Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
I pushed in the door code and we walked inside. I reached to turn on the light switches in the entryway, the recessed lights illuminating above us. I kicked off my boots and Luke did the same. Already, I catalogued every flaw: I needed to clean the dark, wooden floorboards so that they were glossier. One of the couch cushions had been pushed forward and fallen to the floor. I knew there were dishes in the sink. As we walked through the entryway into the living room, I regretted bringing Luke in.
“Shit. I forgot I left that there.” There was an empty Cheetos bag sitting on the coffee table.
“Cam, you’re kidding me, right?” he said, looking all around the living room. “This place is… this is incredible.”
“It’s a mess.”
“It’s spotless, and the architecture is incredible.”
I laughed, letting out a sigh of relief. I walked over to the Cheetos bag and balled it up in my fists. “I appreciate that.”
“You’re hard on yourself,” he said.
Seeing my place through Luke’s eyes did feel different. I gave him a little tour, taking him from the living room to the kitchen, where I tossed out the bag.
“This looks like a house you’d see on TV,” Luke said. “Chrissakes, Cam. White granite counters, pendant lights, a big, blue sectional sofa… and these ceilings. You could fit ten of me in here.”
The ceilings were another thing I loved about the house. Tall and spacious, never claustrophobic. Luke’s house had been so compact, and the contrast made this place feel like some sort of mini mansion.
“This place never felt too big when the whole family was in here. It’s amazing how quickly two twelve-year-olds and an eight-year-old can make any place feel like it’s not big enough.”
I was glad to see Luke smile. Ever since we’d walked in, he’d had a look of uncertainty on his face, sort of like he felt like he didn’t belong here. But even I didn’t feel like I belonged here anymore.
“This place was meant for a family, not for some lonely as fuck, newly-divorced bachelor,” I said.
“You feel alone in here?”
I nodded. “I really do.”
“Well, I can tell you your first problem,” he said.
“The lack of plants outside. I knew you were going to say it.”
“Of course. It’s a travesty, and one I hope you will correct,” he said, the side of his mouth quirked up in a grin. “But you can make yourself cozier, too. Everything in here is gleaming, and new, and beautiful, but it could be more comfortable. More pillows and throw blankets on the sofa. Hell, maybe a nice bean bag chair, for the kids.”
“Bullshit,” I said.
“What?”
“I just saw your place,” I said, “and you don’t have a single pillow or blanket on your couch. It looks like you don’t even use the place.”
“That is true,” he said. “But I really don’t spend much time in there. I don’t have a family, Cam. I spend all my time outside. Your life is so much fuller than mine.”
I swore I could hear a hint of regret in his voice, like he wished his life could be fuller, too. Luke was clearly a lone wolf, but he seemed envious of the fact that I had family, like he was imagining what it might be like to have one at all.
It was shockingly vulnerable, but I didn’t think he was aware of it.
My gaze danced across the living room. I nodded. “It could be cozier in there. You’re right.”
“And those look like torture devices.” He nodded over toward the six sleek metal chairs that surrounded the dining room table.
“The dining chairs? Those are from the Oluffsen and Kengen designer line, though. They were expensive as hell.”
“And they look cold, uncomfy, and sterile,” he said. “Do your kids ever sit in those?”
“They did,” I protested. “Once or twice. When Rachel was trying to help them with their homework.”
“Right,” he said.
“You might be slightly correct,” I admitted. “None of us ever really sat in those chairs.”
“I could make you six stained oak chairs, if you gave me a couple months. No problem.”
“You can make chairs?”
“I can make anything, if I try hard enough,” he told me.
Christ, he was fucking sexy. He was leaning against my kitchen island, surveying the place like a contractor would, looking plenty in charge in that flannel shirt and his fitted denim. I couldn’t imagine having confidence like that—the ability to actually make things, knowing that they would turn out successfully. I wasn’t even good at helping my kids with their science projects. I always bought pre-made kits online to help them out. Solving things and putting them together could be easy, but I felt like I didn’t have a creative bone in my body.
“So, that’ll be our mission today. The stores open up at eight or nine. Let’s clean this place up, then go get birthday supplies and all kinds of cozy things.”