Page 81 of Bad Run

“Holy crap. Your place is beautiful,” I mumble, looking back at Lance.

“Thanks. It’s still growing on me.” He places my bag on the floor and hangs my jacket on a hook in the entry.

“Didn’t you move in here over two years ago?”

“I did. The last house I was in, the first home I ever bought, was lost in the fires.”

I read about the wildfire that burned through the canyons and destroyed hundreds of homes when it happened. It was devastating. So many people were affected. Some lost loved ones, their homes, pets, memories, everything. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“It is what it is. Unlike so many, I’m fortunate enough to afford a new home. Hate that, but I did what I could to help my neighbors at the time. Not sure it was enough.” The same sadness I saw peeking through the night we met shines in his eyes. He tries to laugh it off. “Never told anyone that.”

Only this time, and without hesitation, I rush him, wrapping my arms around his middle and resting my head on his chest. “Thank you for telling me. I hope you know your help was enough.”

He hugs me back, and my heart flutters as his spicy scent fills my nose. “Thank you.”

Thank you for the hug.

If I keep thinking like this, I’m headed into dangerous territory.

His arms fall away as I step out of his embrace and look around the house, avoiding eye contact. “Want to give me the tour?”

“Sure.” Lance carries my suitcase as he shows me the small mezzanine that overlooks the living room and the kitchen. As he leads me down the hall off the kitchen, we pass five closed doors before we reach our destination.

“This is where you will be staying.” He opens the door to a beautiful suite.

Like the rest of the house, it has white stucco walls, exposed wood beams, and hardwood floors. A plush rug sits in the center of the room beneath a king-size bed. The upholstered bed frame is luxurious, as is the cream bedding covering the mattress.

Floor-to-ceiling windows face the backyard, giving a perfect view of the pool and the pool house beyond. Leading off the bedroom is a tiled deck, a small iron table, and two matching chairs. It’s the perfect spot for breakfast and reminds me of the small balconies I’ve seen in Paris on vacation.

“It’s gorgeous,” I mumble in awe of the space. I bet the bathroom is amazing.

“Glad you think so.” Lance opens the door beside the bathroom, revealing the hidden walk-in closet.

Something catches my eye as he carries my suitcase inside. I follow him into the closet, and the spicy citrus cologne he wears hits my nose, knocking me off balance.

His scent triggers an avalanche of memories. I breathe through my mouth and focus on the closet.

It’s huge. A small island of drawers sits in the middle, dividing the room in two. Half of the hanging racks, drawers, built-in shelves, shoe racks, and cabinets that surround the space sit empty, while the other half is filled. With Lance’s stuff.

What the hell?

I shake my head to make sure I’m seeing what I’m seeing.

Suits and shirts line the hanging racks. Men’s shoes fill a row of shelving. A variety of colognes line the open shelving above the bank of drawers.

“What’s going on?” I turn the find Lance leaning against the door frame.

“What do you mean?” he asks, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

“Why are your clothes in here?”

“Because it’s my closet.”

His closet?

Why would his clothes be in the guest room? Unless … “Is this your room?”

“Yes.” The corner of his lips twitches upward.