Page 75 of Lost Love on 6th Street

“I’m sorry, I know you’re working—”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m glad you came. I’m so fucking glad you came. You have no idea.”

Eleanor grips my sides. “I’m so sorry about earlier, I—”

“Don’t be sorry. No time for sorry. Not anymore.”

She’s beaming, a smile that goes ear to ear. There’s no doubt in my mind she’s made the right choice. For her.

“When do you move in?” I ask.

Eleanor rolls her eyes. “The lease starts tomorrow.”

“But the apartment with the museum—”

“I know, but to lock it down I had to start as soon as possible.”

Randy was right about landlords. Of course he switched the deal on Eleanor. “Well, I’ll cover the rent until you move out of the—”

“You will fucking not do that, Luke Wyatt,” she says, smacking me in the chest. “This is my choice. My apartment. I’m doing this.”

I’m prone to argue against the woman paying for anything, but I'll support whatever she wants. “Fine. As much as I hate it . . . fine.” I take her head in my hands and kiss her forehead. Sweet, sweet Eleanor. “Look, I’ve got to get back to the gig. You can stay if you want.”

“I’d like that,” she says.

“And after we can go out or get something to eat or—”

“I have a better idea,” she interrupts, a mischievous look in her eye.

I raise an eyebrow.

Eleanor lifts her keys in the air and jangles them.

25

ELEANOR

The door sticks a little. I push it open with my shoulder and let it swing into the empty apartment.

The wooden floors creak and echo through the empty living room, or what I would assume to be the living room. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s mine. A living room, kitchen, and bedroom, with white walls and big windows that will let in gorgeous sunlight during the day. The living room might even be big enough for me to cordon off a bit of it for a studio, and I can use that light to my advantage.

My fingers itch for my camera.

In the dark, though, there is a pulsing potential. The quiet. The stillness. There’s room for me here.

That’s what I was searching for when I left Chicago. Room. I didn’t even have room in my relationship after I had been cheated on, and the city carried that angst with it. I didn’t feel at home on the streets I’d known for over a decade. I felt like all the midwestern smiles and nods were of pity and concern rather than the usual sweetness.

I’ve been hesitant to accept that Austin has made room for me from the beginning. Because my job was only a stint, because I was a stranger being given the southern hospitality routine, because, well, why should I fit in when the place I called home didn’t feel like home anymore?

It was too easy. Too good to be true.

But I can romanticize a life in this apartment. In Austin.

And not just because of Luke. Although, he definitely helps.

Luke’s arms wrap around my shoulders, and he tucks his chin on my head. I lean back into him, hooking my hands over his forearm.

“Welcome home, baby.”

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