She turned slowly. “A bachelor pad. I checked the address three times before I got out of the car.”
I looked around.
Dark hardwood. Big staircase. Antique light fixture. Bookshelves. “You disappointed?”
She looked horrified. “No!”
Her eyes darted toward the stained-glass window. “Oh my God.”
I grinned.
She walked toward it immediately, and the afternoon light filtered through blue and green glass, casting colors across the floor.
Josie brushed her hand over the glass. “This is beautiful.”
I shrugged. “Came with the house.”
“You’re a putz.”
“Because I own a window?”
“Because you act like this house isn’t the most amazing thing ever.”
I loved the house; I just didn’t go around petting all of the windows.
She wandered into the living room and ran her fingers over the bookshelves. She moved to the opposite wall and stopped in front of a framed sketch I’d done years ago of the outside of the house. “You drew this?”
“Yeah.”
She looked back at me. “It’s not fair that you’re so talented.”
“I tattoo and draw, babe. It’s not rocket science.”
“Pfft, what you do is way better than rocket science,” she mumbled.
“Not really.”
“I don’t know how you can be so confident, but also modest at the same time, Rome.”
I shrugged. “It’s a gift.” I hitched my thumb over my shoulder. “Want the rest of the tour and then we can eat?”
She nodded. “Lead the way, handsome.”
Chapter Seventeen
Josie
I looked around Rome’s kitchen again while he dug through a cabinet. “You seriously live here?” I asked.
Rome glanced over his shoulder. “No, I broke in right before you got here. We’ve got about two hours before the little old lady who does live here gets gome from bingo.”
I laughed and leaned against the kitchen island. Rain tapped softly against the windows, and the whole house felt warm. The kind of warm that came from old wood floors, soft lighting, and somebody who actually lived in the place instead of just sleeping there.
“It doesn’t fit you,” I said.
He shut the cabinet and turned toward me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I motioned around the room. “This. The house. The stained glass. The winding staircase. I thought you lived in a black cave with a motorcycle in the living room.”
