Page 47 of The Huckleberry Bookshop

“The only way to get the best kitchen is to buy the penthouse,” he joked.

“You know, that’s exactly what I told my real estate agent,” she said over the rim of her glass.

“Did not.” He shook his head at her, and her playful smirk grew. He tapped the countertop. “Want the tour?”

Athena shrugged, feigning indifference, but he detected a hint of eagerness to do a bit of snooping.

“Follow me.”

Normally, he didn’t invite people back to his house, and if he did, they certainly didn’t get a grand tour. But even though it was risky, he wanted her to see his home, and possibly break some of her assumptions about him.

She set down her glass and dutifully followed as he gestured to his slightly dumpy wraparound couch and the navy shag area rug that had been a dumb idea. His current vacuum cleaner could never quite get all the popcorn bits out of it. “Living room.”

They crossed the space and entered the other half of the penthouse where there were four bedrooms, two more bathrooms, his workout area plus access to his private rooftop patio.

Mullens gestured to the left. “Bathroom.” She peeked her head inside. Then he opened the first door on the right and allowed it to swing open. “Guest room. If you’re too tired to go home tonight—or any night—you’re always welcome to stay.”

“Won’t cramp your style?”

“Me and my date don’t have to come back here.”

Athena snorted in amusement and stared into the guest room, her eyes narrowing, hands moving to rest on her curvy hips. “Is that a floral bedspread?”

He laughed, having forgotten how incongruent it was with his public image. His first roommate after moving out of his dad’s house had definitely ridden him hard about that flowery bedcover. “Grandma made it.”

He went to close the door again, but Athena stepped inside, smoothing a hand over the soft, worn fabric. The quilt was colorful, an abundance of small squares stitched together by hand. When he’d been born, his grandmother had collected bits of cloth from relatives, making something that wove him into the fabric of a family that no longer gathered, was no longer held together by the threads of their mutual bloodline.

“It’s beautiful.” Athena turned, her expression changing from delight to that curious one she got when she was about to probe him. “Is she gone? Your grandma?”

He nodded, the lump in his throat restricting him from saying anything. He moved to the next door, expecting she’d follow, and swung it open when she caught up. “Office.”

The pale green room with the maple flooring was simply furnished with a desk and a chair. Shades were drawn across the large, south-facing window and they waved slightly as the air-conditioner regulated the temperature.

The next room hadn’t exactly been described as one in the real estate listing, as it had no actual doors. The corner of the building, where two outer walls met, each lined with a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows, created a den area. Mullens had fitted the space with rubber workout flooring. His treadmill and bike were set in front of the windows, and a TV and sound system were at the ready to keep his mind occupied while his body worked. On a sunny day, biking in front of all that glass, it felt like he was in the sky, defeating the laws of gravity, like a bicycling Superman.

Along the inner wall his weight rack and some of his other favorite torture devices sat waiting. This was one of the few places in his home that showed evidence of his career choice, thanks to the framed posters of himself in hockey gear hanging above the racks and beside the large mirrors. They served as motivation on days when his mind and body begged him to skip a workout.

Mullens hustled Athena along before she could spy the posters and crack a joke about his ego. “We’re going in a bit of a circle here,” he said, heading toward the end of the room and the west bank of windows. The night stretched out at his feet as he ducked through the next doorway to his left.

Athena stopped before the doorway. She stood close to the windows, her feet away from the edge of the room, the earth many stories below as she leaned her face toward the glass to peer downward. “Do you ever get scared you’re going to walk through a window and fall to your death?”

“You afraid of heights?”

She straightened. “No! It’s just…” She gazed at the tall windows, tentatively reaching out and pressing on the glass.

Mullens made a fist, leaned back through the doorway. He hammered on the thick pane in front of her. “See? No wobble. No cracks.”

“Oh my gosh! Stop!” She jumped at him, grabbing his fist and pulling it down.

He drew his arm back to his side, bringing her with it. She went to release him and he lifted his arm again as though ready to knock.

“Chad!” she squealed, the danger and fear mixed with a thrill, leaving her dancing eyes a deep hazel.

“Do you sleepwalk?” he asked.

“What? No.”

“Good. Because there are windows in my bedroom, too.”

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