He grinned. “I love when you blush.”
By now, I was certain my cheeks matched the red of my hair.
“I plan to keep working at the paper. I like what I’ve helped build with Spring.” Ulysses shrugged. “I’m going to finish the edits on the novel manuscript and I’ll consider—after a lot of soul-searching and deliberation—whether or not I’ll unveil myself.”
“You don’t have to. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”
He shrugged. “You were right—I hadn’t been honest with you. And that was my bad. You got me thinking—what if kids who looklike me knew that being a novelist was possible? What if the literary world, who alreadyknowme, get to see the real me?”
“You’re not worried?”
“If someone isn’t going to buy my book because I’m Black, then I probably wasn’t who they thought I was anyway. I can take a hit to my sales. Now, my publisher might not like that.”
“Or your sales might increase, and they might be glad.”
“No way to know. This new book is one of my best—at least that’s what my editor says. If sales drop off, then we’ll have an inkling. I’m hoping readers won’t choose to read my books differently if they know what I look like.”
I sure as shit hoped they didn’t either. “So, no Vancouver, Toronto, or Calgary?”
He shook his head.
“Just small-town living?”
He nodded. “Oh, and I’m going to give you a month or two of getting used to me before I move into your place.”
“Oh?” I chuckled. “Why my place?”
“It’s bigger, of course. That loft looks perfect for writing.”
“I write poetry up there.”
“I know.”
“I could add a second desk. Hell, I might even give you the window.”
He waggled his eyebrows.
“You’ll be giving up your view of Mount Baker.”
He shrugged. “To be in your bed every night? Small sacrifice. Truly—I won’t miss the condo. It’s never felt like home.”
“Oh?”
“Home is with you—if you’ll have me.”
My heart skipped a beat. “That easy?”
“Well, I have bad habits. Oh, and we’re getting a dog. I’ve always wanted a dog, and since I’m the boss, I can bring one to the office with me.” He grinned.
My chest expanded. “I’ve wanted a dog since my last one died.”
“I know. So we’ll be doggy daddies.”
I rolled my eyes. “That sounds so bad.”
“Do you object?”
“Hell, no.” I held his gaze—getting lost in those dark-brown irises. “This still counts as a first date, though. And I’m not putting out. No matter how much you make my dreams come true.” I extended my hand.
