Who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth? I hoist it open wide enough for me to fit through.
A smile spreads across my lips. Just as I thought. This was always meant to be.
Fate.
Gripping onto the edge of the window, I summon every ounce of strength I have to haul myself up and into the spare bedroom. The feat proves nearly impossible. There isn’t an athletic bone in my body, and, man, do I wish that I’d have gone to the gym at least once or twice.
Something in my back twinges. Baby Satan roundhouse kicks my intestines and follows it up with a swift heel drive into my bladder. My muscles quiver from the exertion of my multiple attempts, and the real nail in the coffin comes when my ribs scrape against the sharp edge of the windowsill. That’s going to leave a bruise.
I land face-first on the floor with a violent thud that could pass off as thunder. The air rushes from my lungs, and for a couple seconds I just lie there, nose shoved into the plush carpet, boots against the wall, organs caving in on themselves.
Note to self: bring a step stool next time.
Groaning and cursing up a storm, I drag myself up onto unsteady feet and survey the room. There’s just enough light slipping through the window to illuminate the queen bed, two bedside drawers, and an antique painting that doesn’t match the rest of the modern exterior. Other than that, there’s nothing to give the place any type of life.
Well, that was anticlimactic.
Not wanting to stain the carpet, I toe my boots off and leave them in front of the now-closed window.
I edge toward the door and inch it open. Tension wraps around my shoulders as I pray it doesn’t creak.
Maybe I should try to find religion, because I must have gotten into some higher power’s good books if the hinges are soundless. Two miracles in one day—either fate is on my side, or Leo has a real issue with home security. Nevertheless, it’s good to know that I won’t be needing to invest in CRC anytime soon.
I poke my head out of the room and go stock-still.
Jesus, fuck.
Whatever boring photo I saw on the realtor’s website most definitely wasn’t of his lounge—Leo’s renovated the place into my dream house. It’s like I’m stepping foot into my own Pinterest board.
The living room opens into the kitchen. A big arched doorway separates the two spaces to give it an antique touch. Classical molding lines the edges of the walls and around the chandeliers on the ceiling. A moss-green couch sits in front of the Persian rug atop a plush carpet. The mossy green shifts into a rich forest color as it reaches the kitchen that has brass-hardware accents and a wooden counter that’s a couple shades lighter than the floor.
What a coincidence—green happens to be my second-favorite color.
And I was right. Leo has in-floor heating. Warmth is radiating through my socks.
My nose twitches when I inhale. Leo has lived here for a couple years, but somehow it still has that new-home scent of sawdust, paint, and chemicals. Above it are notes of cinnamon and oak—something about it seems familiar, but I can’t put a finger on it.
Like a man after my own heart, Leo has vintage posters and vinyl CDs covering the walls—there’s even an old-school camcorder and disposable cameras on the table. By the time I reach the second living area, I’m just about ready to drive over to the stadium and propose to him.
A library.
The new-book smell wafts into my nose. I want to check out every book he has on the floor-to-ceiling shelves and sink into the big reading chair in the corner.
None of this was in the property listing from two years ago. Honestly, I think thosearethe same cushions on my Pinterest board.Like-mindeddoesn’t begin to cover what we are.
Excitement thrums through my veins. I’ve long forgotten the anxiety I felt leading up to this adventure. I pad upstairs, shedding my wet jacket and jeans, inspecting everything I pass. He has an indoor gym, a game room, and another spare room.
I try the handle of the only door that’s closed and frown. Why is his office locked? Now that I think about it, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen the curtains open for this room.
Whatever. It’ll probably be unlocked the next time I let myself in.
Trepidation seizes me as I close in on the star of the show: the main bedroom. I drop my clothes beside the door and stand there, taking in everything that consists of him.
Holy Mother Mary.It’s perfect.
Something otherworldly crawls beneath my skin and takes over. I’m helpless to fight it. Truthfully, I don’t think I want to because one by one, I strip off articles of clothing until I’m in nothing but my bra and underwear. My knees sink into the plum-colored goose-down duvet, the mattress dipping under my weight as I lower my body onto the made bed.
Biting back my giggle, I roll around, reveling in the feel of the soft fabric against my skin. I usually hate sleeping in cotton sheets, but there’s a perfect balance of buttery silk and coarseness that makes these enjoyable.
