathroom.
“The only issue with this place is that there should be his and hers bathrooms,” Brea stated.
“You don’t like to share?” I joked.
“I feel like you need to keep some mystery in the relationship,” she said as we walked through the marble-clad bathroom.
“I could always just have it gutted and redone,” I offered as Brea opened the various cabinets. “This was newly built, so I’m sure the developer just put in the cheapest stuff he could find.”
“What’s upstairs?” Brea asked, pointing to another narrow staircase when we walked out of the master suite.
“I don’t know,” I lied. “Let’s find out.”
We walked up the staircase to the room that I was sure would seal the deal and make Brea very receptive to moving in with me.
At the top of the stairs was a library with a sloped roof. Part of the slant and one wall were all glass, flooding the room with light. The room was staged with a large reclaimed-wood desk and a large leather sofa. On the terrace, which looked out over the city, were plants and a tall glass railing.
