The word that I’ll probably always associate with this home is light. Whether it’s the giant windows, the French doors opening into the enclosed courtyard, or the balcony doors in the bedrooms, everywhere you turn, there’s light bouncing off the white walls, illuminating and elevating the entire space.
It makes the bedroom Hawk shows me look enormous. The dark furniture in our room matches the hardwood, and both the nightstand and the large, solid closet look antique. I decide to put DJ’s crib on my left; that way, he hopefully won’t be woken by the sunlight too early. I never close the blinds anymore, not since the kidnapping.
“And here’s the ensuite,” Hawk says as he opens a door, “I wanted to put you two in the master because I figured DJ needs space for his things, but I knew you would never agree to that.”
I cannot hide my smile. “You know me so well.”
He shakes his head disapprovingly as he leads me to his room. “You shouldn’t be so proud of that particular habit of yours.”
“Thank you, Randy,” I say teasingly. “No, seriously. The room you gave us is more than enough. And the terrace, oh my God.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he says warmly.
“Wow,” I breathe as I look around his room.
“Do you still stand by your comments, or do you want this one after all?” He says with a huge grin.
“Almost the entire wall is glass!”
“I like a view,” he says with a shrug.
“And large electric bills, apparently,” I mutter, and he laughs.
“I have good insulation, external wood shutters, curtains, and solar panels on the roof, so that’s not an issue.”
“Can’t everyone see inside your room?” I ask as I step into the bathroom and try my best not to imagine a naked Hawk standing under the rainfall showerhead in the walk-in shower.
“Sometimes.” He shrugs.
I focus on the mosaic tiles on the shower floor. I wonder whether installing those is like a fun puzzle or a nightmare job.
I walk over to the vanity and try to discreetly check out his stuff. I manage to decipher the words Creed and Irish on a perfume bottle.
It feels so intimate being here together. My mind conjures an image of Hawk and me in the mirror, brushing our teeth together.
I know Hawk is single. He mentioned it during one of our calls. But the fact that he isn’t in a relationship doesn’t mean that he spends his nights alone.
Do the Chasers have club girls? The concept doesn’t seem compatible with this family-style neighborhood, but who knows. Besides, it’s not like Hawk has to rely on club pussy for companionship.
The term reminds me of Sly, which reminds me of Dylan, which reminds me I was cheated on because I was boring and uninteresting, whereas Hawk’s a charismatic, accomplished, good-looking, and, judging by this house, wealthy man in his late thirties.
He can have any girl he wants. Why would he (or anyone) want me?
I quickly turn back to him. “Is this the end of the tour?”
He has a curious look in his eye as he watches me.
I think he’s about to ask me a question, or step closer to me, but he straightens up and says, “Yes, more or less. My home office is next door, and I’ll show you the garage and get you your set of keys later. I’m gonna go unload the car now, okay?”
I nod. “I’ll change DJ and give him his lunch.”
As we sit down at the breakfast table in the kitchen, I wistfully eye the gorgeous kitchen island, but until DJ’s high chair is assembled, I’m not risking having him flail around that marble top. I shudder at the thought.
I manage to open the lunch box with one hand and hand him one of the zucchini muffins I baked for him this morning. Has it only been this morning that we’ve woken up in our old place?
“Do you like our new room?” I ask DJ as he smushes the muffin unenthusiastically. “It’s all so beautiful, I know. I’m worried about staining or damaging things, so we need to be extra careful, okay? We’re guests of Mr. Hawk’s, and we don’t want him to regret having us here.”
It would be best if we kept to our room while Hawk’s at home. I can hang out downstairs and fix most of DJ’s food while he’s at work.
